The Sonnets by William Shakespeare - cynara tutoring rosalita (Part the Second)

I seem to have evaded Cynara's cast-iron skillet for now, so let's get right to Sonnet 25:

Let those who are in favor with their stars
Of public honor and proud titles boast,
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlooked for joy in that I honor most.
Great princes' favorites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun’s eye,
And in themselves their pride lies burièd,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famousèd for worth,
After a thousand victories once foiled,
Is from the book of honor razèd quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled.
    Then happy I that love and am belovèd
    Where I may not remove nor be removèd.

Aww, is poor widdle Willy feeling overlooked and unappreciated? All this talk about other people being favored with fortune and fame, while he puts on a brave face and declares himself content with Unlooked for joy in that I honor most.

Here's where I drop the smug mask and admit I don't know what to make of the next quatrain:
Great princes' favorites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun’s eye,
And in themselves their pride lies burièd,
For at a frown they in their glory die.

Is he saying that mighty oaks (the great princes' favorites) eventually die even as does the lowly marigold?

The next quatrain seems more or less clear: It only takes one screwup to ruin the reputation you've spent a lifetime building. And then the final couplet: I'd rather be loved than admired, because my true love will never throw me over.

And now, if you don't mind, I'd like a personal word with Mr. S:

Will, sweetie, cookie, honeybuns:
    We get it. You're a genius. Your words (the ones you borrowed and the new ones you created) will live on for hundreds of years after you. You don't have to convince anyone that you are brilliant, so could you just, please, for me, drop the wackadoodle inverted word order?! You are seriously killing me with your 'I, whom fortune of such triumph bars' and your 'is from the book of honor razèd quite'. Do you understand? Kill. Ing. Me. So cut it out, OK? Thanks.
            XOXOXO,
            Rosie

Great princes' favorites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun’s eye,
And in themselves their pride lies burièd,
For at a frown they in their glory die.

The favourite courtiers of great princes spread their fair petals
Only as the marigold spreads them at the shining sun,
and their only glory is their own lives (OR: and their glory folds up when out of the king's favour, like a flower shutting at night)
For at the king's/sun's frown, their glory is all ended

Courtiers were often represented as marigolds in verse. Don't think mighty warriors; remember that they dressed like this:



Imagine eating over that ruff.

Now, of course, this is Sir Walter Raleigh, and no matter what you think of the man, he didn't spend all his time in London waiting for Elizabeth/James to smile at him. Anyway.

It only takes one screwup to ruin the reputation you've spent a lifetime building.
Even then, it was a matter of "what have you done for me lately?"

Will, sweetie, cookie, honeybuns:
You're killing me.
But, uh, I'm afraid that this is going to keep on coming. It's mostly rhyme and scansion that's to blame, I think, and occasionally the desire to leave the payoff until the end of a line. The good news is that you're getting better at it all the time.
Even seasoned Shakespeare readers sometimes have to play "find-the-verb."

Let those who are in favor with their stars of public honor and proud titles boast,
(Okay...)

whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars, unlooked for joy in that I honor most.
Joy! There you are, you little rascal. Will is "joying" in the thing he honours most. That had me looking for a minute.

See, I could maybe get used to the verbs being hidden in plain sight where you least expect them, except that the ones that give me the biggest fits are the ones, like joy, that can also be other parts of speech. I read this sonnet probably a dozen times, and I'm not sure I ever did catch on that 'joy' is the verb in that particular couplet! I thought 'joy' was the noun, modified by 'unlooked for'. In other words, he was forcing himself to be content with an 'unlooked for joy' instead of the admiration of the masses. I think I need to use my imagination a bit more, and look for words that have verb potential (and nevermind the whole inventing-verbs-like-'happies'-thankyouverymuch).

Thank you for that corrected reading of the whole marigold bit. I must say, that does make quite a bit more sense than what I was getting out of it. And a pretty image it is, the idea of a courtier's prestige being withered by the prince's displeasure the way a marigold's petals shrivel up in a too-hot sun.

Imagine eating over that ruff.
LOL. Did they have someone feeding them? Otherwise, I can't imagine how they ever could see their plate enough to know where the food was, let alone get it into their mouths! (On a completely shallow side note, that Walt was a handsome devil, eh?)

So was my guess right that Will may be feeling slighted somehow, and is comforting himself that while he may not be universally admired he is at least cherished by his one true love? It doesn't really seem to make sense, because surely by the time he wrote these his reputation was fairly well established? I guess I'm not really clear on how he was regarding by his contemporaries, other than what you said early on about the fact that his works were considered more or less popular entertainment and not anything high-toned or overly literary. Do you think he aspired to great literary fame?

Oh, and finally: If ever anyone lurking along here should doubt the value of a tutored thread, you have proved right here what makes it so great. Yes, I sort of got the general gist of it on my own, but the finer points you bring up and the context you put it all into just makes the whole thing a much richer experience. Thank you for being my guide!

This is a terrific, terrific thread, and thank you both for it. However I, at least, don't agree with your earlier assessment of Will's point of view here (in the sonnet,) particularly if you place it in the context of the rest of his work. Nothing does come from nothing (pun on noting, social norms, again.) But commenting too much on why would not only be speculative, involve cognitive sciences, necessitate too many examples to support an argument and very long but take away from the frankly delightful specificity of your discourse. (In summary: Shakespeare expressed very well many behaviors - Many ways did Will very well express - in a manner which makes me believe he had a depressive (more attentive to intrinsic networks and contextual meaning but with relatively less affective synaptic umph leading from his ventromedial left prefrontal noggin,) mind. That relative lack of extrinsic I affords a distance, indirectly, between individually and more purely hierarchical- socially determined behavior.

Hi, Alberto! Heaven knows there is plenty of room for differing viewpoints on the sonnets, and I sometimes wish we had time to dig in a bit more deeply. I'm not sure I'm getting what you're saying, here. Is it that you believe Shakespeare was not motivated by moving up in the Renaissance poetic hierarchy, and was more motivated by his internal assessment of his work and situation?

LOL. Did they have someone feeding them?
I have heard it said that they had special cutlery, to help them reach over. If any article of clothing ever advertised its owner's social status through sheer expense, uselessness, labour-intensive-ness, and inconvenience, it was the ruff. Later in Elizabeth's reign she went in for divided ruffs, which mostly stood out to the backs and sides. Still expensive, useless, and labour-intensive, but at least you could eat over them.

courtier's prestige being withered by the prince's displeasure
Or just folding itself away in the absence of the royal sunlight.

I'm not sure I ever did catch on that 'joy' is the verb in that particular couplet!
I only got it because I was distressed by the lack of a verb; I kept hunting around to see what "I" might be doing. That's how I've found the others, too.

Oh, don't want to get you two at all off subject. Just (perhaps) relative motivation for, and personal viewpoint of, some of Will's recurrent themes - in the sonnets fairly purely, in the plays elaborated. Timelessness vs real time, union (love and friendship) vs abstracted social norms and relations, ecc. Almost physiological correlates. Here there might be an expression of feeling slighted, but the criticism is more probably and seems more deep-rooted, while timeless love is also more than mere consolation.
Food...hands and knives, mostly, (and spoons) I vaguely recall from different places, even if modified. And spitting to a degree, but not across the table. Fork-Forks were just making their way north (started when an ambassador from one of the Italic cities brought his own up from the south. Those barbarians.) Good question, though..I wonder if the ruffles were removable, or if servants were kept rather busy wiping.

Alberto, forgive me for fixating on such a minor point in your very interesting posts, but I couldn't let this pass:
Fork-Forks were just making their way north (started when an ambassador from one of the Italic cities brought his own up from the south. Those barbarians.
I worked in the features/entertainment section of a newspaper for many years, and one of my duties was (if you can believe it) proofreading the comics section. I vividly recall the Sunday strip of 'Prince Valiant' when the fork was first introduced to the kingdom. Probably the reason it sticks in my mind is that the woman who brought the fork was named Julia.

OK, back to Shakespare, I promise!

Is everyone ready for Sweet Six-and-Twenty (hey, if Will can do it, so can I)?

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit.
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it,
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul’s thought, all naked, will bestow it.
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
Points on me graciously with fair aspéct
And puts apparel on my tottered loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect.
    Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee;
    Till then, not show my head where thou mayst prove me.

This one is interesting! At first, I thought it was an appeal directly to God, who as far as I can recall has yet to make an appearance in our text. But I couldn't figure out why the last line of the third quatrain suddenly seems to be directly addressing the lover, as does the final couplet. So … maybe the Narrator is actually talking to his lover through the whole thing, the lover he considers to be in total control over the Narrator's heart (the way God has dominion over creatures on Earth).

If that second guess is true, then it makes sense of the use of 'vassalage', since that was the ownership contract between serfs and their masters (I confess to using Wikipedia to confirm that). OK, so if that's the case, then the Narrator is basically saying that his words are not worthy of being read by his lover, unless the lover deigns to see them so. Until the Narrator knows he has proved himself worthy, he will keep himself away from his lover.

Some thoughts:
  * Some unusual words here: vassalage/embassage (I had at least heard of the first, but the latter is completely new to me). Also, more fun with mis-accented words (aspéct).
  * Look, a verb ('knit') at the end of a line! That could be a noun!
  * Once again, my text uses the word 'tottered' in a place where 'tattered' seems much more likely. Once could have been a typo; twice means it's likely a variant spelling, perhaps?
  * More false modesty from Shakespeare? Or is it proof that he's all too human, and even a genius feels unworthy when facing the love of his life? That's kinda sweet.
  * Early on, Cynara said to keep an eye out for whenever Shakespeare used the word 'will', since it could be an intentional play on his name or a clue to the name of his lover. I'm not smart enough to know, but isn't it interesting that Line 8 includes the phrase 'naked will'. As Beavis would say, 'Heh heh heh.'

I've been out doing some (fairly sedate) birthday carousing, and I am not equal to sonneting tonight. I'm not recovered from my Easter cold, and I might be hacking and coughing until the early hours. I'll see you tomorrow morning!

No worries, Cynara! If it was your birthday, I hope it wasn't too sedate. :)

Get a good night's sleep. These sonnets aren't going anywhere!

R., thank you for correcting what can only be called my latent chauvinist oversight. When I read the name you wrote, (Julia), the memory of reading the account became less fuzzy. Embarrassing, really. And buon compleanno, Cynara.

Timelessness vs real time, union (love and friendship) vs abstracted social norms and relations, ecc. Almost physiological correlates. Here there might be an expression of feeling slighted, but the criticism is more probably and seems more deep-rooted, while timeless love is also more than mere consolation.

Please do continue to raise these themes with us! Our one-a-day format doesn't allow for many of the second thoughts and percolations of ideas that bring the deeper stuff out, so the more people we have contributing, the richer our readings will be.

The more you can illustrate with quotes from the poem, the better, and because this isn't a specialist audience, explanations of your terms would also be great!

Lord of my Love
Generally, when a sonnet started out this way, it was addressed to Cupid (references to nudity, flying babies, arrows, Venus, etc. could be expected to follow).

Here, though, Shakespeare goes into what's almost a parody of an Elizabethan business letter. He's using the language of feudal relations: lords and vassals, vassalage (the duty a vassal owed to his lord), and embassage. That's like "embassy" or "ambassador" - embassage is the nominal form, "the business or message of an envoy."

He's also using the formal, obsequious diction of a social inferior to his superior: all that "I'm not worthy" rolling around on the floor is conventional, and may even be a bit tongue-in-cheek here.

Some, of course, have taken this to be proof that the Young Man is one person or another, but I don't put much stock in that. Yes, Will could have written this way to a lord, but he could equally have written this way to anyone he was in love with - or to no-one, just for the poem's sake.

Wordplay
To witness duty, not to show my wit.
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine

Don't miss him playing with the words 'duty' and 'wit' in these lines.

Knit
Yes, good catch! Your merit is so great that it has knit my duty to you strongly!

Tottered/tattered
According to one of my Sources, it's a common variant spelling. Good guess!

Stars
We've had stars a few times now - in #14, where the stars were the lover's eyes, in which Will tried to read the future. Then again in #15, we had stars as the mute audience to the human stage. In #25, we had the common image of stars as the arbiters of fortune, "Let those who are in favour with their stars..." Here we have kind of fusing of the two -

Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
Points on me graciously with fair aspéct
And puts apparel on my tottered loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect.

Will's saying that his star will determine his future - the way he "moves" in the world - but he's also just said that it's the beloved whose "good conceit" (an "imaginative inspiration") might just make his words acceptable. I think there's a flattering "you determine my future just the way my star does" suggestion there.

I like your "naked, Will" find.

Also: my mom might be dropping in to read this thread.

Don't miss him playing with the words 'duty' and 'wit' in these lines.
Oh, that is nice! Thanks for pointing that out.

I know scholars are pretty much reduced to grasping at straws to try to explain the sonnets since there is so little written record that survived (if it ever existed), but I'm not sure I buy the use of 'Lord' as a definitive clue to the identity of Will's lover. I mean, sure it could be, but I think we've all made joking references to someone being our 'lord and master' or whatever. On the other hand, Will was a clever fellow, and he might have used 'Lord' knowing that it would be taken as poetic hyperbole, while only he and his noble lover knew the truth and could giggle about it over breakfast.

I also like the points you made about his repeated references to the stars. Am I right that in his day astrology was a pretty big deal? Or am I mixing Shakespeare's era up with some other time?

could giggle about it over breakfast.
:-)

And I hope your mom waves hello if she drops in to see what a great job you are doing!

It's time for Sonnet 27:

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travail tired;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired.
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see.
Save that my soul’s imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
    Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,
    For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.

I can really relate to this one — I am so tired tonight that I nearly feel asleep in the car when I pulled into the driveway tonight! Unlike Will, however, it is not constant thoughts of my sweet lover keeping me awake at night. No, just a rotten set of allergies are to blame for me.

Random thoughts:
  * Some nice turns of phrase here: a journey in my head / to work my mind, and a jewel hung in ghastly night really stand out to me.
  * On first read I wondered if the Narrator was saying that he and his lover were having a spat, but after re-reading especially Lines 10-12 where he refers to thy shadow as something to make black night beauteous, and her old face new. So it's apparently just a temporary separation for some other reason.

So, not quite on the level of #18 for me, but not the worst of 'em, as they say. What say you?

I hadn't read that one before, but it's really beautiful, isn't it? It's also such a human experience - it was a poet's theme (lovelorn insomniacs all), but this has been happening since we were hairy hominids on the African plain, and it won't stop any time soon. Just think - Will coming back from a long day of rehearsals and performances, maybe an evening of scratching out another scene of Othello - and when he collapses into bed, only to think of the beloved. And there I go, conflating the narrator and Will again. It's a disease.

This one reminds me a bit of a line from an ancient Egyptian love poem: "And with the shade of thee I people night".

We have a little religious reference here - the narrator's thoughts go on a pilgrimage to the beloved, as a Londoner might travel for weeks or months to pray at a holy site. Not an uncommon image for a love poem. Poor narrator, both in "travail" (labour), and in travel.

For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.
So, is the poet's imagining keeping the beloved awake, too? It sounds like his imagination is negating the distance between them. I'm going to keep an eye out for similar references in the future.

I like the that the "shadow" (image, we might say) of the beloved illuminates the night!

>16 rosalita: Whoops, I got all excited about #27 and never answered your astrology question.

Yes, astrology was definitely a thing. You can see Will's repeated references to the link between your "stars" and your fate, and it's all over the plays too: "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves...." Of course, that very quote suggests that at least Cassius believes that the stars aren't everything. However, I believe it was fairly common for royalty to employ astrologers (Elizabeth employed the rather marvellous Dr. John Dee who picked her coronation date according to the astrological portents), and I imagine there were lower-budget options, too, if you couldn't afford Elizabeth's "mathematician, astronomer, astrologer, occultist, navigator", etc. etc.

For me, this one was the most easily understood so far on a first read.

Digression: Author John Green turns the Cassius quote around in the title of his excellent YA novel, The Fault in Our Stars, involving young cancer patients.

I got behind on this thread while I've been sick, but I've just got to say one thing about sonnet 23. At least he mentioned books!

>22 jnwelch:
I love the easy-to-read ones.

