Classward bound on candy night

It’s Halloween, and it’s the first day of my evening class.  6–10 p.m. Thursdays for the rest of the semester. 

But before that, here’s sonnet 48:

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XLVIII

  How careful was I when I took my way,

  Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,

  That to my use it might unused 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 lock'd 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.

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Okay, the save at the beginning of line 10 is a minor volta, and the even in line 13 is the main volta.  More tomorrow—

Half dead :(

In previous semesters, Wednesdays have been mini weekends for me.  This semester, Wednesday somehow managed to become worse that MTThF  :(  We’ll see what happens in Spring.  But here’s sonnet 47, which I’m reading on this Wednesday:

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XLVII

  Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,

  And each doth good turns now unto the other:

  When that mine eye is famish'd 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,

  Thy self away, art present still with me;

  For thou not 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.

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Hmm.  I’ll call two voltas in this one  :)  The so at the beginning of the third quatrain is one, and the or at the beginning of the closing couplet is the other.

But seriously:  The week’s only half over, and is turning out to be a lot worse than I had feared  :(  Another sonnet tomorrow—

The part about the eye and the heart

Darkest week of the semester  L  Sonnet 46:

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XLVI

  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 pierc'd with crystal eyes--

  But the defendant doth that plea deny,

  And says in him thy fair appearance lies.

  To side this title is impannelled

  A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart;

  And by their verdict is determined

  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.

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The volta’s the thus in the penultimate line.  The matter between the eye and the heart is to be continued in the next sonnet (tomorrow)—

Back to school -__-

Monday -____-  But here’s sonnet 45:

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XLV

  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, oppress'd with melancholy;

  Until life's composition be recur'd

  By those swift messengers return'd from thee,

  Who even but now come back again, assur'd,

  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.

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The volta is the but in line 13.  So another sonnet tomorrow.

End of break :(

After this one, I’m back to one sonnet a day, because classes start again tomorrow.  Sonnet 44:

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XLIV

  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 remov'd 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 nought by elements so slow

    But heavy tears, badges of either's woe.

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The volta’s the but, ah! at the beginning of the third quatrain.

Sunday edition

Sunday morning.  Sonnet 43:

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XLIII

  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 blessed 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.

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The volta would be the till in line 13.  Beautiful with the repetition, the hyperbole, the non-falsifiable in lines 5–12, the paradox, even the oxymoron darkly bright in line 4 setting the stage for the hyperbole and the non-falsifiable  J  Another sonnet in the afternoon.

Shakespeare explores paradox again :)

Okay, Sonnet 42, second instalment for the day  J

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XLII

  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 know'st I love her;

  And for my sake even so doth she abuse me,

  Suffering 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 flattery! then she loves but me alone.

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The possibilities of paradox in the hands of a master!!  J  The volta’s the but at the beginning of the closing couplet.  More tomorrow morning—

Yes it's morning

Weekend morning again  -__-  Sonnet 41:

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XLI

  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 assail'd;

  And when a woman woos, what woman's son

  Will sourly leave her till he have prevail'd?

  Ay me! but yet thou mightst 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.

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I think my perception of what’s beautiful in a poem and what’s not varies wildly from day to day.  That said, on this day I find this poem to be a thing of amazing beauty  J  Especially the parallel construction of the closing couplet!  I know how difficult it is to write in parallel without sounding trite and/or banal, and it’s a moment of epiphany to see it done right  J  The but yet in line 9 is a typical turn marker, but, just because of how striking the closing couplet is, I’m more attracted to the colon and dash at the end of line 12, maybe even to the plain old comma at the end of line 13.  Also:  I know the clock tocks between 3 and 4 in the afternoon as I write this, but this is morning by my biological clock  J  so yes, I’ll post one more sonnet this afternoon/evening  J

End of break :(

Sonnet 40:

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XL

  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 blam'd, if thou thy self deceivest

  By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.

  I do forgive thy robbery, 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.

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The volta’s the yet in the last line. More tomorrow morning—

While it lasts :)

Here’s a sobering thought:  At this time on Monday, I’ll be up to my eyeballs in classes again.  But at this time today, I’m reading sonnet 39  J

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XXXIX

  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 doth deceive,

    And that thou teachest how to make one twain,

    By praising him here who doth hence remain.

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Mood rollercoaster:  vocative, interrogative x 3, indicative, vocative, subjunctive—the power of non-falsifiable speech  J—and that and that closing couplet!  I’m inclined to call the comma at the end of line 13 the volta (line 13’s a riddle, and line 14 is its resolution) (another candidate would be the not in line 10).  Another sonnet this afternoon/evening/night.

The one about the tenth Muse :)

Late edition:  Sonnet 38

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XXXVIII

  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 thy self the thanks, if aught in me

  Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;

  For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,

  When thou thy self 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.

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Exquisite understated poem  J  and a late parachute again:  The but in the last line.  More tomorrow morning—

More Math

#37 in the morning:

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XXXVII

  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 crowned sit,

  I make my love engrafted, to this store:

  So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd,

  Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give

  That I in thy abundance am suffic'd,

  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!

