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Featured Poem
This month's featured poem is "The Sunne Rising" by John Donne.
Donne has been done no favours by earlier critics who concentrated mostly upon aspects of his personal life, and looked to find fault in the poetry to back up their opinions of Donne as some sort of evil pervert!
Donne did have a very interesting life, to be certain. Born in 1572, he saw some service as a young man with the Earl of Essex, but thankfully survived this association. Donne does nothing to hide the strength of his passions in his poetry, and he certainly seems to have let love - or lust - overcome his more rational judgement on several occasions. In December 1601 he contracted a secret marriage with Anne More, for which her father, Sir George More later had him imprisoned in the Fleet prison. To little avail, for the marriage was officially ratified in April 1602.
Donne was a man of his age, and men of the time, who had sufficient means, were not as a rule faithful to their wives. Donne was no different from many of his contemporaries. What makes him so different, and so interesting to us, is that he took holy orders, at the age of 43, in 1615. In his poetry the intense physical desire is still there, but changed, reflecting the desire of the soul for union with God. His later poems are full of dark , even gloomy imagery- reflecting a troubled, even doubting soul.Donne was very succesful as a priest, eventually becoming the Dean of St. Paul's , in which position he died, in 1633. Interestingly, a sculpture of Donne in his death shroud is one of the few survivors of the great Fire of 1666, and can still be seen in the Cathedral today.
"The Sunne Rising"is one of Donne's earlier poems, written at some time between 1593, and 1602. It is unashamedly sexual, an address from Donne to the sun, expressing his frustration that the sun has risen , thus ending his night of passion with his lady. It moves beautifully from Donne's exasperation with the dawn ending his night with the lady - his wife, or one of his "profane mistresses" , to his estimation of his lady's worth "She is all states . . . " and the beautiful image "compared to this . . . All wealth alchimie"
note on the text - I have used modern spellings to avoid confusion
The Sun Rising
Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late schoolboys, and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices,
Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
Thy beams, so reverend and strong
Why shouldst thou think?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long:
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and tomorrow late, tell me
Whether both the'Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear: "All here in one bed lay."
She'is all states, and all princes I,
22 Nothing else is.
Princes do but play us; compar'd to this,
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, sun, art half as happy'as we,
In that the world's contracted thus;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world,that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;
This bed thy centre is, these walls, thy sphere.
John Donne 1572- 1631
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