>23 thornton37814:
"O let my books...."
Yes, he did! Interesting, in that he didn't actually *have* any books published. There were lots of bootlegged pamphlets of his plays, but that was it. Was he thinking ahead to the publication of the sonnets? The Shakespearian Glossary online gives us "learning; writing on a tablet" for book.

Will's up to his old tricks, carrying a sonnet's theme over multiple poems. And here in Sonnet 28 we have a companion/continuation of #27:

How can I then return in happy plight
That am debarred the benefit of rest?
When day’s oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night and night by day oppressed?
And each, though enemies to either’s reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me,
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day to please him thou art bright,
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven.
So flatter I the swart-complexioned night,
When sparkling stars twire not, thou gild’st the even.
    But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
    And night doth nightly make grief’s length seem stronger.

The two sonnets fit nicely together and make a strong whole, I think. Again, I like some of the vivid descriptions: day by night and night by day oppressed and enemies to either's reign / do in consent shake hands to torture me are some of my favorite phrases we've come across so far.

Question:
  * I don't know what when sparkling stars twire not means.

"Happy plight" is interesting. I normally think of "plight" as being a bad thing, but here it seems to mean something more neutral like "situation."

I like "swart" for dark - like the svart-elves from Norse mythology.

"Twire" is twinkle, and again we have the youth lighting up the night, whether in Will's mind, or in his flattery to the night.

I don't quite know what to say. It's very pretty, and there are some wonderful phrases, as you say - but somehow the top of my head stays exactly where it was. I think I'm just getting picky. However, tomorrow's sonnet does the full Dickinson, as far as I'm concerned.

No spoilers! :-D

I hope any lurkers out there have stayed safe from the terrible storms that have ripped across the Midwestern U.S. this weekend. We have been very lucky here with strong thunderstorms, a lot of wind and a little hail, but no tornadoes or serious damage. Alas, Sonnet 29 does not present an apropos stormy weather theme, but it's a fair tasty treat nonetheless:

When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heav'n with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man’s art, and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate.
    For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
    That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

This one seemed awfully melancholy at first, with the Narrator using lots of vivid phrasing and imagery to complain about his dissatisfaction with his own life. I all alone beweep my outcast state, indeed. But then the volta comes with the third quatrain, and we learn that the only thing that can lift him from his doldrums is the thought of his sweet lover, which causes his heart like to the lark at break of day arising to sing hymns at heaven's gate and he would not trade his lot in life even with the king. Lovely!

Some vocab questions:
  * bootless cries meaning "useless" or "unheeded" as it does today?
  * wishing me like to one more rich in hope meaning "wishing I was more like someone who is more hopeful"?
  * haply I think on thee meaning "when I happen to think of you" rather than an alternative spelling for "happily", I presume?

And some other thoughts:
  * Shakespeare paints quite a vivid picture of an outcast in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes. Is this poetic license, or was there ever a time when he faced such a thing himself?
  * When I read the line with what I most enjoy contented least it took me back to Sonnet 8, where the Narrator asks Young Man why he lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly, / or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy. Both of them seem to be about not taking any pleasure in what ought to be enjoyable things (in Sonnet 8 it was music; here it could be anything).

I liked this one quite a bit, I must say. I see what you meant about "the full Dickinson" in your teaser post last night.

This one has been a favourite of mine for some time. I can't really say how difficult it is to read, even, because I've been reading it for so long. It's the very human portrait of petty (and non-petty) misery, followed by the lovely dawning of that Petrarchan volta - the delicious enjambment of "Like to the lark at break of day arising/ From sullen earth", after the sharp confines of all those end-stopped lines. That's what falling in love is like; when you're in that delirious mood nothing else really matters, if you take a moment to think about it.

bootless "Without advantage; useless."

"wishing I was more like someone who is more hopeful"? Sounds good to me.

haply "Happily" did mean "accidentally." "Hap" meant chance or fortune.
Here's Alexander Pope talking about why poetry can't be reduced to a set of rules: " Some beauties yet no precepts can declare,/ For there's a happiness, as well as care."

in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
We don't *know* of any particular disgrace in Shakespeare's life. There's a (probably apocryphal) story that he had to leave Stratford for London as a young man because he had been accused of poaching deer on the squire's land.

His father John (a successful businessman and municipal figure who married well) had some legal trouble, including debt, dealing in illegal wool, and usury. That probably wore on him somewhat (he had to stay away from church to avoid prosecution for that debt), but before he died the family was respectable enough to be granted a coat of arms, possibly due to young Will's success in London.

with what I most enjoy contented least
That's a nice comparison. Here, Will is having the same trouble, but I think he's phrasing it a heck of a lot better this time.

Biblical echoes
One of my sources points out that "outcast" and "trouble deaf heav'n with my bootless cries" has some echoes of the expulsion from Eden, while others link the latter to the book of Job.

Another suggests that "outcast" might refer to the closing of the theatres in 1592, due to the plague. That might have forecast financial difficulties as well as changed plans.

Robert Greene
That same year he was also getting some bad press from (university-educated dramatist) Robert Greene, who wrote "there is an upstart Crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his Tygers heart wrapt in a Players hide, supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blanke verse as the best of you; and, beeing an absolute Johannes fac totum, is in his owne conceit the onely Shake-scene in a countrey.""

My source comments: "One can only imagine what grief this assault – this deathbed assault – must have caused Shakespeare. Greene was nothing if not thorough: first, using a line from Shakespeare’s own 3 Henry VI (1.4.138), he describes Shakespeare as a pompous, scheming, vicious ingrate riding the coattails of better writers (no doubt Shakespeare performed in a play Greene had himself written; then he adds that Shakespeare is a conceited ("onely Shake-scene") and insignificant jack of all trades (a "Johannes fac totum")."

I have a little pity for playwright Robert Greene; his Wikipedia entry begins thusly: "Robert Greene (11 July 1558 – 3 September 1592) was an English author best known for a posthumous pamphlet attributed to him, Greene's Groats-Worth of Wit, widely believed to contain a polemic attack on William Shakespeare. " You spend your whole life writing plays, and you're chiefly remembered because of a pissed-off reference to a writer you despised.

Anyway, I'm not at all convinced that this liverish letter has anything to do with the sonnet, but it's one of the few scraps of contemporary reference we have, so we cherish it.

Eyes and gazes again
Hm. On another topic, it also occurs to me that while Shakespeare is having the same trouble enjoying his usual pursuits as the Young Man from the procreation sonnets, he's also "look(ing) upon (him)self," though certainly not in vanity.

I can't really say how difficult it is to read, even
Well, I can tell you since I never laid eyes on it before tonight — not very difficult at all! I found it pretty straightforward to understand and quite easy to read aloud at first go. (Although the first line did cast a tiny twinge of familiarity. If pressed, though, I probably would have identified it as Shakespeare and from one of the plays, perhaps "Romeo and Juliet.")

Thanks for the definitions of "bootless" and "haply". I see that one has the same meaning today, while the other could be a bit different (not that "haply" would ever be used today outside of a poem). It's interesting that "happily" meant "accidentally" and not (or not just) "joyously". One of the things your tutoring has taught me is not to assume I know the meaning of a word simply because it is recognizable to me as a word. If the line doesn't seem to make sense, it's probably because at least one of the words doesn't mean what I think it means.

Here, Will is having the same trouble, but I think he's phrasing it a heck of a lot better this time.
Indeed! You may recall that I hadn't a clue about what those lines meant in Sonnet 8 until you untangled them for me.

Yes, poor Robert Greene. Sometimes I think it's better for artists not to know how they will be remembered long after they are gone. Although, who knows? Perhaps he would just be thrilled to be remembered at all.

There's a play and a film based on it called Fortune And Men's Eyes, which (as may or may not be relevant) deal strongly with homosexual themes.

Thanks for that, Liz! I wonder if Netflix has that one ...

Edited to add: Nope, doesn't look like it. Too bad!

Our man Will is still feeling a bit down in the dumps, here in Sonnet 30:

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste.
Then can I drown an eye unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancelled woe,
And moan th' expense of many a vanished sight.
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoanèd moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
    But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
    All losses are restored, and sorrows end.

Poor old Narrator, caught up in obsessions of what was and what could have been. Only the thought of his dear friend can bring him out of his funk, it seems.

I like this one fine, but having these four gloomy sonnets in a row is kind of wearying. If I had put the book together, I might have spaced them out a bit, but perhaps it serves some greater literary purpose to have them all together?

Of course, I can't let Line 2 pass without comment: remembrance of things past — so did he snitch this from Proust or vice versa? Or was it a common turn of phrase? Forgive my ignorance for not knowing what time period Proust lived in.

The phrase drown an eye unused to flow is an unusual way to say he cried. Very poetic, which does make a certain amount of sense, eh?

One remarkable thing about this poem is the way (to quote every poetry prof I had in university) "the sound echoes the sense." Reread this thing looking for alliteration and assonance; in the middle of his putative grief (so touchingly dramatized in the last sonnet) our poet is playing games with language. "Sessions of sweet silent thought... remembrance of things past" is a bit odd, because I don't see anything that calls for all those hissing S's, except that he's showing off a bit. Later on whoever, with "woe to woe tell o'er... fore-bemoned moan" all those O's are moaning along with him.

Does the final couplet seem a bit like an afterthought to anyone else?

remembrance of things past
Well spotted! I didn't see that. According to Sources, yes.

Though I do have to admit that grieving is just like this: "Which I new pay as if not paid before." Just when you think you're over it, it hits you like it was the first time.

Also according to my Sources, Will is using financial and legal (summon, sessions) language this time: "terms like, waste, expense, grievance, cancelled, tell o'er, paid before, are employed. When the account is finally reckoned up, with his dear friend added to the balance sheet, the discrepancies and losses disappear, and all sorrow is outweighed by the joy of remembering him."

Rosa, I have a question: what do you like about poetry? How do you like to read it? Some people love the sound of the language and rhythm and rhyme. Some people love a story. Others love the intellectual games you can play, searching for meanings and metaphors and uncovering hidden layers you didn't see at first. Others love weird juxtapositions and get a thrill from a poet's "radiant images." One of the many things I enjoy is seeing references and connections to other poems and to historical events - tracing a metaphor or an homage down a few centuries.

Any or all of these can provoke deep emotions and intellectual excitement, and no way of reading is better than another, but I do have a reason for prying. You've more or less mastered reading these for the surface meaning, and I've trotted out some of the basic tools in Will's poetic toolbox (voltas, etc.). I have something I might put up later, about some basic categories readers fall into, but I though I'd ask before I started imposing labels on people. I guess I'm wondering if you'd like to dig into the analysis a bit more, or if you're perfectly happy reading as is. I just don't want you to get bored!

"the sound echoes the sense."
Yes! I don't think I consciously picked up on this as I was reading it through the first time, but I knew without thinking about it that it was kind of fun to read aloud. All those sssssss's and oooooooooo's!

The final couplet is kind of odd. I mean, we've seen Shakespeare leave the volta until the "bam!" point of the last lines, but here there's not so much a "bam!" as a meek little "oh yeah, except when I think of you." It doesn't really drive the point home very forcefully.

remembrance of things past
I'm not clear which of the three interpretations I threw out there that your Sources agree with. Who stole it from whom? :)

Though I do have to admit that grieving is just like this: "Which I new pay as if not paid before." Just when you think you're over it, it hits you like it was the first time
Oh my, yes. That is a powerful line indeed about grief.

If Shakespeare is using financial and legal language, then how appropriate that we are reading this during tax season here in the U.S.! It's almost like we planned it.

What do I like about poetry? That's a good question! I can tell you honestly that when I first thought about asking for a tutor to read the sonnets, it was because I couldn't make head or tail of any of them. Once in a while, I would pick up my book and page through it randomly, try reading a sonnet aloud, and give up because it all sounded like gobbledygook. So if I've gotten much better at sussing out the surface meanings, it's because you've been so kind as to lend me some of the tools in your "poetry comprehension toolkit."

Not just in poetry, but in all types of writing, I love when authors play with the language. For example, I love the stuff like we saw in #28: day by night and night by day oppressed and enemies to either's reign / do in consent shake hands to torture me uses perfectly ordinary words but twists them in on themselves and makes a fresh sort of allusion.

Also, as you said, seeing references and connections to other poems and to historical events - tracing a metaphor or an homage down a few centuries is a lot of fun. I'm always interested in knowing when words came to be, and how the meanings change over the years.

I guess what I'm saying is I'd love you to pull some of the "power tools" out of your toolbox, as long as it doesn't start to seem like work to you. Also, as long as we can still geek out about some of the "surface-y" stuff too, sometimes. :)

Cynara, please do put up the reader categorization at some point. I, at least, would like to see how, I presume in relevant fields, they (or you) do so...and if those descriptions, as it were, might have an interplay with development(individual) and culture(s, both historically within and structurally across).

I'd like to read about the categories, too. I'm a "what does it mean?" reader. I'm not much for word play and such.

The final couplet is kind of odd.
I agree. It feels like a hasty "oh, but then I think about you and everything's okay. Baby." Maybe it's just paling in comparison to the previous sonnet.

remembrance of things past
Proust definitely lifted it from Shakespeare (he's later), but Shakespeare may have been echoing one of two Bible verses, though the exact wording is his.

power tools
I'll continue to do minifeatures on things, then - I just didn't want to bother you with them if you'd absorbed as much poetic interrogation as you like.

Reading styles/levels
This may not be quite what you expected - those "reasons we read" I mentioned above don't really overlap, and are mostly from my own experience and discussions in my university classes. These are from a resource book on teaching English, and talk about high school students' approach to poetry.

Paraphrasers
Reader's Expectations:
To restate the text in one's own words discloses meaning (usually one of several stock themes.)

Reading Approach:
To work out meaning from the sentence or word level often directed by an impression based on the initial reading.

Reader's Closure:
To close soon after a first or second retelling even if gaps appear; sometimes to add a moral or lesson.

Thematizers
Reader's Expectations:
To find the simple theme - a statement or generalization about life - which underlies the poem.

Reading Approach:
To use any means available - a series of different probes - to arrive at a meaningful statement of theme.

Reader's Closure:
To set the poem aside as soon as a satisfactory theme is discovered or to abandon the search if no coherent account emerges.

Allegorizers
Reader's Expectations:
To uncover the poem's extended statement about life - to work out "the equivalence between the poem and the real world."

Reading Approach:
To work from an initial feeling or intuition about the poem and align its details to that generalization.

Reader's Closure:
To rest when a complete sense of the poem has developed even if there are flaws or gaps in this interpretation.

Problem Solvers
Reader's Expectations:
To explore several possibilities of meaning and connections to one's own experience.

Reading Approach:
To approach a poem as a complex artifact and so to try a variety of strategies and tentative hypotheses.

Reader's Closure:
To delay closure until difficult aspects of the poem can be accommodated; to realize that a poem continues to unfold its meaning.

So, there you have Dias' understanding of how teenagers read poetry. There's no suspense re. which one he's rooting for. I list it here because it has some good points. Mostly I think he's recommending against reading for a simple theme, and reading for a monolithic theme. Poetry has complexity, usually, and is filled with real and apparent contradictions. When we allow ourselves to be uncertain about things, we can find richness we might miss on a first scan-through or if we're working from an assumption about what a poet is "like."

I'm mostly a paraphraser with a bit of thematizer.

I think I'm a Thematizer — but what does it mean, Cynara? — but I'd like to be a Problem Solver. Allowing myself to be uncertain about things is difficult, I must say! Sometimes I get too caught up in "just give me the answer" instead of taking the time to explore the possibilities.

Oh, and that Billy Collins poem is brilliant! I cringed at this part

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

because I feel like this is what my first inclincation is. I'm grateful to have you to teach me how to waterski!

Glad you like the Billy Collins! When I taught a poetry unit as part of my teaching ed., I started with that poem.

(Ed: it's my link above under "power tools," but if you missed it, here it is again: Introduction to Poetry, by Billy Collins.

So let me ask you this. How do you normally read a book of poetry? Let's say you had The Apple That Astonished Paris by Billy Collins. You can't really read it cover to cover like you would a novel or a nonfiction book. Do you just dip in and out and read poems at random? Do you start at the beginning and work your way through? Do you read one poem, and puzzle your way through to some sort of conclusion before you tackle another? Or might you read several at a time, not necessarily feeling you've "finished" any of them before reading the next?

I know this sounds very basic and grade-schoolish (feel free to roll your eyes behind your computer screen), but I honestly don't know!