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Math again  -____-  I’ll say the look at the beginning of the closing couplet is the volta.  More after 4— 

Imperatives! :)

This afternoon’s sonnet:  #36

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XXXVI

  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 bewailed guilt should do thee shame,

  Nor thou with public kindness honour me,

  Unless thou take that honour from thy name:

    But do not so, I love thee in such sort,

    As thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

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It starts with the let me, which turns indicatives into nominally imperative sentences.  Although and though are riddle and paradox markers, and that’s what the first two quatrains are doing, and the yet at the beginning of line 8 marks not a turn, but rather complements the though of the preceding line.  The third quatrain states a problem (in the narrow sense).  The volta is the but at the beginning of the closing couplet, and the closing couplet’s again really an indicative, but turned into an imperative by means of the do not so.  I’ll read the next sonnet tomorrow morning.  

Half empty :(

Half the break is already over  L  Sonnet 35:

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XXXV

  No more be griev'd 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,

  Authorizing thy trespass with compare,

  Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss,

  Excusing thy sins more than thy 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 accessary needs must be,

    To that sweet thief which sourly robs from me.

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Having spent most of yesterday reading about kireji in Japanese haiku  J  I’m looking for a punctuation mark as the volta again, and the Doppelpunkt at the end of line 11 catches my eye, marking, as it does, the boundary between the riddle and its resolution.  More in the afternoon— 

The clouds are base again ...

This afternoon’s sonnet:  #34.

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XXXIV

  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 bravery 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 offence's cross.

    Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,

    And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.

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… and the sonnet’s beautiful again, but I’m in the middle of reading something else, so I’ll just note the volta:  It’s the Ah! but at the beginning of the closing couplet (and this one is very obvious).  Another sonnet tomorrow morning—

#33

The amazing sonnet 33  J  It is pure coincidence that I’m reading this on a cloudy morning:

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XXXIII

  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 forlorn world his visage hide,

  Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:

  Even so my sun one early morn did shine,

  With all triumphant splendour on my brow;

  But out! alack! he was but one hour mine,

  The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.

    Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;

    Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.

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The volta is obvious:  The yet at the beginning of the closing couplet.  Will post the next sonnet this afternoon (no matter how dark the afternoon is)—

The comma as a volta :)

Sonnet 32 on this sunless afternoon:

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XXXII

  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 deceased lover,

  Compare them with the bett'ring of the time,

  And though they be outstripp'd 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'.

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Hmm.  The real turn is in the last four words of the sonnet, so I’m leaning towards calling the comma in the last line the volta here  J  Although Shakespeare tips his hand (about that turn) in line 7 already, except that, in line 7, the two contrasting parts are in reverse order:  There, the for my love comes first, and the for their rhyme comes second (again, a chiasmus across half the poem).

Of course, it’s also possible to read the but at the beginning of the closing couplet (or even the O! at the beginning of the third quatrain) as the volta, but neither of those is nearly as interesting as reading a comma as a volta  J  More tomorrow morning!

Monday morning sonnet fix :)

Okay, sonnet 31:

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XXXI

  Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,

  Which I by lacking have supposed dead;

  And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts,

  And all those friends which I thought buried.

  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 remov'd 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 lov'd, I view in thee,

    And thou--all they--hast all the all of me.

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Finally!—The solution to the ancient problem about how to transform a different topos into a love poem, illustrated with its application to the Mais où sont les neiges d'antan or The light of other days theme  J  As for the volta:  The now in line 12.  Another sonnet in the afternoon—

Sonnet at night :)

The drive took longer than I’d thought, but I’m back in one piece  J  Sonnet thirty:

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XXX

  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 cancell'd woe,

  And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:

  Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,

  And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er

  The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,

  Which I new pay as if not paid before.

    But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

    All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.

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Okay, so the volta is the but at the beginning of the closing couplet.  Again!  J

More tomorrow.  In the morning  J

Sonnet 29

Sunday morning sonnet  J

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XXIX

  When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes

  I all alone beweep my outcast state,

  And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

  And look upon myself, and curse my fate,

  Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

  Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,

  Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,

  With what I most enjoy contented least;

  Yet in these thoughts my self 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 remember'd such wealth brings

    That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

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The yet at the beginning of the third quatrain marks an about face, the and then in the next line marks its confirmation, and the for at the beginning of the closing couplet marks its explanation, and the that then at the beginning of the last line consolidates the explanation.

There will be an evening sonnet  J  when I return from Ann Arbor after dropping off my daughter.

Volta project, evening edition :)

Sonnet 28:

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XXVIII

  How can I then return in happy plight,

  That am debarre'd the benefit of rest?

  When day's oppression is not eas'd by night,

  But day by night and night by day oppress'd,

  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-complexion'd 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.

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Volta:  The but at the beginning of the closing couplet.

Continued tomorrow—