Me, personally? It really depends. I have about 80 books I've tagged poetry, and they mostly fall into a few categories:

Textbooks: often huge, multi-thousand-page bricks which include the "greatest hits" of hundreds of authors, usually chronologically. I used to open them at random and read something new when I was bored between classes. Recently, I opened one of them up to get a sense of the poetry scene in England just before Shakespeare wrote his sonnets. Some of them are themed: Canadian poetry, 17th century poetry and prose, etc.

Anthologies: These I might read from beginning to end, I might look up a treasured poem, or I might, again, just open it at random and look around for a while.

Single-poet books: these I'm more likely to read from beginning to end (except for the truly gigantic "complete" books). Especially with the ones that aren't collected or selected or anything, you're really getting a portrait of the poet's interests and intentions at one particular time, and you're more likely to find common threads.

How I read
Do I read each poem deeply as I go? Huh. I often don't put a ton of work into doing that. I've done a fair amount of poetry analysis, and the benefit of that is that it becomes second nature. You don't get the really deep stuff, but as you're reading you get little bells going off in your head. I love it when I'm reading for emotion, reading the surface, and the technical stuff - the poetic devices, the allusions, the biographical details or what I know of contemporary poetry - is adding another layer of richness to it.

A verse of Alexander Pope means more to me because beneath the joke, I know he's employing a poetic device called chiasmus , which he used with a witty, tart flair; I notice that part of the fun is from the deliciously unexpected rhyme-word; I remember his loneliness and illness, and that he probably wrote this poem with a splitting headache; I know that stanza is a little play on words with the Italian for "room", and that birds are a traditional stand-in for the poet, and I know that he's referencing Homer partly because he wrote a translation earlier in his career, and his audience would have known that. It all kind of piles up in my head, and I love it.

There are times when I really linger over a particular poem and try to see the deeper stuff, but I have to really love it before I'm willing to put in much energy.

Anyway BLAH BLAH BLAH I hope you enjoyed all the detail. :-)

A friend sent me this: http://pentametron.com/ - they take tweets in iambic pentameter and arrange them into the form of a Shakespearean sonnet.

Hey now, let's not with sonnets couplets mix
For the delay of rhyme save for the one
Which in its Shakespeare's shorter words can't fix
The ababcd and so on
That almost always gives that form a way,
A ling'ring tone in which Will gives his words...

I would afflict you here with more dumb stuff
But do suppose that ya'll have had enough.

Oh my gosh, I got sucked into the vortex of filing my federal and state income tax return (yes, I'm one of those people who wait until the last minute, and stupidly because I get a refund from both), and have only just surfaced. I can't imagine anyone is still up at this hour, but I'll post the next sonnet and my thoughts anyway, to enjoy with your breakfast nosh. :)

OK, before the next sonnet, some follow-up from above:

Cynara, that was exactly what I was looking for in terms of guidance in how you read poetry. It was very helpful, and not too long at all. Thank you for sharing.

And Alberto, thank you for contributing your own poem. I like it, and don't think it's "dumb stuff" at all. :)

OK, now on to the next sonnet.

FINALLY, Sonnet 31:

Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts
Which I, by lacking, have supposèd dead;
And there reigns love, and all love’s loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought burièd.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things removed that hidden in thee lie.
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give;
That due of many now is thine alone.
    Their images I loved I view in thee,
    And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.

This one was funny (not funny ha-ha, more like funny strange). It started out kind of weirdly, what with the supposeéd dead and all the friends which I thought buriéd and whatnot. I thought I had stumbled into some sort of Elizabethan zombie sonnet!

Thank goodness I was soon set straight: No zombies, just a poor Narrator whose heart has been broken too many times in the past, who finds himself healed and whole in the fullness of his new lover's affection. Sweet!

Is it still alliteration if not the first letter but the whole dang word is repeated throughout? I'm looking at Line 3, of course: And there reigns love, and all love's loving parts. Whole lotta lovin' goin' on!

OK, it's not about zombies, but seriously: Thou art the grave where buried love doth live / Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone? Creepy, Will. Veeeeeeery creepy.

I do like the last line a lot: And thou, all they, hast all the all of me. Methinks Will could have been a Nashville country-music star in another life.

I'm incredibly dopey this morning; I'll check in during the day!

This one strikes me as a continuation of the previous sonnet, actually; he was talking about his "precious friends hid in death’s dateless night." Perhaps that last couplet doesn't seem so tacked-on if one reads it as an introduction to this sonnet.

You're right about the zombie thing. Of course, death wasn't quite so remote for the Elizabethans as it is for us (most lower-class women would wash a corpse eventually, I think), and keeping your own death in mind was considered spiritually healthy.

Alliteration
Well, it's still alliteration - but I think that repetition is the more important rhetorical device we're seeing here. :-) We've got it again in "thou, all they, hast all the all of me."

Veeeeeeery creepy
Yeah, it makes you wonder if this read the same way four hundred years ago. Was it just straight-out romantic, because death was a ever-present part of life? Or was it still a bit edgy? I like this one because the subject matter is a bit odd, and it contrasts with Will's sweet tone.

This one strikes me as a continuation of the previous sonnet, actually
Ah. Yes, I can see that possibility. It's not quite as overt as the other continuations that we've seen, but it's there.

Repetition! So obvious, and yet ... I missed it.

I appreciate your points about how death was not as remote to Elizabethans as it seems to us now. We find it extraordinary when someone loses a parent or grandparent at a time in their life when Elizabethans probably considered it fairly normal. I'll pass on the corpse-washing, though, if you don't mind. Not because I find dead bodies creepy, but because I hate cleaning. :)

I wonder, too, if the tone seemed as off back then as it does to us. Perhaps it was just another variation on the tune, as it were. It definitely provides a contrast.

Brace yourselves! More deathly contemplation lies ahead in Sonnet 32:

If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceasèd lover,
Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,
And though they be outstripped by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
“Had my friend’s muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought
To march in ranks of better equipage.
    But since he died and poets better prove,
    Theirs for their style I’ll read, his for his love.”

Will's been bitten by the love bug, and he's got it bad. He's already looking ahead to imagine how his lover will react after he's dead. All he asks is that Lover treasure these poor rude lines of thy deceaséd lover for the declarations of love they contain and not compare them to the talents of better poets who will surely follow our Will.

Even though this was another meditation on death, I rather liked this one. I don't know a single person who has not paused at least once to imagine how people will react or remember them when they are gone, even if few go as far as Tom Sawyer and show up to lurk in the shadows of their own funeral. And the first blush of a new love affair is the perfect time for idle thoughts to stray to the future.

One of the things I've wondered as we read this series of "death sonnets" is whether the Narrator is considerably older than his Lover? That could account for the preoccupation with what his love will do once he has shuffled off this mortal coil.

And though they be outstripped by every pen,
Uh, actually, no, Will. They weren't outstripped by every pen. Some would say any pen. But some people think you're having us on here: "it is perhaps needless to state that we do not take this sonnet at its face value."

Ha! Yeah, his modesty (false or otherwise) is overwhelming in a lot of these. Of course, we have the benefit of 400 years of hindsight, don't we?

Yeah, but all this little-old-me act is also highly conventional. It was traditional to prostrate yourself verbally at the feet of your lover in poetry; think of courtly love. I can't think why I don't have anything else to say about this particular one.

Behind the scenes I'm cooking up some thoughts on new ways of looking at the poems, but I'm going going to introduce one today. I'm madly preparing for a world history class on Islam (which will feed into their crusades unit) so I'm selecting suras and figuring out what else I should do. Find a better history intro? Get into sharia law? Will they sit there like lumps, or talk?

I'm also reading a little Donne to space out the Shakespeare. I hadn't realized before that he was practically contemporary, and I've been having fun reading his very different take on the sonnet.

Wow, you have a lot on your plate right now, Cynara! Please don't worry if you need to take a break from the sonnets on occasion. I'm happy to continue at a pace that works for you.

Zig-zag a moment, but it will tie in to Will at the end....C., you know, you could get sort of wild on the Islam vs. Christianity...though it would perhaps be at the expense of the whole class in favor of a very few (if you're lucky). Ie, you could do a quick comparison of them etiologically, not just historically, maybe bring them to a local mosque (depending on its architectural style) and then to a large Catholic (inc.) church. Bottom-up vs top-down. (A slide show on Istanbul, Hagi/Blue Mosque would work a little as a replacement, and then the cistern which would...see next:) In class you could touch on how both, once organized, effectively wound up sticking it big (as usual) to women by defining relatively, almost comically, inflexible sex roles and behavior - usually well beyond any rational interpretation, and were/are used to manipulate men to rather horrible but profitable violence, etc. That would at least get some of the girls and budding chauvinists heated and participating, and maybe a fanatic or two, and lead in to the later crusades. (Maybe a slide of Venice after perusing Constantinople cum Istanbul demonstrating how religious wars, as others, are good for business.)

Ah, yes, the tie-in to Will's sonnets, Islam, succumb, submit, peace...less of yourself, into something larger; real time in the day, timeless in here, in love and memory. Wash and leave away the impurity- toils/expenses 'to new pay'/'religious love stolen from my eye as interest' (religion as a home loan)...all worldly, societal things. Rest clean awhile in here. 'Lord of my love/zealous pilgrimage/sings hymns at heaven's gate', but Will's Lord is a material he. His lover replaces, is, heaven, sometimes seeming unreachable, and memory of love itself - one kind or another - is William's mosque. It's sort of conventional - Dante/troubadours did it a wee bit earlier - but Will is taking it a step over here. Riches and glory in real time count for little and are lumped together, made fun of at times, whereas his timeless love is more than a little specific, and has 'all the all of me,' like the tune, (when Billie sang it, at least.) And not quite like the Donne's God and 'me'. ('For God's sake,' etc. Great lines.) Shakespeare seems to replace, while Donne compares. (And, since you brought it up and piqued me to google it - copied not a little, at least of his most famous.) Anyway, back to lurking. You two do a terrific job. You could even keep the posts, and later expand, polish, edit and offer as a study-aid book to students and others.

Alberto: re. Islam; it's a fascinating subject, and I wish I could do all that - but it's a one-period supply tomorrow for a teacher I know, so I'm starting from the Five Pillars and some Quran excerpts.

I was thinking about Will and John Donne today, of course, and it struck me again how secular Will is; his transcendence is all romantic and artistic, with a bit of nature thrown in. Shakespeare is a sunlit English garden, and Donne is something else entirely - more sexual, more mystic, more devout. Also, I can't help but think, a bit funnier. He's all indoors, though, and Shakespeare breathes the free air. I don't see much influence, but I haven't done much thinking about it yet, either!

I've wondered if I might use some of my research as the basis for a continuing education course. We'll see!

Here we are at Sonnet 33:

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy,
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the fórlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.
Ev'n so my sun one early morn did shine
With all triumphant splendor on my brow;
But out alack, he was but one hour mine;
The region cloud hath masked him from me now.
    Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth.
    Suns of the world may stain when heav‘n’s sun staineth.

Huh. I thought I knew where this one was going at the start, with all the talk of the morning sun kissing with golden face the meadows green, but now I'm not so sure it's a nature poem after all.

Is he literally talking about the sun and clouds — perhaps a grim joke about the English weather? Or is this an extended metaphor where the sun is his lover, and the clouds are … something that takes his lover away, I guess?

And I'm not at all sure what the final couplet means.

Or is this an extended metaphor where the sun is his lover, and the clouds are … something that takes his lover away, I guess?

Note the reference to "my sun." That's going to be the Young Man, and no mistake. Sometimes it can be helpful (and beautiful) to mentally draw a picture or run a movie of what the poet is describing. It can illuminate metaphors and make sense of the action. Remember those marigold-courtiers who fold up in the absence of the king's sunny smile? That's Will now. Something has come between our narrator and his beloved, and it seems to be more substantial than a cloud.

"Stain" here means "shadow." Therefore "Yet my feeling of love doesn't distain him for this one whit/ Suns (or sons?) of the world may be shadowed/stained/disgraced (or may stain other people) since the sun in heaven is can be clouded over, too." The language in the rest of the sonnet seems to indicate disgust; the beloved has allowed "the basest clouds" to stain him.

I have to apologize to Cynara and the other folks following the thread. I had meant to post earlier that I would not be able to post any new sonnets this weekend. The US Olympic Wrestling Trials are being held here in Iowa City this weekend, and I have all-session tickets. That means being at the arena essentially from 9am to 9pm both Saturday and Sunday.

We should be back to our regular schedule on Monday. Sorry!

I don't mind the break. Enjoy!

I was exhausted last night, so you were spared the results of my teaching-numbed brain grappling with actual literature. Today I'm off for the last of my birthday festivities. Enjoy the wrestling, and we'll get back to sonneteering on Monday!

'He was not of an age, but for all time!' Ben Jonson. 448

My exhaustion has turned into a cold; the same one, in fact, I had over Easter, only with more of the trimmings this time. However, I am taking tomorrow off work so I may be prepared to Shakespearianize in the evening. :-)

In the meantime, Alberto has inspired me with his Jonson quotation, and I will favour you all with some fun ones from my beloved Dictionary of Biographical Quotation. You will forgive me if some of them are disparaging. I have a great taste for Shakespeare, but an equally great taste for the subversive and naughty, and there's nothing more subversive than making fun of Shakespeare. Harold Bloom, cover your ears!

Byron doesn't know what he's talking about
"Shakespeare's name, you may depend upon it, stands absurdly too high and will go down. He had no invention as to stories, none whatever. He took all his plots from old novels, and threw their stories into a dramatic shape, at as little expense of thought as you or I could turn his plays back again into prose tales.† That he threw over whatever he did write some flashes of genius, nobody can deny; but this was all. Suppose anyone to have had the dramatic handling for the first time of such ready-made stories as Lear, Macbeth, &c. and he would be a sad fellow indeed, if he did not make something very grand of them."
Lord Byron, letter to James Hogg, 24 March 1814

Oh, Lord Byron, it's a relief to know that even great poets write twaddle like this in their private letters.

Yeah!
"Like a miraculous celestial Light-ship, woven all of sheet-lightning and sunbeams."
Thomas Carlyle, Historical Sketches of Notable Persons and Events in the Reigns of James I and Charles I

Shakespeare is out of style
"Shakespeare to thee was dull, whose best jest lies
I' the Ladies questions and the Fooles replyes:
Old fashion'd wit, which walkt from town to town
In turn'd Hose, which our fathers call'd the Clown;
Whose wit our nice times would obsceanness call,
And which made Bawdy pass for Comicall:
Nature was all his Art, thy veine was free
As his, but without his scurility; . . . "
William Cartwright, Upon the Dramatic Poems of Mr. John Fletcher

Shakespeare's bawdy bits were not appreciated in the 18th and 19th centuries; they were sometimes mourned as tawdry tricks he had to use to appeal to his lower-class audience, or, as here, disdained as signs of a coarse mind. It was an article of faith, too, that he was an untutored genius, whose work sprang from Nature, etc. etc. Sometimes it was spun as "oooh, he was untainted by education, nature's nobility", etc., and sometimes as "that idiot-savant Shakespeare, a country oaf speaking with the voice of the angels" and sometimes as "he did very well, considering his background."

Yes!
"Our myriad-minded Shakespeare."
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Biographica Literaria

Oh, those wacky ignorant proles
'Once when visiting Stratford-on-Avon with Toole, (Henry Irving) saw a rustic sitting on a fence, whom they submitted to an interrogatory. "That's Shakespeare's house, isn't it?' it was asked innocently. "Yes." "Ever Been there?" "Noa." "How long has he been dead?" "Dunno." "What did he do?" "Dunno." "Did he not write" "Oh yes, he did summat." "What was it?" "Well, I think he writ Boible."'
Percy Fitzgerald, Henry Irving

And after that little bit of class humour, here are a couple of vintage contemplations of the homosexual themes in the sonnets:

He was... what!?
"The victim of spiritual emotions that involve criminatory reflections does not usually protrude them voluntarily on the consideration of society; and, if the personal theory be accepted, we must concede the possibility of our national dramatist gratuitously confessing his sins and revealing those of others, proclaiming his sins and avowing his repentance in poetical circulars distributed by the delinquent himself amongst his most intimate friends."
J. D. Halliwell-Phillips, on the Sonnets, Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare

"Homosexuality? No, I know nothing of the joys of homosexuality. My friend Oscar can no doubt tell you all about that. But I must say that if Shakespeare asked me, I would have to submit."
Frank Harris, attributed, remark over luncheon in the Café Royal

"Attributed" is usually code for "almost certainly didn't happen," but I'm not sure I care.

Quite a good observation:

"His language is hieroglyphical. It translates thoughts into visible images. It abounds in sudden transitions and elliptical expressions. This is the source of his mixed metaphors, which are only abbreviated forms of speech. These, however give no pain from long custom. They have, in fact, become idioms in the language. They are the building and not the scaffolding, to thought."
William Hazlitt, On Shakespeare and Milton

This is how the Victorians thought of our boy

"What is he? You might almost answer, He is the earth... the globe... existence... In Shakespeare the birds sing, the bushes are clothed with green, hearts love, souls suffer, the cloud wanders, it is hot, it is cold, night falls, time passes, forests and multitudes speak, the vast eternal dream hovers over all. Sap and blood, all forms of the multiple reality, actions and ideas, man and humanity, the living and the life, solitudes, cities, religions, diamonds and pearls, dung-hills and charnel houses, the ebb and flow of beings, the steps of comers and goers, all, all are on Shakespeare and in Shakespeare; and, this genius being the earth, the dead emerge from it."
Victor Hugo, William Shakespeare"

OK, Victor, you get a pass this time because that's lovely. Now go have a lie-down, you look a little over-excited.

And Ben Jonson also said this, Alberto
"I remember, the Players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing, (whatsoever he penned) hee never blotted out a line. My answer hath been, would he had blotted a thousand."
Ben Jonson, Timber, or Discoverie made upon man and matter

This comment and discussion from my newspaper this morning:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/apr/22/in-praise-of-shakespeares-so...

The comments will increase through the day, I expect.

#72: What a wonderful idea!

Cynara, I hope you'll get better soon. Thanks for posting all those comments - very interesting and entertaining!

A lovely, well-chosen concentration of quotes. (I might lazily use/steal them, so thanks.) Big Ben was an awfully smart bloke, though a heavy, bottom-up type. Will flew. Still, a good bit of Shakespeare's words were as we all know, ah, written with his left hand (they'd say over here.) Some even with his left foot, (no reference to any Irish writer.) But then there is so much more written so well. And when Ben commemorated Will as 'Soul of the age', he was quite right-on, I think: The fundamental re-discovery, investigation and then further articulation and expression of our selves, our past, and the world we create. We're nearing a similar sort of time now (the beginning of an age, or something even...more, though I hope not as sinister as it now appears - no direct pun on 'left' intended.) And what the hey: call in sick, extend the birthday festivities maybe with a long, languid bath.

>72 CDVicarage: What a great page! I love the comments. It's so great to see everyone tussling over poetry.
>73 Deern: Hi, Nathalie!
>74 AlbertoGiuseppe: Heh. Thanks, Alberto.

But wait, there's more!

One keeps running into this problem
"Desmond McCarthy... said somewhere that trying to work out Shakespeare's personality was like looking at a very dark glazed picture in the National Portrait Gallery: at first you see nothing, then you recognize features, and then you realise that they are your own."
Desmond McCarthy, in Samuel Schoenbaum, Shakespeare's Lives

Unreliable contemporary gossip: I see what you did there.
"Upon a tyme when Burbidge played Rich. 3, there was a citizen greue soe farr in liking with him, that before shee went from the play shee appointed him to come that night unto her by the name of Ri: the 3. Shakespeare overhearing their conclusion went before, was intertained, and at his game ere Burbidge came. Then message being brought that Rich. the 3rd was at the dore, Shakespeare caused returne to be made that William the Conquerour was before Rich. the 3."
John Manningham, Diary, 13 March 1602

Understatement
"On this planet, the reputation of Shakespeare is secure."
Louis Marder, His Exits and his Entrances

And from one heavy-hitter to another:
"What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones,
The labour of an age in piled stones?
....
Dear Son of Memory, great heir of Fame,
What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a live-long monument.
...
And so sepulchered in such pomp dost lie,
That kinds for such a tomb would wish to die."
John Milton, An Epitaph on the Admirable Dramatic Poet, W. Shakespeare

But you can't please everybody
"This enormous dunghill."
Voltaire, private letter, 1776

As paragon sonneteer
"Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
Shakespeare unlocked his heart."
William Wordsworth, Miscellaneous Sonnets

A favourite of mine
"it would...be a relief...to dig him up and throw stones at him...."
George Bernard Shaw

Would this be a good time to mention the Blackadder time travel special?

Blackadder (after knocking Shakespeare to the ground): "That is for every schoolboy and schoolgirl for the next 400 years. Have you any idea how much suffering you're going to cause? Hours spent at school desks trying to find *one* joke in A Midsummer's Night Dream, wearing stupid tights in school plays and saying things like, 'What ho, my Lord,' and, 'Oh, look, here comes Othello talking total crap as usual.' And that---" (Blackadder kicks him) "---is for Ken Branagh's endless, four-hour version of Hamlet."
Shakespeare: "Who's Ken Branagh?"
Blackadder: "I'm going to tell him you said that; I think he'll be very hurt."

For those of you who haven't seen it, Shakespeare is played by Colin Firth...

Oh, man, I haven't seen that. I must see it ASAP.

Look what wonderful care you all are taking with our thread! I've only skimmed some of the quotes and links, but I'm looking forward to going back and really digging in as soon as I get the next sonnet posted, which will be shortly. Until then ...

Sonnet 34 continues our new plotline of shame and disgrace, interestingly enough:

Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face.
For no man well of such a salve can speak
That heals the wound and cures not the disgrace.
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss.
The offender’s sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offense’s cross.
    Ah, but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
    And they are rich, and ransom all ill deeds.

Untutored Julia B.C. (before Cynara, of course) would have read this as the petulant mewling of a man who needs a large dose of sunshine to make him happy (and reinforced her impression of English weather as gray and dull in the extreme).

Tutored Julia A.C. now sees that the whole thing could be an extended metaphor for some trouble his lover has gotten him into. Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief; / Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss. What on earth did Lover do? Did he cheat on the Narrator with another? Did he do something that exposed their secret affair and brought disgrace down upon both of them? Whatever it is, it seems fairly serious.

It seems an abrupt turnaround in the final couplet toward forgiving the sin, whatever it was. In that final couplet, I'm not sure who's doing the crying. those tears are pearls which thy love sheds could mean "thy love" as in the Narrator, or "thy love" as in the Lover's love for the Narrator. What do you all think?

Lovely! I'm looking forward to digging into this tomorrow. I'm still sick, and going to bed.

Alberto and Cynara, those quotations are great! One of the best things about great writers is when they get snarky about each other — so much fun to read really skillful skewering!

Kerry, I liked that piece from the Guardian — thank heavens I only have to tackle the sonnets in English! I especially like this comment:

Shakespeare is thrust down your throat when you are young & stupid. The absolute joy of Shakespeare comes later on when you are old enough to grasp it (puns intended). This is the complexity of teaching him, teachers should really say here's a well cool dude that you won't get right now but see in a few years you really have to read him.

So true!

Liz, I have never seen Blackadder, although it has been repeatedly recommended to me by friends who know my sense of humor. Now I simply must find that episode to watch, if nothing else!

R., in my relatively ignorant eyes they seem pretty directly Will's lover's tears ('those' vs these, and 'pearl ransom' paid not by the one carrying the cross but by his sun on the other side of the stain.) Though the poem would be richer in a way if they weren't. Rather jealous/resentful/(modern) pathetic still, of 'staining base clouds', Shakespeare is. Unless the strong offense was, ah...nasty. But it doesn't seem that way. If you've ever had the pleasure of seeing or displeasure of experiencing the potentially tumultuous relations that can arise between a relatively old-ish person with a really good-looking, considerably relatively younger informal companion or object of desire, well...things can easily get a bit silly, not to say freaky, and often do. (The brain's way of processing measurably changes with changing perceived mortality time. If that perception is relative and socially influenced, then socially dependent aspects (jealousy and such) might transiently reactively trump love or affection or just plain obvious good sense. Which, in William's case, would have been terribly ironic. Something actually does come from nothing, after all.)

Question: any specific Elizabethan definition of physic (seems to imply a physical therapy that re-harmonizes a patient out of dis-humor?)

C&R The Blackadder was great fun. I, too, would recommend taking a gander at the whole series if that sort of British dry wit gets you. (I think Hugh Laurie might have even taken a brick or two from Atkinson's Adder as the former built his (Dr.) House . (ouch.)) The two of them also did a skit on Shakespeare having to accept a producer edit of an originally awful 'To be or not to be'. Pleasure to look at if you're home sick on a late April day...

Now, back to lurking.

Apologies for the delay! I keep hoping I will stop feeling like something the cat drug in.

some trouble his lover has gotten him into.
Remember that in the previous poem, the lover (or "thou," anyway) is the sun. I get the distinct feeling that, while the narrator has been somehow inconvenienced ("my storm-beaten face"), that his greater concern is the disgrace the young man has brought upon himself.

In that final couplet, I'm not sure who's doing the crying.
Neither am I; to modern eyes, anyway, there's an ambiguity there.

More later!

his greater concern is the disgrace the young man has brought upon himself.
I can see that interpretation. He's been perhaps embarrassed, but the lasting damage is for the lover?

And as long as I have this can of worms sitting on the kitchen counter, let's go ahead and open it up. How can you tell that the lover is a young man from these last few poems? I mean, I know that's the conventional wisdom so there must be some reason that's so, but if UJ (Untutored Julia) was reading these on her own, at worst she would think it was a woman and at best she would wonder which it was. I'm not discerning any distinction within the sonnets, but surely there must be some I am missing?

to modern eyes, anyway, there's an ambiguity there.
Oh, good. Glad it's not just me! It can make sense either way, I think.

Oh, and because i forgot to say it: Please don't worry about being sick! I am fine with taking a slower pace through these as life and such gets in the way. Will has made it through 400 years and shows no sign of going anywhere; I've made it through a little more than 1/10th of that and while there are days I wonder, I don't think I'm going anywhere anytime soon. :-)

physic
...I believe was a catch-all term for "remedy" or "medicine." And yeah, the theory of the humours was cutting edge at the time, so that would apply.

Also worth exploring
is some possible religious subtext, as Alberto hinted. After all, sun and son are homophones religious poets had played around with before this. Also, the words "repent" and "ransom" have made some readers' ears prick up, along with all that cross-bearing and several bible verses related to pearls. I don't think Will is drawing a serious parallel between his sufferings and the Passion, but I like the theory that he's hinting at Peter's denial of Christ.

And make me travel forth without my cloak,
I like this homely touch. There was a proverb; "Although the sun shines, leave not your cloak at home."

How can you tell that the lover is a young man from these last few poems?

One totally can't. It's conventional wisdom that the first bunch of sonnets are addressed to the same young man, but for all we know, Will was sliding them under a different door every night. I've been assuming the young man in the absence of other contenders, but that's mostly to give me a handy gendered pronoun.

for all we know, Will was sliding them under a different door every night.
LOL. Now I am picturing Shakespeare as one of the "two wild and crazy guys" on the old Saturday Night Live.

I beg your indulgence for a brief moment of appreciation of someone not related to Elizabethan poetry. Ladies and gentlemen, I propose a round of applause for the man who has (once again) saved my week, if not my life: the enemy of gangrene and lingering sinus infections: the scientific Scot with the bedroom eyes: Sir Alexander Fleming.



It is thanks to him that I will be able to resume sonneting as regularly scheduled.

"two wild and crazy guys"
I can't help but hope that Will had a better line, though. Did sonnets work on tavern wenches?

Way to go, Sir Alexander Fleming! And so glad to hear you are emerging on the brighter side after your bout with illness, Cynara.

Coincidentally, I just finished reading Destiny of the Republic, which was all about how the doctor's refusal to believe in Joseph Lister's theory of germs and antiseptic practice directly caused US President James Garfield's death from what should have been a relatively minor gunshot wound. I salute both Lister and Fleming for their contributions to modern medicine.

More sorrow and shame in Sonnet 35:

No more be grieved at that which thou hast done.
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud;
Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun,
And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.
All men make faults, and even I in this,
Authórizing thy trespass with compare,
Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,
Excusing these sins more than these sins are.
For to thy sensual fault I bring in sense—
Thy adverse party is thy advocate—
And 'gainst myself a lawful plea commence.
Such civil war is in my love and hate
    That I an áccessory needs must be
    To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

Will is ready to forgive his lover for the transgression, whatever it was. In the first quatrain, he points out that even the most beautiful things have their faults: roses have thorns, clouds can eclipse the sun, etc. He seems to be implying that since we do not let those faults in nature alter our enjoyment of those things, so he must not allow this troublesome event to sour his love for the young fella (or whoever).

In the second quatrain he seems to be saying that he too has sinned, although some of this language is a bit oblique to me, especially Authórizing thy trespass with compare, / Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss. By the third quatrain his sense of outrage is at war with his love and desire to forgive, and we can guess which side wins out by the final couplet: That I an áccessory needs must be / To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

The only other comment I'll make right now is that I would love to hear someone attempt that accented reading of authorizing in Line 6. You can put all the accent marks over the 'o' that you want, dear boy, but I still won't be able to pronounce it in the iambic pentameter you want me to use.

Here's the sense I get from the quatrains:

1) Hey, nobody's perfect.

2) And look, I'm committing a fault too, by excusing your sins. In fact, it's a worse fault,

3) because your sin was sensual, and mine is being made by my rational mind. I mean, I'm the last person who should be pleading your case, but here I am!

4) So somehow I need to excuse the actions of the guy who's doing me wrong.

As my paraphrase no doubt suggests, I'm not totally convinced by the narrator's forgiveness of the beloved. The first quatrain sounds like mercy itself, but as the poem continues his self-censure for his forgiveness and his rising pique culminate in the last, accusatory-sounding couplet. In fact, I think the last few have sounded rather passive-aggressive, with forgiveness and continued reproach freely mingled. You can make me forgive you, but you can't make me like it.

His list of failings of beautiful things is very conventional: roses/thorns, fountians/mud. The "clouds and eclipses" seem to hark back to the last two sonnets, where the beloved was called the sun.

Will's playing with juxtaposing opposites here, which is an old poetic device: sensuality/sense, love/hate, sweet/sour.

He's also using those legal metaphors again: the wronged party has somehow been made the lawyer for the defence as well as the prosecution.

And then again...
Here's another reader: "all of the sonnets are a testament to Shakespeare's sensitivity and sweetness, but none more so than Sonnet 35." No two readers step into the same sonnet.

as the poem continues his self-censure for his forgiveness and his rising pique culminate in the last, accusatory-sounding couplet.
Yes, I can see that progression as you've outlined it. And yes, there's a fair amount of passive-aggressive attitude being displayed here to me (and I am somewhat of an expert at passive-aggressive, unfortunately).

Do you think the conventionality of the list of beautiful things with failings is intended to make it seem a bit ... perfunctory? Kind of "yeah yeah, everything has its fault, whatever." Kind of like he's already decided to forgive the lover but he's not happy about it and he can't really summon too much enthusiasm to really "sell" the forgiveness.

I raise my eyebrow at the thought that all the sonnets are a "testament to Shakespeare's sensitivity and sweetness." Seems to be there's been a variety of emotions on display, and only occasionally sweetness. But as someone who wasn't named Shakespeare once said, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

I remember that when I read all the sonnets last year, this one made me feel quite uncomfortable (but there are more of those). Somehow I don't want to see Will degrading himself so much, it's a bit like reading someone's diary. Sensitivity and sweetness... not so much.

Also #34 is like "you hurt me, but because you hurt yourself hurting me I'll forgive you instead of complaining". I had to imagine a scene where the beloved person, probably being a member of a higher class, made fun of Will in company of others and later apologized. But he/she won't stop being two-faced.

So whoever the object of his love is is not treating him very well, and he looks for excuses and claims to forgive, while in reality I think he keeps on watching full of jealousy what his beloved is doing. He really is suffering.

Nathalie, that's a good observation. I know what you mean — it's almost uncomfortable to read because it feels like we are eavesdropping on someone who is being treated and treating himself very badly indeed.

Does the pity party continue in Sonnet 36? Let's see!

Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one.
So shall those blots that do with me remain
Without thy help by me be borne alone.
In our two loves there is but one respect,
Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which, though it alter not love’s sole effect,
Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love’s delight.
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailèd guilt should do thee shame;
Nor thou with public kindness honor me,
Unless thou take that honor from thy name.
    But do not so; I love thee in such sort,
    As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

Is this the Breakup Sonnet? Shakespeare seems to be saying that whatever the sin/disgrace was, it means the lovers can no longer be together, at least not publicly: we two must be twain, along with those blots to do with me remain / without thy help by me be borne alone, and in our loves a separable spite all seem to point in that direction, anyway.

The third quatrain hits hard:

I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailèd guilt should do thee shame

It almost sounds like the Narrator was the one who committed the sin, which seems in such contrast to the sonnets that we've just read that I'm sure I'm interpreting this one wrong.

Look who's talking
Nope, you're right, In fact, lines three and four have led some readers to wonder if this is from the beloved's point of view, not our accustomed narrator's!

Others have suggested that, instead, our speaker may be referring to the peripheral blots that he has picked up by association with the beloved's disgrace, but that seems like an odd thing to bring up just now.

respect
Will may not talking about Aretha's r-e-s-p-e-c-t here. Its meaning is probably closer to its Latin root, "to regard" - so again, we have eyes and gazes coming up. Instead of saying "there's not enough respect in this relationship," Will is probably emphasizing their unity.

all this business about reputation
That last quatrain is concerned with their public image. "I may not acknowledge you in public again, because my guilt {or, maybe, my public grief over guilt?} might bring shame on you. Nor may you honour me in public again, or if you do, it will harm your reputation." Again, this brings us back to the question of who's speaking. Is it the poet, talking to a patron or a nobleman? Or is it the beloved talking to the poet who does him "public kindness" through writing poems to him? Are the poems public? But if it's the poet speaking, why is he suddenly acting as if he was the one who did something disgraceful?

Anyway, he reverses this whole thing in the last couplet - "but don't do that {don't acknowledge me in public, or don't stop acknowledging me in public?} - I love you so much that, just as you are mine, your good reputation is mine too."

I think this is a rather effective poem overall; some of the lines give me that queasy feeling of impending tragedy, particularly the opening and the lines you mentioned, Rosalita. I think he loses the mood with the couplet, though.

Wow, I need to go back and read it in light of the possibility that the narrator isn't the Narrator. Interesting theory.

Sonnet 37:

As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by fortune’s dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth.
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts do crownèd sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store.
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am sufficed,
And by a part of all thy glory live.
    Look what is best, that best I wish in thee.
    This wish I have; then ten times happy me.

I don't have much to say about this one, except that I didn't like it. Maybe I'm a bit tired of the poor old me attitude, or maybe it's my allergies, but I didn't find much to make me swoon here. I can't even really pick out any lines that caught my eye. It's all of a piece to me, and not an appealing piece at that.

However, I'm sure there are contrary opinions out there, so let's hear them!

Yes, let's hear some contrary opinions! What's loveable about this poem?

I don't like it much either. It's one of my 'read once and went on' sonnets. There are ups and downs anyway, a number of great ones followed by a number of weaker ones before it goes up again.
Back last year I read that the lameness mentioned in this sonnet was much discussed. Was Will really lame = disabled in some way or does he mean it figuratively? I only read Bill Bryson's book on Shakespeare's life and don't remember any mention of bad health.

Yeah - it's just not very dramatic compared to the others, and I don't find it exceptionally beautiful. The next one makes me wonder if Will didn't know it, too.

Enough said about that one, perhaps. On to Sonnet 38:

How can my muse want subject to invent
While thou dost breathe, that pour’st into my verse
Thine own sweet argument, too excellent
For every vulgar paper to rehearse?
O give thyself the thanks, if aught in me
Worthy perusal stand against thy sight.
For who’s so dumb that cannot write to thee,
When thou thyself dost give invention light?
Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth
Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;
And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth
Eternal numbers to outlive long date.
    If my slight muse do please these curious days,
    The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

The lover is the muse, and inspires the Narrator's verse. I can't help thinking, "Would it kill you to get out of the house a bit more and find something else to write about?" Because this horse has just about breathed its last …

I'm not familiar with whatever Shakespeare means by Be thou the tenth muse, ten times more in worth / Than those old nine which rhymers invocate; the nine muses seems to be a well-known poetry convention?

Oh, it's moments like this that make me love tutoring. Here they are!


{Mythology-geek sidebar, courtesy of Wikipedia again: "it was not until Roman times that the following functions were assigned to them":

Clio - history;
Thalia - comedy and pastoral poetry
Erato - love poetry
Euterpe - flutes and lyric poetry
Polyhymnia - sacred poetry
Calliope - epic poetry
Terpsichore - dance
Urania - astronomy
Melpomene - tragedy

Some of their names are probably familiar.}

The nine muses were Greek goddesses, the daughters of Zeus (of course) and Mnemosyne, i.e. memory: think "mnemonic device." They personified "knowledge and the arts, especially literature, dance and music" (she lifted shamelessly from Wikipedia). Greek and Roman epic poetry traditionally starts with an invocation of a muse: "Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles" or "Muse, speak to me now of that resourceful man."

They are the ones who inspire (literally, "breathe in", so note line 2) the poetic spark into the poet. Sometimes poets also speak, of course, of their own inspiration as "my Muse."

So, instead of making do with those shoddy old muses that Homer and Virgil and Horace had to use, Will has the young man, who surpasses them all.

Would it kill you to get out of the house
Snort. I think I'm with you on this one.

I am not particularly inspired by this one, but I'd like to share some comments from one of my Sources:

"Set at this point in the sequence, between sonnets of separation and despair, this sonnet helps to reinvest the youth with the previous beauty and fascination which perhaps had been waning under the influence of his faults."

"It is possible that this is a side swipe at the dependency on classical forms and material which were the staple of so much English writing of the period. Shakespeare's sonnet sequence is noticeably free of classical references."

This is a particularly good point: " The Petrarchan and Elizabethan tradition of sonnet writing prefers that the beloved is a chaste and unassailable fair one, a Diana, and that the lover is a mad Leander prepared to swim the Hellespont to reach her and fling himself at her feet. Yet she remains icy and detached in virginal purity, her beauty inflaming him to still more acts of folly.

For whatever reason Shakespeare did not subscribe to this tradition. Either he wished to parody it, or he found it too constricting and insufficient to portray the emotions which battered him. There are often direct non-parodic echoes to sonnets of other writers, as here (see notes), and these echoes show how deeply Shakespeare was immersed in the literary traditions of his day, picking elements from it that suited his purposes..

Ah, the light shines at last! You're right; some of those names were familiar, especially Clio (I have a BA in history) and Terpsichore. And of course I've heard of Calliope but mostly in connection to children's carnival rides (also called merry-go-rounds in these parts) and not as a Greek goddess.

I know we haven't "decided" if Shakespeare was gay or whatever, but choosing a beautiful young man as his prime inspiration over a bevy of Greek goddesses? Yeah, let's just say it's another piece of the puzzle.

Are we still musing on muses in Sonnet 39? Let's see!

O how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring,
And what is’t but mine own when I praise thee?
Even for this, let us divided live,
And our dear love lose name of single one,
That by this separation I may give
That due to thee which thou deserv’st alone.
O absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove,
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
Which time and thoughts so sweetly dost deceive,
    And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
    By praising him here who doth hence remain.

I'm not sure I'm reading this right. Is the Narrator making an argument that he and his lover should part, so that the Narrator can more properly write poems in praise of him? That's … weird. Wouldn't you rather be with and enjoy the one you love than be separated and writing poems about him?

This must be some weird poet's thing, so eager to suffer in order to write better poetry. Or have I once again missed the point (and no surprise if so)?

1. Some people see this as a reply to No. 36, with its themes of separation and togetherness, twoness and oneness.

2. One of my sources doesn't see this as a "yay, I won't see my beloved anymore" but as more of trying to make the best of a bad situation.

3. "Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall become one flesh." Genesis 2:24 (KJV)

4. I remember reading a story about some mystic poet who wrote endless poems of his longing for his beloved. When she actually showed up at his door, he instructed his servants to send her away, because seeing her interrupted his beautiful longing and poet-writing.

1. That makes particular sense if we decide that No. 36 was written from the point of view of the beloved. In that sonnet, the beloved says we must part; in this one, the Narrator says, "yes, fine, that works out better for me, too". I could buy that.

4. LOL. That's kind of how this one reads to me. "I don't have time to actually love you, dear; I'm too busy writing sonnets about how much I love you."

The big 4-0! Let's see if Shakespeare is suffering a midlife crisis (although the 'midlife' of the sonnets would be more toward No. 77):

Take all my loves, my love; yea, take them all.
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call.
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest.
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robb'ry, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet love knows it is a greater grief
To bear love’s wrong than hate’s known injury.
    Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
    Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

Well, someone's feeling a little frisky with their wordplay! No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call., and then all those clever line endings: 'receivest', 'usest', 'deceivest', 'refusest'.

All that being said, I'm not quite sure what all the clever bits are saying, exactly. Although the last two lines before the final couplet seem fairly clear: And yet love knows it is a greater grief / To bear love’s wrong than hate’s known injury. Betrayal of whatever kind always stings more when it comes from a loved one than a stranger.

That use of 'grace' in the final couplet — have analyzers pointed to that as a hidden clue that Shakespeare's lover was a member of the nobility? I'm thinking back to an earlier sonnet when you mentioned the use of the word 'lord' was similarly speculated upon.

Hold on to your hat, Rosa, because there's an exciting second layer, here.

Now, I'm kind of cheating, because I'm applying information from the next two sonnets, too. However, I think an Elizabethan would have known or at least guessed the implications.

This is a tough one to paraphrase, because one particular word can be read with several meanings; however, I'm going to take a stab at it.

Take all my love(r)s, my love; hell, take them all.
What have you gained that you didn't have before?
No love(r), my love, that you can call (a) true love(r). (or , no mistress that you could call my "true love")
All my love was (or lovers, or posessions were) yours before you took this love(r) as well.
Then if you're taking my love(r) because you're in love with me,
I can't blame you, for you're using (i.e. having sex with) my mistress. (Heck, we find out it's a woman really soon, OK?)
But yet, you should blame yourself if you're lying to yourself
And you're doing it because you want to have sex with her, in spite of your better self.
I forgive the robbery, gentle thief,
Although you steal the few things that are mine;
And yet Love knows it is a greater grief
To bear a wrong from a lover than from an open enemy.
Lascivious graciousness (in whom all ill will shows),
Kill me with malignant actions; yet we must not be foes.

Yeah. I bet Will was surprised, too.

Some notes on vocabulary, mostly blatantly plagiarised from my sources:

Love "the sonnet plays on the various meanings of love.
a.) mistress (lines1, 5 ,6).
b.) the youth (lines 1, 3).
c.) the experience of loving, love per se, as in lines 3, 11,
d.) the specific love of the speaker for the youth (line 5).
All these meanings overlap to a certain extent. The primary meaning of (line 1 is) 'Take all my mistresses, yes all of them', but it can also mean 'Deprive me of any love you have ever had for me'."

Receivest "has rather nasty undertones, as in receiving stolen goods, or receiving sexual favours."

Wilful taste, "sexual experience, wanton use and enjoyment."

Grace: yes, bang-on; proponents of the "fair youth was a nobleman" faction definitely think it's a reference to the rank.

Also: "The feminine ending of these four lines (5-8) is also frequently commented on. They give a sense of awkwardness and unease, as if both poet and lover know that the latter is in the wrong, but are not prepared to say so openly."

The double meaning
Me, I can see this as a simple poetic grandiose gesture of "yes, take everything I love, take all my former relationships!" until the second quatrain, where I just don't make sense of it as meaning just "take my love for you." Why would the poet be unhappy that his beloved is "using" and "receiving" his love, unless it's code for, well, you know, his other love. Not his "true" love, of course, but still, his girlfriend and not yours.

I really like that last quatrain and the couplet. There's that grandness, paradoxically mixed with an intimacy of voice and emotion, that I love so much in Shakespeare. There's a real ache to "yet we must not be foes."

Hang on, I want to comment but first I have to chase down my hat! ;-)

Wow! That's amazing subtext (at least, it's subtext to me even if Will's contemporaries might have thought it fairly obvious). It all reads completely differently in that context. Like you, I especially like the third quatrain and final couplet.

OK, so let me see if I'm following this correctly. We have this guy, the Narrator, and he's written a bunch of love poems to another guy, the Fair Youth, with whom he seems to have a passionate relationship (doesn't have to be sex, but it's more than being on the same bowling team). Now we find out these two guys who share a passionate and possibly sexual relationship are scrapping over the same woman (the Dark Lady?), and possibly sharing her sexual favors, though they are not necessarily happy about the sharing part.

Do I have that about right?

Yeah, about that. Whether or not we accept that *all* of these sonnets are written to the same young man, it definitely seems likely that at least some of them were written to one guy, who we may as well call the Fair Youth. "Doesn't have to be sex, but it's more than being on the same bowling team" sums it up very well.

I don't know if this mistress is the Dark Lady, but the narrator seems to be clear that she was his, first.

What a sad situation. Those sonnets let me see Will in a light that's far from glorious. Imagine there he is with all his submissive and probably platonic admiration to the Fair Youth. Then he has the mistress (whom he doesn't love) for his "physical needs" (the wife being far away and forgotten in Stratford). And then the FY has nothing else to do than hooking up with the mistress of all people. He doesn't sound like a nice person to me. And instead of being angry, Will tries to be all understanding. Behaving like a doormat won't help his case much...

The paintings I've seen of Will are all not too flattering. Maybe he was really very unattractive? Or maybe he was one of those people who (sorry!) were just "asking for it"? Don't find a better expression. A great writer and a celebrity, but someone who was too often just used by others?

It's a strange poem in many ways, isn't it? I mean, it's reaching very hard for "maybe you just slept with my mistress because it's a way of getting closer to me" but without much conviction. Was he a doormat? Is it just a persona he's adopting for the poem?

It's true that Will doesn't seem to have been terribly handsome - by their standards or ours. But he was an actor - surely he had some charisma?

Sometimes it's easy to overlook that, aside from all the presumed portraits (if I recall none are confirmed, the first folio and Stratford ones being done post,) Shakespeare was an experienced stage actor, as Cynara notes, so very expressive, with a quick, sharp wit, a ranging sense of humor, a thin -in his youth - body, he still would have had his hair, and very smart and secular. Plus who knows about the timbre of his voice, though one can presume from references that it, too, was sweet. Moreover it seems clear that he was, (as is very often the case in all creative fields,) an intrinsic, physiologically depressive personality not relatively uncontained by social mores. Ie, in a casual or limited setting, with a cup a sack or a liter of wine, he was most likely a fascinating, sexy dude. The portraits came after he'd had a good amount of success, and maybe a bit too many indulgences at table. (And just in case you're thinking it: C., sure, one could easily construct - and not wrongly, I think - an argument regarding the odd, indirectly narcissistic aspect in these sonnets if you use that perspective.)

Fascinating. There is way more storytelling going on with these sonnets than I realized.

I'm really enjoying the discussion of No. 40, and the viewpoint expressed by Nathalie and others that Will (or the Narrator, since we don't know for sure these are autobiographical) sure comes off as a bit of a doormat, or at least unable to fully express his righteous anger toward the Fair Youth for his infidelity without seeming to apologize.

Although, not to get off on a tangent, but why isn't he just as ticked off at the mistress? Perhaps because his relationship with her was already presumed to be purely sexual, whereas he thought what he shared with the Fair Youth was more than that? Makes sense to me.

Excellent discussion of No. 40, folks! Lots of interesting stuff to chew on. I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to the next chapter in our little cliffhanger romance. Onward!

Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits
When I am sometime absent from thy heart,
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits,
For still temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won;
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed;
And when a woman woos, what woman’s son
Will sourly leave her till he have prevailed?
Ay me, but yet thou might’st my seat forbear,
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth,
Who lead thee in their riot even there
Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth:
    Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
    Thine by thy beauty being false to me.

Our Narrator seems to still be making excuses for the Fair Youth's betrayal, doesn't he? (And what a relief to me that this one is a bit less oblique about exactly what's got his goat, so to speak. Or maybe it only seems less oblique because Cynara has shone her eternal lamp of knowledge upon the subject!)

I thought Line 2 was suggestive: When I am sometime absent from thy heart — not necessarily absent physically, as a traveling actor might be, but absent from his lover's heart, as if they've quarreled or had a falling out. Maybe I'm reading too much into it.

And oh! those poor helpless darling men, powerless in the grip of a woman's evil passion! When a woman woos, what woman's son / will sourly leave her till he have prevailed? Of course we can't expect him to say, "I'm sorry but you are my dearest friend's mistress and I don't feel it proper to 'get busy' with you, milady." 'Cause after all he's just a man, as Tammy Wynette once sang. I said earlier I thought Will would have made a crackerjack country songwriter.

why isn't he just as ticked off at the mistress
Good suggestions. I'll also throw in, because she's female, and therefore isn't morally responsible for her actions, being weak-minded, etc. Shakespeare wrote some great female parts, but I wouldn't call him a feminist.

I love your discussion of #41. I'd also point out (as is my wont, sorry) the crude sexual suggestion of "though might'st my seat forbear."

I hear that Will will have words for the mistress later (much later). OK, we don't know they refer to the same occasion, but they'd fit.

How do we read these sonnets? "Christlike" is one suggestion I've read, but "doormat" is Deern's, and I see her point. This one is unusual, as I've read, for ending on a note of dissatisfaction and reproach. Most of the others somehow manage to work around to forgiveness or love.

I dunno. Maybe I just have too many passive-aggressive people in my life these days, but they definitely give off more of a "poor me" doormat vibe to me. The other thing is that this one in particular seems to have just a whiff of anger about it, which may negate the 'Christlike' suggestion. As you say, in this one he doesn't get around to being all forgiving at the end; he may say he understands that the affair was inevitable given the youth's beauty and the woman's wantonness, but he's still pretty ticked off.

He writes great speeches of love for idealized women in his plays, but in the sonnets (= real life?) he's less friendly. What he expects from them he said in #20(?), "A woman's face with Nature's own hand painted", where womens' eyes are bright but false in rolling and their false hearts are acquainted to shifting change. The FY looks like a woman but should be morally better than them (which he isn't). Maybe the woman he then referred to was just the same mistress who has cheated on him before.

So passive-aggressive yes, maybe understandably so. I guess in his place I'd just be aggressive. Seems like a bad phase in his life.

>Rosa

I have been reading that passive-aggressive mood, too. Oddly, I think I'd have a very different reaction if I read these separately, divorced from the apparent continuity of the sequence. I think I'd be much more likely to believe the narrator's protestations of love and forgiveness in *one* sonnet.

>Nathalie

I don't know how seriously to take all that "less false in rolling" eyes business. It's so conventional in poetry that it's possible Will included it as a way of setting off the youth's perfection rather than because he meant it. On the other hand, I don't fall into the trap of thinking of him as a 21st century feminist just because he was a good writer. I'm curious to read the later sonnets with this in mind.

It should generally be remembered that the sexless, up-on-a-pedestal Victorian woman we're all familiar with was a very late invention and for centuries women were considered more highly sexed than men and not very scrupulous about how they went about getting their itch scratched. This went hand-in-hand with a view of women as less intellectually developed than men and more animalistic; amoral rather than immoral.

So yeah, he wouldn't be ticked off at the mistress because she just couldn't help herself.

Excellent point, Liz.

How much of the attitude of the times was "real", Liz, and how much was just a handy excuse for men to behave abominably? Whenever I read some of that "oh devil woman" stuff I can't help my own eyes from doing a little rolling of their own.

More 'woe is me' from our favorite cuckold in Sonnet 42 (honest question: can you be a cuckold if you are not actually married to the woman in question?)

That thou hast her it is not all my grief,
And yet it may be said I loved her dearly;
That she hath thee is of my wailing chief,
A loss in love that touches me more nearly.
Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye:
Thou dost love her because thou knowst I love her;
And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,
Suff'ring my friend for my sake to approve her.
If I lose thee, my loss is my love’s gain,
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss;
Both find each other, and I lose both twain,
And both for my sake lay on me this cross.
    But here’s the joy; my friend and I are one;
    Sweet flatt'ry! Then she loves but me alone.

This is one twisted mister. "Yeah, I loved her but the real pain is not her betrayal but yours. Even though I think you only slept with her because she was my mistress, and she only slept with you because you were my friend. Let's face it, without me you two are nothing!"

Lovely bits of wordplay in this one, all that love and loss. It's fun to read aloud.

My Aunt Clara had a saying for whenever one of us kids was getting a little melodramatic (usually because we were being forced to eat custard or something equally vile at dinner): "Climb down off the cross, Missy!" Hmmm, don't know why that particular anecdote occurred to me at this moment ...

>>#129 Well, let's just say it was the prevailing attitude of the time - how much people actually "believe" social conventions that work in their favour is always up for debate. The vast majority of women at the time were illiterate so it's not like most of them had a chance to put forward an alternative view.

Certainly some eye-rolling is justified. The bit that always makes me clench my teeth in late 17th century writing is the one about, "Oh, those dreadful women, giving poor men venereal disease!" Where the women get it from in the first place always from remains mysteriously unexplicated...

Edited to add: There's a bit in Aphra Behn's Love Letters Between A Nobleman and His Sister where the male protagonists are - figuratively speaking, but only just - kissing and making up after fighting a duel (A slept with B's sister, B slept with A's mistress), and B finally exclaims:

"But oh—no more of that; a friend is above a sister, or a mistress."

I think that pretty much sums it up.

There's a touch of ambivalence in that "and yet it may be said...." Yeah, I kinda love her, but not the way I love you.

I like this commentary:

"This is the last in the trilogy of sonnets devoted to the youth's betrayal of the poet by stealing his mistress. It was traditional that the sonneteer should find excuses for the beloved's behaviour. Her purity (for it was usually a woman) and innaccesibility were part of a higher ideal and she could not bend herself to earthly love. The poet therefore had to justify her aloofness and her cold chastity.

Here the poet has to justify infidelity, a far more difficult task, and set against the background that the beloved should be irreproachable, the traditions of sonnet writing are wittily parodied."

It goes on to say that, for all the deft wordplay, the resolution sounds hollow.

Oh, I rather like the idea that this series of sonnets is parodying the traditions of sonnet writing with all its self-flagellation. I need to go back and read them with that thought in mind; I suspect I'll be able to tolerate them a bit better. And, agreed on the hollowness of the resolution when all's said and done, as both you and I and Nathalie and Liz have commented. We are so smart!

By the way, eastern Iowa is in the midst of one extremely nasty severe thunderstorm, so I may lose my Internet connection at any moment. So if I seem to disappear suddenly, don't be alarmed! I'll be back eventually. :)

"If I lose thee, my loss is my love’s gain,
And losing her, my friend hath found that loss;"

Interesting that the woman is "my love" and the youth is "my friend" here. Of course, there were probably friends and friends in 1600, too.

Maybe he was just trying to keep them straight! If only he'd known they would acquire handy nicknames over the centuries ...

Loosen up your poetry muscles, because this one's a riot. On to Sonnet 43:

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And, darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright—
How would thy shadow’s form form happy show
To the clear day with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so?
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessèd made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay?
    All days are nights to see till I see thee,
    And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

We've read sonnets to date that have had some clever wordplay, with Shakespeare playing fast and loose with words with double or triple meanings and usable in a variety of parts of speech. But this one does appear to take the cake. Observe:

And, darkly bright, are bright in dark directed. / Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright — / How would thy shadow's form form happy show

Whew!

So, as I read it aloud between giggles and gasps of admiration, the Narrator seems to be saying that he doesn't mind being separated from his love during the day, because he spends all his sleeping hours in sweet dreams where lover plays a starring role. I'm guessing that "when most I wink" in the first line refers to sleeping?

I'm not sure who this is directed to. Cynara, are we still with the Fair Youth here? I recall you saying above that the last sonnet was the final one in the "you done me wrong" series.

Cynara, are we still with the Fair Youth here?
I think guessing the subject here is a mug's game. Maybe? It's a bit like 27, where "my soul's imaginary sight/ Presents thy shadow to my sightless view" every night. He's playing with the same imagery again - day and night, sight and sightlessness, and the shining image of the beloved. So... maybe he wanted another crack at those same themes? Maybe we have a real narrative order here, and he's stopped talking about the infidelity & is wooing the fair youth again? Maybe it worked so well on him that Will is trying it on his mistress?

Bright or dark are also traditional descriptions of the beloved's eyes in Petrarchan poetry. It's also suggested that it reflects the double state of mind of the poet after the painful incidents of the previous three sonnets.

For all the day they view things unrespected;
This bit make it sounds to me like the narrator is walking around not really looking at anything all day (unrespected in the sense of "unseen" as well as unprized - remember how a couple of sonnets ago Will said that in their one love there was but one "respect," one viewpoint?). Perhaps they're separated?

I think guessing the subject here is a mug's game
I'm actually really glad to hear you say that, because often I read these over and think, "I know the 'conventional wisdom' is X, but how do they know that?' I think I'll relax a bit about trying to figure it all out, although I will always enjoy reading the bits of research you bring about what all those experts think!

unrespected
I was reading it as 'things I don't care about, which fits with the 'unprized' angle.

I do think they are physically separated here, unlike in No. 41, when he refers to being 'absent from thy heart' which implies more of an emotional separation.

But here’s the joy; my friend and I are one;
Sweet flatt'ry! Then she loves but me alone.

Has anyone but me thought, "OMG! He's been talking about himself all the time! He's in love with HIMSELF. He's telling HIMSELF that he needs to have a son, etc."

Only for a passing moment. But it WAS funny.

LOL. That makes as much sense as some ideas, Morphy. The twisted logic combined with the twisted wordplay in this one really messed with my brain!

Sonnet 44 coming right up:

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,
Injurious distance should not stop my way;
For then, despite of space, I would be brought
From limits far remote where thou dost stay.
No matter then although my foot did stand
Upon the farthest earth removed from thee,
For nimble thought can jump both sea and land
As soon as think the place where he would be.
But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought
To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,
But that so much of earth and water wrought,
I must attend time’s leisure with my moan,
    Receiving naughts by elements so slow
    But heavy tears, badges of either’s woe.

Yep, they are physically separated, all right, just as we speculated after reading No. 43. The Narrator laments that if only he could physically travel wherever his thoughts roam, he could be by his love's side in an instant. Their quarrel seems to be forgotten (or hasn't happened yet, since we don't know the order the sonnets were written in).

I like the seventh line quite a bit: For nimble thought can jump both sea and land. Overall, I think this sonnet really conjures up the feeling of loneliness one feels when separated from loved ones. In that sense, it's pretty timeless in spite of the thees and thous and arts and doses.

Elementary question of the day: What are naughts? As in Receiving naughts by elements so slow in the final couplet.

Whoops, sorry, should have told you - I went out for a late showing of The Avengers. I'll be on tomorrow, late am or early afternoon.

That's what I love about this group - from Shakespeare to The Avengers and back again, without batting an eyelid.

>144 lyzard: Hey, people may be watching Joss Whedon movies in 400 years; you never know.

The firs thing I noticed about number 44 - after the universality of that "what if I could think of my boyfriend really hard and just teleport to him" fantasy - was all the enjambed lines. If you check back, Shakespeare usually end-stops, but here the sentences leap past the end of the iambic pentameter like - well, like Will's nimble thought jumping both sea and land.

Also, notice the wonderful alliteration in "To leap large lengths of miles" - all those "l"s make your tongue leap as you read the poem.

Both my Sources draw attention to the elements in this poem - earth and water; things to be leapt over, if the narrator's own earthy body and watery tears didn't hold him back.

Naughts means "nothing" here.

Thanks for pointing out all the enjambment. Very observant!

What does Sonnet 45 have to tell us?

The other two, slight air and purging fire,
Are both with thee, wherever I abide;
The first my thought, the other my desire,
These present absent with swift motion slide.
For when these quicker elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee,
My life, being made of four, with two alone
Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy;
Until life’s composition be recured
By those swift messengers returned from thee,
Who ev'n but now come back again, assured
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me.
    This told, I joy, but then no longer glad,
    I send them back again and straight grow sad.

At first I thought this was a misprint, and there were some lines at the beginning that had been left off. But no, Shakespeare's just starting seemingly in the middle of a thought, as indicated by the other two. So what's he mean? My best guess is that he's referring to the four classical elements of nature: earth, water, air, and fire. Now it makes sense; this is a continuation of Sonnet 44, where he talks all about earth and water.

We see the same pattern of enjambment here that Cynara pointed out in No. 44. Is it perhaps a signal of strong emotion that the lines bleed one into the other rather than lining up neatly?

If we're choosing sides for a "missing you" sonnet-off, I choose No. 44 over this one.

this is a continuation of Sonnet 44
Ding ding! Yes, quite right.

The elements
It was an article of faith that the human body required the proper balance of elements to function properly. It was believed that we contain four humours, four fluids that influenced health, illnesses, and even personality: the choleric, melancholic, sanguine, and phlegmatic. Food was supposed to influence the balance, promoting a choleric tendency, etc.

So, you see, when he sends air and fire to check on his beloved, his constitution "Sinks down to death, oppressed with melancholy;/Until life’s composition be recured." Melancholy was thought to be caused by an excess of "black bile," associated with the earth. An excess of phlegm (water) was thought to make you calm and unemotional (i.e. "phlegmatic"), which wouldn't have served Will's poetic purpose nearly as well.

Enjambment
Well, as to what effect it has on the poem - read it and see what you think. It's often associated with movement, spilling over, transgression (potentially), a long and flowing line, excess, that kind of thing.

Thanks for the refresher on the elements. I knew what they were, but I'd kind of lost track of what they meant exactly (and I got distracted by my contemplations of the '70s band Earth, Wind and Fire, but that's another story).

To me, the enjambment lends an air of anxiety to the sonnets, a sense that the writer is in a rush to record all that he is thinking and feeling, perhaps feelings too strong to submit to the more thoughtful writing that would allow for stops on lines. But that's just a wild supposition.

Sonnet 46 is on tap tonight:

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
How to divide the conquest of thy sight;
Mine eye my heart thy picture’s sight would bar;
My heart mine eye the freedom of that right.
My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie,
A closet never pierced with crystal eyes;
But the defendant doth that plea deny,
And says in him thy fair appearance lies.
To 'cide this title is empanellèd
A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart,
And by their verdict is determinèd
The clear eye’s moiety and the dear heart’s part:
    As thus—mine eye’s due is thy outward part,
    And my heart’s right, thy inward love of heart.

This one's cute (random question: can Shakespare be considered 'cute'?) with all the mine eye my heart / my heart mine eye playfulness, but he kinda lost me near the end. Let's break it down:

OK, the first part is clear enough, I think: He can't decide whether his eyes should get credit for his love's beauty, or his heart for holding his love inside. I don't think he ever decides the quarrel, but who can tell with a final quatrain like this?

To 'cide this title is empanellèd — Clearly 'cide means 'decide, but I'm unclear on empanellèd
…
The clear eye’s moiety and the dear heart’s part: — I have (until now) prided myself on my extensive vocabulary and I have never seen the word moiety in my life.

Cute?
No, I think you're right. God knows it's a little coy, and that's just next door to cute.

I notice that we're back to legal imagery, with heart and mind both pleading their cases, as lawyers - and, of course, more talk about eyes. Will's carving himself up into parts again - heart vs eyes, air and fire vs water and earth, the two parts that plead the fair youth's case or argue the prosecution's side, and there may be more. It just occurred to me how many of the non-procreation sonnets dramatize some internal conflict in the narrator. The extended metaphors (aka 'conceits') are very Donne-ish.

"To decide this case is called up
a jury of thoughts, all tenants of my heart,
And by their verdict is determined
The clear eye's (lesser) portion and the dear heart's part:
As thus - my eye's due is your beautiful appearance,
And my heart's right, your inward love."

Moiety
"A portion; small part, lesser portion."
Heh. I remember coming across this one for the first time in Jane Eyre.

In other news
My mom has read the beginning of the first thread, and now she knows what "onanism" is*. Great. My educational scope is broader than I'd thought. Hi, mom.

*In yet other news, Dorothy Parker was said to have named her parakeet "Onan" because, and I quote, "he spilled his seed upon the ground."

I just found the word 'moiety' on the 2nd page of Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope and thanks to you didn't need to look it up!

Hearts and eyes again? Sonnet 47:

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,
And each doth good turns now unto the other.
When that mine eye is famished for a look,
Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,
With my love’s picture then my eye doth feast
And to the painted banquet bids my heart.
Another time mine eye is my heart’s guest,
And in his thoughts of love doth share a part.
So either by thy picture or my love,
Thyself away are present still with me;
For thou no farther than my thoughts canst move,
And I am still with them, and they with thee;
    Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight
    Awakes my heart to heart’s and eye’s delight.

Aw. I like this one quite a bit; it's rather charming how the Narrator's eyes and his heart take turns soothing each other with pictures and deep feelings, respectively.

I especially like the third quatrain:

So either by thy picture or my love,
Thyself away are present still with me;
For thou no farther than my thoughts canst move,
And I am still with them, and they with thee;

Isn't that adorable?

I note that this sonnet has very little enjambment — only two lines don't have a definite stop at the end. What I don't know is whether I like it more because it isn't enjambed (perhaps my brain balks at the irregular rhythms of frequent enjambment?) or whether it's just a coincidence.

So who do we think is the one who is 'away'? Is the lover off somewhere else, or is Will the one who has left home? I've been assuming that Will was the wandering one (look at all that alliteration; our Narrator would be proud), perhaps traveling around England with an acting troupe? But I don't really know, and I don't know if anyone knows. And the corollary question: Does it change the poems' meaning or tone for you depending on who is away and who is at home?

This one is lovely! Contrary to the trend I remarked on earlier, of the narrator being divided against himself, here's a lovely image of union, sympathy, and mutual assistance. If only Will and his beloved worked together as smoothly and affectionately.

I think the enjambment contributes to the sense of order and harmony; the heart and eye are complementing each other perfectly, and everything's in its proper place.

I think it gives the sonnets a different tone if Will is riding around England, loving them and leaving them, or if he's stuck in London while the beloved is doing the same. :-)

I'm glad you like this one, too!

I think the enjambment contributes to the sense of order and harmony
That was kind of what I thought, but I wasn't sure if it was just an illusion or not.

if Will is riding around England, loving them and leaving them
Aw, that wasn't what I meant! I was picturing him being called away from his beloved for work, not acting like a drunken sailor on shore leave in every town he washes up in. :D

Whoops, I meant end-stopped lines, not enjambment.

I suppose I really meant to imply by "loving them and leaving them" that he wasn't being tied to London by his crush - that he was going on with his life, even if it meant separation.

D'oh! And I knew that you meant end-stopped lines, and responded accordingly. Great minds think (and mistype) alike! :)

And your explanation of "love 'em and leave 'em" sounds much better than what I was picturing. Not only is he going on with his life despite separation, some of the sonnets almost seem to welcome the separation in a sort of "hurts so good" sort of way. As if the pain of separation is a welcome sign of the depth of his love? Perhaps I'm overthinking again.

Attention: the words 'eyes' and 'heart' do not appear in the following sonnet. Thank you. And now to Sonnet 48:

How careful was I, when I took my way,
Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,
That to my use it might unusèd stay
From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust.
But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,
Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,
Thou best of dearest, and mine only care,
Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.
Thee have I not locked up in any chest,
Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,
Within the gentle closure of my breast,
From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part;
    And even thence thou wilt be stol'n, I fear,
    For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.

Poor Will! He can lock up every valuable thing he owns, except the one possession that matters most: his lover's fidelity.

Another clue to the Fair Youth's identity as a noble? But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are hints that loverboy is wealthy, at the least.

One thing I'm left wondering: Is our Narrator simply expressing the normal anxiety and jealousy of a lover absent from his loved one? Or does he have another reason to rue his affection for a prize so dear?

If we're taking this as a series, then it sounds like Will is the one travelling - "when I took my way."

We don't have eyes and hearts, but we have his chest as a container for the beloved's picture again....

But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are
I'm tempted by an alternate reading here: thou, (in comparison) to whom my jewels are only trifles.... Remember Mrs. Bennett? "Charlotte Lucas's match is nothing to yours, Jane."

I really like this one! "Within the gentle closure of my breast".

Just wanted to let you know that I won't be posting the next sonnet tonight. I came home early from work this afternoon with the beginnings of a migraine, and it's not letting up so it's off to lie down in a very dark quiet room for a spell. Sorry for the disruption; we should be back to full speed tomorrow.

Ooooh, I know the feeling. You slug that sucker with some water and stay away from screens.

I feel ever so much better today, and fully able to tackle the rather gloomy Sonnet 49:

Against that time (if ever that time come)
When I shall see thee frown on my defects;
Whenas thy love hath cast his utmost sum,
Called to that audit by advised respects;
Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass,
And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye;
When love, converted from the thing it was,
Shall reasons find of settled gravity;
Against that time do I ensconce me here
Within the knowledge of mine own desert,
And this my hand against myself uprear
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part:
    To leave poor me, thou hast the strength of laws,
    Since why to love I can allege no cause.

What is it about being in love that causes our thoughts to turn, seemingly against our will (ha! no pun intended), to a future when the one we love most will have tired of us? Perhaps that doesn't happen to any of you; I wouldn't admit it myself except that I seem to be in awfully good company, as this sonnet shows.

The Narrator, still in love and still set aglow by the mere glance from his love, is already dreading a time when his lover grows tired of his company and departs. It's really rather sad, isn't it?

The language in this one is interesting to me. It's very stiff, formal, legal even — hath cast his utmost sum, and called to that audit, and to guard the lawful reasons on thy part, and thou has the strength of laws. It's anything but giddy, which is perhaps appropriate given the subject matter.

And am I reading it right that even here in a hypothetical situation, he is making excuses for his lover, just as he did back when the lover pinched his mistress? Is he saying that when the day comes when his lover casts him aside, he will put up no fight because he doesn't understand why the lover loves him in the first place?

Is he saying that when the day comes when his lover casts him aside, he will put up no fight because he doesn't understand why the lover loves him in the first place?

That sounds right to me, though it's an open question if he's submitting meekly here.

Metaphors
As you point out, Will's gone back to money and legal metaphors: the casting he's talking about is probably the same as "cast up the household accounts," i.e. balancing one's chequebook. Some readers also hear an echo of "casting pearls before swine," suggesting that the narrator or his lover is unworthy.

Here we have the eye of the beloved as the sun, like the king's eye which revives courtiers or leaves them in darkness.

Numerology
My Sources are also at pains to point out that 49 was a portentious number for the Elizabethans - seven times seven, which was both magical (the seventh son of a seventh son) and ill-omened ("forty nine being the first of the most perilous years in the human lifespan.) It all depends on whether or not you think Shakespeare a) ordered the sonnets and b) did so meaning to link the meaning of the poems with the understood meanings of the numbers.

advised respects = "considerations of one's position in society."

Yet, at the same time, the narrator knows "mine own desert" - does he mean that he knows he's worthy, or unworthy of the youth's love? Either way, he's saying that he's "ensconcing" himself within this knowledge, that it is a defence or fortification (literally) for him.

What do you make of that uprearing hand? It can be taken several ways.

Is there a little hint of complaint in that "thou hast the strength of laws"? Suggesting maybe the letter but not the spirit of the law?

Certainly this poem has a very dispirited closing. The narrator: dispirited, or passive-aggressive?

An idea
Would you care to pause for some retrospection at this point, or in a few sonnets? It's an arbitrary point (though the next few sonnets may be linked), but we haven't looked back since #17.

R: pleasure to hear Will's wording subtly willing your unwilled words. (Every so often, with me anyway, after reading/seeing 3 or 4 plays in a row the rhythm and language use burrows in and begins to express itself till you find yourself adopting it a bit, even ad-libbing.) A similar thing might have been happenening and influenced Will's varying tonality in the sonnets, depending on just when each group was written and what he was working on/happening att he time. (Ie, in so many, at least 27, 28, 31, 33 and 43 many echoes, even directly, of Romeo & J., Hamlet's final in 32, ecc.) Thoughts of love's future ending in the height of love are pretty common (you're most likley too young to recall a killer pop tune sung a bizillion years ago by Toni Braxton, something like 'breath again'.) But the distance, coolness, unavoidable law perspective a bit less so, unless you include age/experience/other social obstacles. (Autmun leaves. Saudade. It never entered my mind. Fado.) That is: context.
Which is why I would take issue with C's 'dispirited or passive-aggressive'. Neither nor, really. Law, rules, social position, real time...come from extrinsic 'I' stuff. Love, timelessness, acceptance of dichotomy, recognition of anomaly...more tied to intrinsic 'I' stuff. Self-imposed guilt, feeling of worthlessness, come from the former inhibiting the expression of the later. Ironically though, in this sonnet the uprearing hand is doing the opposite: using context to inhibit law and protect love as love. (his lover will leave only when love has been 'converted' from itself.

The uprearing hand (and the rest of that quatrain) is a mystery to me; I can't quite puzzle out what it means.

Against that time do I ensconce me here
Within the knowledge of mine own desert, — against the time that love 'converts' into something else, I hunker down ... where? 'the knowledge of mine own desert' could mean either that he knows he didn't deserve the guy in the first place, or the opposite, as Cynara pointed out. I cannot narrow it down at all.

And this my hand against myself uprear
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part — My hand holds up my knowledge against myself to protect the reasons my lover has for leaving me. This would indicate that it is the 'desert' is his acknowledgment of his own unworthiness, maybe?

I'm not smart enough to comment sensibly on Alberto's discussion of extrinsic and intrinsic 'I' stuff. I will assure him, however, that I am plenty old enough to remember Toni Braxton!

You can raise your hand in anger, to throw a punch or stab someone - or you can raise it to take an oath. I'm sure there are other possibilities out there, too....

Yeah, Alberto, one of these days you're going to have to explain your "intrinsic/extrinsic I" approach!

I was picturing the upreared hand as more of a "halt! stay away!" sort of thing. In other words, I was taking the word 'guard' at face value, which is probably a mistake I should have learned not to make by now!

No, I think it could definitely work that way, too! I didn't see that when I read it.

Cynara, somehow I missed your question about pausing to look back until just now. That sounds like a good idea. Would you like to kick it off?

OK, if you like!

I feel like we've come a long way since #17 finished the sequence of procreation sonnets. The narrator has been front and centre, and like most sonnets of this period, we find out a lot more about him than the remote beloved, who is often offscreen influencing the mood of the poet. He's infinitely loving, at least on the surface, and willing to excuse and explain away any slight or injury. He's often separated from the beloved, or at least the separations are the cause of several sonnets.

Many of the sonnets seem designed to charm a person who is already in some sort of close relationship with the narrator, instead of wooing a distant beauty, or at least that's the feeling I get.

The least conventional sonnets (based on my admittedly sketchy knowledge of 16th century poetry) are the ones where he deals with some injury the beloved has done him, and the ones about the infidelity. I think its their unconventionality that makes me think they're the most likely to be based on a real event from Shakespeare's life, but who knows.

I have been trying to keep an open mind about the narrator=Will? question and about whether or not this is a carefully designed sequence of poems or just a grab bag, but I'm finding it very difficult. It's just so easy to equate the poet with the speaker, and it's pure human nature to look for patterns. I don't think there's any question about some of the sonnets that seem to form pairs or triplets dealing with a similar issue, or which are almost a seamless continuation.

I'll think of some favourites, too, and come back with them later. Speak up, everyone!

Many of the sonnets seem designed to charm a person who is already in some sort of close relationship with the narrator, instead of wooing a distant beauty
Yes, I very much agree with this! The procreation sequence could at times seem almost like a literary exercise, where Shakespeare was challenged to see how many different ways he could state the same theme. These last ones seem more personal somehow, which leads into this …

I have been trying to keep an open mind about the narrator=Will? question and about whether or not this is a carefully designed sequence of poems or just a grab bag, but I'm finding it very difficult.
Yes! When I write my little reaction posts, I've tried to be very conscious of writing The Narrator but it's still hard not to just think of the first-person voice as Will Shakespeare.

Also, as you point out, regardless of whether the sonnets as a whole were meant to be published in this order, there certainly seem to be subsets that are clearly some sort of multi-part conversation, right down to a sonnet seeming to start almost in mid-sentence off the end of the one previous. Nos. 27 and 28 are like this, and also Nos. 44 and 45.

As for favorites, I quite liked No. 29 (When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes) and of course the most famous of all, perhaps, No. 18 (Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?)

Which ones caught the eyes and hearts of our lurkers? Come out, come out, wherever you are! :)

This is most assuredly not Sonnet 50, but I couldn't resist when I saw it on Twitter despite its missing a quatrain:

The Hokey Pokey, Shakespearean style

O proud left foot, that ventures quick within
Then soon upon a backward journey lithe.
Anon, once more the gesture, then begin:
Command sinistral pedestal to writhe.
Commence thou then the fervid Hokey-Poke.
A mad gyration, hips in wanton swirl.
To spin! A wilde release from heaven's yoke.
Blessed dervish! Surely canst go, girl.
The Hoke, the poke — banish now thy doubt
Verily, I say, 'tis what it's all about.

Oh, now, that's just ridiculous. :-)

Hmm. When I look back on the sonnets to find favourites I find a few I like all the way through. No. 29, "When in disgrace..." is superb.
I find that 30 wears well: "When to the sessions of sweet silent thought/I summon up remembrance of things past/..../But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,/All losses are restor'd and sorrows end."
I can take or leave most of 29, but the couplet give me chills: "So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
/So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."

I had fun discovering a few that reminded me of Donne, i.e. 24, "My eye hath play'd the painter and hath stelled..." which does get a bit tangled up with eyes, breasts, suns, paintings, etc. but is also good fun. I like the conceit of 34 - the lover setting off on a ride without a cloak, but being drenched when his lover turns out to be inconstant. Number 19 also feels Donne-ish: "Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws".

Some of them I love for the first line, or the last couplet: "Let me confess that we two must be twain" or "That thou hast her it is not all my grief,/ And yet it may be said I loved her dearly." "As an unperfect actor on the stage,
/Who with his fear is put beside his part,/Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,/Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart". "Save that my soul's imaginary sight/Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
/Which, like a jewel (hung in ghastly night,
/Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new."

I like the wordplay in No. 20 " A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
/Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion".

I only just now noticed the first lines of 46 and 47: "Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war" followed by "Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took."

Well, it looks like I've managed to scare away all our lurkers with my unrelenting goofiness! Either that, or they are all so awestruck by your amazing tutoring that they cannot summon the strength to post.

Either way, I'll be back soonish with Sonnet 50. :)

Look! It's the Big Five-0:

How heavy do I journey on the way
When what I seek (my weary travel’s end)
Doth teach that ease and that repose to say,
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider loved not speed, being made from thee.
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
    For that same groan doth put this in my mind:
    My grief lies onward and my joy behind.

We've had a lot of firsts in these first 50 sonnets. I think this is the first instance of animal abuse appearing in a sonnet. Poor weary horse, forced to bear a heartbroken poet on a journey away from his beloved.

Our Narrator is setting off on a trip, a trip away from his lover, and to say he's not looking forward to it is a severe understatement. "Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend." — Is there anything to be read into this reference to a friend rather than a lover?

And that poor horse! Having to bear the weight of a man in love (not that Shakespeare could have been that hefty based on portraits, so I assume the weight here is metaphorical), and occasionally be spurred on for no good reason. At least the horse as the guilt-trip groaning down to a science. Perhaps even in Protestant-ruled England our Will has somehow found a Catholic-trained horse?

Still the last line is nice: My grief lies onward and my joy behind. So nice I'm not even going to comment on the possible double entendre.

they are all so awestruck by
Yeah, I bet that's the reason. I don't think you're goofy, I just think everyone else is outside enjoying the spring.

first instance of animal abuse
It's one of those quirks of history that, as modern readers, we find our attention drawn from the heartfelt sentiments of the longing lover and towards the horse-stabbing.

Is there anything to be read into this reference to a friend rather than a lover?
He's done it before, but it's still anyone's guess. If you remember, he did tell us way back that the young man would have sex with women, but the narrator would be his love - so at least up front, there is not supposed to be any trouser interest between the two men. However.

So nice I'm not even going to comment
Wicked, Rosa, wicked.

Also, notice the contrasts Will's playing with here - heavy, ease, repose, plods, dully, weight, wretch - and speed, spur, provoke, anger, thrusts - contrasts of weight and inertia and furious action.

Oh, on the subject of religion - Will's parents may have been closet Catholics, though the evidence isn't complete.

It's one of those quirks of history that, as modern readers, we find our attention drawn from the heartfelt sentiments of the longing lover and towards the horse-stabbing.
Yes, I can imagine poor Will must be spinning in his grave. "The horse?! I pour out my heart and my deepest emotions, and she's worried about the damn horse?!"

at least up front, there is not supposed to be any trouser interest between the two men.
I don't really have anything to add here (except I agree). I just like the phrase "trouser interest".

Wicked, Rosa, wicked.
:-D

notice the contrasts Will's playing with here
That is a nice catch. It does seem to be one of his favorite poetic "tricks", to play with contrasting words and meanings.

Will's parents may have been closet Catholics
Ah, so the horse might have belonged to them! ;-)

No, I'm still lurking and learning, but there doesn't seem to have been as much to say about these last few.

Long appreciative moan on R's double entendre. If it had been put up a day before I would have stolen and used it on a couple (trouser-invested) over for dinner. But now for the next few sonnets any mention of behind, joy, and even horses for that matter might be...distracting.
Sonnet No 50: anyone else couldn't help but immediately compare the tonality and last line with 'miles to go before I sleep?'.
R: you can't see me but my tongue is sticking out, thumbs in ears, fingers up and twiddling, in protest to 165. So there.
C: On John's, and presumably Will's early, closet catholicism, that's my take as well, and it makes sense, I think.

Your tutorial: Don't want my opinion to become hackneyed but it really is an informative blast following along. Any tangential stuff would be merely more distracting than...horses.

A lurker popping in to applaud. Enjoyable and educational - what's not to like?

Another fan of the phrase "trouser interest".

Sorry I'm running a bit late tonight. Let's get right to Sonnet 51:

Thus can my love excuse the slow offense
Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed:
From where thou art, why should I haste me thence?
Till I return, of posting is no need.
O what excuse will my poor beast then find,
When swift extremity can seem but slow?
Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind;
In wingèd speed no motion shall I know:
Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;
Therefore desire, of perfect’st love being made,
Shall neigh no dull flesh in his fiery race,
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade:
    Since from thee going he went wilful slow,
    Towards thee I’ll run, and give him leave to go.

Another bookend sonnet, finishing the thoughts from No. 50. In that one, our Narrator was lamenting his journey away from his love, not minding the slowness of his steed. Here, though, as he anticipates returning home, he knows he will not be able to tolerate such a slow pace which keeps him from his amour.

Vocabulary question: In Line 4, is the word 'posting' used in the equestrian sense? My friend Mr. Google tells me that a 'posting trot' is a bit faster than jogging.

I read this one aloud several times. It reads pretty smoothly, except that try as I would I could never get perfect'st to come out as two syllables.

These last two have sweet sentiments but seem somewhat (oh, please forgive the pun) pedestrian in tone. I don't feel the depth of emotion that other sonnets have seemed to fairly quiver with. What do you think?

I'm running a bit late tonight
Hey, you and me both. I just saw a movie.
Okay, I just saw the Avengers. Again.

Posting
Post-horses were horses kept at inns (sometimes for gov't business) so that travellers could swap mounts when their current rented horse was tired. That's how the pony express worked in the U.S., back in the 19th century.

sweet sentiments but seem somewhat (oh, please forgive the pun) pedestrian in tone
Well, I suppose you could argue there's some intensity in the promise to bestride the wingèd steed of his own desire on his way home, but actually I find that a little amusing - a contrast to his dull plodder of a horse. Then, with the couplet, I'm picturing Will, fed up with his horse, jogging back to London.

However you take it, it's a break from the drama and pathos of recent sonnets. I like the little bit of daily life.

Boy, was I off on the whole 'posting' thing. Now that you've explained it, I do remember that about the Pony Express. And it makes much more sense in the context of the sonnet.

The wingèd steed was a bit over the top for me. And you're right, it is nice to read a couple of sonnets that aren't so fraught with intensity.

Almost Wildean, this next one.

Oh, that's such a tease, Cynara! However, I will be posting today's sonnet extremely early today, because I am hoping to attend a reading by Geraldine Brooks this evening in Iowa City. So I won't be in suspense for long!

And here we are at Sonnet 52:

So am I as the rich whose blessèd key
Can bring him to his sweet up-lockèd treasure,
The which he will not every hour survey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.
Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,
Since seldom coming in the long year set,
Like stones of worth they thinly placèd are,
Or captain jewels in the carcanet.
So is the time that keeps you as my chest,
Or as the wardrobe which the robe doth hide,
To make some special instant special blest
By new unfolding his imprisoned pride.
    Blessèd are you whose worthiness gives scope,
    Being had, to triumph; being lacked, to hope.

OK, I think I know what my problem is. I think reading these sonnets back-to-back-to-back has caused me to lose some perspective on them. Today's sonnet is a good example.

My first reaction upon reading it was "Ho hum. It's not terrible, but it's not very interesting." But that's because I am comparing it some of the blockbuster sonnets we have read so far, the really top-of-the-line, cream-of-the-crop ones that make jaws drop and hearts pound. Plus, it's another variation on a theme — I miss my baby — that we've been exploring for quite a while now. Reading them all in a row tends to make them blur together and cause none of them to stand out.

So, I tried to re-approach it with fresh eyes, as much as possible. And doing so, I find that I really rather like it. I like the imagery of the Lover being like a jewel locked away in a box, which the Narrator doesn't want to look at too often because its beauty will lose the ability to thrill him.

Vocabulary question: What's a carcanet?

Does anyone else feel like reading the sonnets in this order — where like is so unrelentingly paired with like — is causing them to lose their appreciation for individual poems? Or am I the only one who can't make the separation and judge each on its own merits?

Apologies for the delay!

Reading the sonnets all in a row like this had a number of effects on how I appreciate them. It means I catch the connections from one sonnet to the next; it means I'm getting a very deep sense of the author's voice and how he uses the tools of poetry. I'm immersed in this particular approach to the sonnet - what he wants to say and how he says it. On the other hand, I've often felt that I'm also taking individual sonnets "for granted." For one thing, I'm just not as impressed by the Elizabethan poetic language as I might otherwise be. It's just how Will talks, now. Perhaps that's allowing me to judge the poems more as a contemporary reader might?

I do think I'm getting less of a thrill from each individually, than I would if I just happened across it on the subway or in an anthology. However, I'm willing to trade that thrill off, this time, for the deeper understanding I'm getting. I know that next time I come across these poems I will feel that thrill, plus a thrill of recognition, and a happiness in my richer understanding of the sonnet.

Anyway, on to No. 52.

carcanet
A piece of jewellery - a necklace, collar, hair adornment, etc. This is the kind of vocab. that can be picked up from context, as a "carcanet" is more or less a "long thing with jewels on it that one wears for adornment."

This epicurean approach to love isn't something I would have expected of our narrator so far. It doesn't feel like a cri de coeur or the rationalizations or earthy metaphors we've been hearing. It's detached, elegant, but there's a distinctly erotic tone (all those references to "treasure" and "having"). I like it, especially as a contrast.

This is the kind of vocab. that can be picked up from context
Sorry for being obtuse. I wasn't getting it from the context, but I should have just Googled it.

Argh! No that was not a rebuke! One can't always tell what the implications are, and it's nice to get it spelled out in the thread so other people can see it, too. Feel free to ask!

On to Sonnet 53:

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since everyone hath every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you.
On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new.
Speak of the spring and foison of the year;
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear,
And you in every blessèd shape we know.
    In all external grace you have some part,
    But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

We're back to comparing the beloved with the beauties of nature, and nature, no surprise, falls short once again. No one can paint Adonis or Helen of Troy and do anything except create poor imitations of the beloved.

Lots of shadows and shades in this one. The references to Adonis and Helen of Troy are new; this may be the first time Shakespeare has made reference to someone else's artistic creations?

Merriam-Webster tells me that 'foison' is an archaic term for 'rich harvest'. Its first known use was the 14th century, so it wasn't at all archaic to Will, I'm guessing.

Hi, Rosa! My access to my computer is going to be limited over the next few days, and I can't do more than a quick note right now (guests arriving for my computer room/guest bedroom/den). I will catch up with No. 53 ASAP, probably tomorrow.

What is your substance, whereof are you made,/That millions of strange shadows on you tend?...
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit/Is poorly imitated after you.
All very neo-Platonic, as most commentators are at some pains to point out.

There have been classical allusions before (back in 7, where we have the chariot of the sun standing in for the course of a man's life), but I don't think we've had clear name-dropping before, except for that reference to the muses, which hardly counts because it was such common poetic currency. Note: we're definitely addressing a youth here, again.

I like the seasonal references here - the youth is the best of the spring and the fall.

"It is however slightly perturbing that the youth who has strayed and treated the poet badly, even to the extent of stealing his mistress, should here be endowed with a quality which he does not seem to possess."
Snort.

On to Sonnet 54:

O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odor which doth in it live.
The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumèd tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly,
When summer’s breath their maskèd buds discloses;
But for their virtue only is their show,
They live unwooed, and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odors made;
    And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth;
    When that shall vade, my verse distills your truth.

I'm not sure the body of this sonnet holds together with the final couplet, but quite possibly I'm just reading it wrong. I read the first bits as saying that roses are considered more beautiful than "canker-blooms" (which Ms. Google tells me are wild roses) because they have the added attraction of a pleasant scent.

The final quatrain seems to say that the scentless wild roses die unheralded, while cultivated roses gain even more beauty because their scent increases as they die. (Note to any gardeners lurking about: Is this true? Do roses smell stronger as the blooms die?)

The final couplet makes the turn and extends the metaphor to the Narrator's beloved, only here the "scent" that makes dying roses more beautiful is the immortality that the Narrator's poetic tribute gives. It's that part that seems a bit out of place to me. I didn't quite make the leap with that one.

An interesting note: I was sure that my edition had a misprint in the final line with 'vade' but that turns out to be a real word, though now obsolete, much like foison in the last sonnet.

The "sweetest odors made" and "distill" suggest perfume creation. It reminds me of Nos. 5 & 6: "Then were not summer's distillation left,/ A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass."

So, dog-roses die alone, but true roses aren't left "alone" because we make perfumes (or, suggestively, "essences") out of them when they're done blooming. Just like that, my dear youth, my poems will preserve your perfume/essence/truth for all time.

I think the poem suggests pretty clearly that the roses's virtue (in the sense of a property, like a medicinal virtue, a thing it's good for) parallels the youth's virtue in a more moral sense. However, I feel a touch of ambivalence in the couplet - is that a contrast between the beauty and loveliness of the young man and his real "truth," or is it all fuzzy compliments?

I was out celebrating Victoria Day last night - fireworks on the beach! Hence the delay.

Ah, the perfume tie-in does help it make more sense to me. I missed that on my first read-through.

Now that you've pointed it out, I do see the final couplet as contrasting the youth's beauty and loveliness with his truth. Almost as if the Narrator is saying that only he (and by extension his verse) sees beneath the beautiful outside to what the youth is really like? And if that's the proper reading, it could raise the question of whether he means it in a complimentary sense ('as nice as he is pretty') or not ('if people only knew what you were really like')?

I'm not sure the poet intended that ambiguity, but I definitely feel it when I read the poem.

I think one problem with trying to decide if he meant it to be ambiguous is that we've seen him swing both ways (er, so to speak) — unreservedly gushing about a seemingly perfect lover and lamenting his lover's inconstancy. Which Will will we believe?

Does Sonnet 55 holds any clues to that final couplet in No. 54? Let's see:

Not marble nor the gilded monuments
Of princes shall outlive this pow'rful rhyme,
But you shall shine more bright in these conténts
Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword, nor war’s quick fire, shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
    So till the judgment that yourself arise,
    You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.

We wondered about the true meaning of the final couplet in No. 54 — was it meant as unqualified praise or something a little more nuanced? Does this sonnet answer the question? There's no question the Narrator is again boasting of the immortality of his verse, and how it will outlive not just his beloved's beauty and natural life but indeed 'gilded monuments of princes' will fall before his words of praise and love are forgotten. And 400 years later, it appears to be less boast and more fact, doesn't it?

We often talk about evocative imagery in these sonnets, and I can't fail to mention unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time. That's a strikingly earthy phrase! Overall, I got a stern, almost martial tone from this one. It's very emphatic and sure and not at all lovey-dovey, at least until the final line.

The other thing I noticed here was that there is a lot of enjambment going on. In the past we've seen it indicate intensity of emotion; do we think it serves a similar purpose here, or is it something more?

Ah, here we are with Horace's "monument more lasting than bronze" again. I like these.

Okay, this is one of the awesome, famous ones. First, it's good. Second, the swagger is awesome. Third, it's actually been borne out by events. I studied this one in school, and while I do tend to prefer the ones I already know, I think it's wonderful.

Sluttish, as some people may not know, mostly meant "like a bad housekeeper." Time is sluttish because she lets dust pile up and doesn't sweep.

Enjambment
First one - "Not marble nor the gilded monuments
Of princes shall outlive this pow'rful rhyme,"
Here, I think it emulates the 'outliving' Will is promising. While the "gilded monuments" are on line one, the "pow'rful rhyme" lives on until the end of line two.

"But you shall shine more bright in these conténts
Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time."
I don't have a particular cause for this one - just the grand sweep of it seems to act out the feeling of the poem. The same goes for the next one, about Mars and war not defeating the beloved's memory.

These ones, though:
"'Gainst death and all oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom."

The first one mirrors the "pacing forth" - the line is stepping forward into the next line without interruption, too. Then, we find the next line overrunning its bounds, 'finding room.' The last sentence flows on like the passage of time, from 1601 to Judgement Day. I think the low syllables in the twelfth line, "this world out to the," increases the sense of featureless time wearing on.

I didn't realize this was one of the famous ones! I do like the sound of it — 'swagger' is an excellent word for it. It's a good one to declaim loudly to an audience of none.

To anyone still lurking about out there, I wanted to let you know that I've asked Cynara if we could take a break for a while, as real life unpleasantness is overwhelming my ability to appreciate the sonnets right now. I hope we can start back up in late June.

So sorry to hear about unpleasantness in real life at present - we lurkers will of course be delighted to hop back on this thread when things are better for you and you are ready to continue.

A little hiatus will sharpen our critical faculties, I think.

I, of course, am going to use the extra time to lie around in a deck chair sipping Alsatian wines and eating bon-bons. I will waddle back to my computer late in late June to check in. I will naturally continue to update my 75ers thread with thoughts on whatever Asperger's memoir or sword-toting urban fantasy novel I'm reading this week.

May whatever unpleasantness soon underwhelm and then fade quickly to oblivion.

Ditto - I hope things improve soon for you, Rosalita.

Good one to take a break on - I do like this #55.

I am grateful for a break. Hope things worked themselves out for you soon.

Tra la, tra la! See you in July!

Tra li, tra li, await with a sigh.

It appears that we will return to our regularly scheduled programming on Thursday, July 5. Mark your calendars! I am very excited to return to Will's world, and I thank everyone and especially Cynara for your patience as I worked through my issues.

In the meantime, happy Canada Day to Cynara and our Canadian lurkers, and Happy Independence Day next week to our US lurkers. And if you are lurking in a different country and celebrating a holiday soon, happy day to you, too!

Thursday! Cool.

Whoops, I forgot that I had a Friends of the Library board meeting tonight. Lots of good discussion, planning our annual volunteer appreciation picnic, which will be later this month. I sincerely hope it is a little bit cooler by then, or we might all end up as little puddles in the park!

To commemorate our fresh start, I think we'll move to a new thread. Come along with me ...

Oh, and I forgot to say that Cynara and I have talked about some loose parameters for our resumption. Namely, that new sonnets will only be posted on weekdays, and that there is no assumption that there will be a new sonnet every day, or that a response will be posted the same evening as the sonnet (we never intended it to be that way, but kind of just fell into it, and I think it put a little too much pressure on both of us).

>26 Cynara:

Thanks for what you brought out, esp. "Happy plight," which hadn't yet struck me, but I do want to add that I really like the bit of alliteration in the couplet: "day doth daily draw..." It jumped out to me in a nice way.

> 31
I remember reading an apparently contemporary comment about Shakespeare: that he always was versifying to the point that one would be annoyed by it. But don't remember the source.