Volta project, second half, day one :)

So the break is almost over  L  Sonnet 78:

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LXXVIII

  So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse,

  And found such fair assistance in my verse

  As every alien pen hath got my use

  And under thee their poesy disperse.

  Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing

  And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,

  Have added feathers to the learned's wing

  And given grace a double majesty.

  Yet be most proud of that which I compile,

  Whose influence is thine, and born of thee:

  In others' works thou dost but mend the style,

  And arts with thy sweet graces graced be;

    But thou art all my art, and dost advance

    As high as learning, my rude ignorance.

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Volta-wise, this one’s pretty straightforward:  The yet at the beginning of the third quatrain and the but at the beginning of the closing couplet.  Helpfully marked with standard volta markers  J  More tomorrow—

Half done!

This is the halfway point  J  There are 154 sonnets in all, and this one is number 77:

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LXXVII

  Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear,

  Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste;

  These vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear,

  And of this book, this learning mayst thou taste.

  The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show

  Of mouthed graves will give thee memory;

  Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know

  Time's thievish progress to eternity.

  Look! what thy memory cannot contain,

  Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find

  Those children nursed, deliver'd from thy brain,

  To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.

    These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,

    Shall profit thee and much enrich thy book.

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Okay, a volta at the Look! at the beginning of the third quatrain, and then a turn in three stages, through commit and shalt  in line 10 and shall  at the beginning of the last line.The so oft as thou wilt look in the penultimate line connects back beautifully to the glass and the dial.

As the sun :)

Blogging before leaving for dinner with my daughter  J

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LXXVI

  Why is my verse so barren of new pride,

  So far from variation or quick change?

  Why with the time do I not glance aside

  To new-found methods, and to compounds strange?

  Why write I still all one, ever the same,

  And keep invention in a noted weed,

  That every word doth almost tell my name,

  Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?

  O! know sweet love I always write of you,

  And you and love are still my argument;

  So all my best is dressing old words new,

  Spending again what is already spent:

    For as the sun is daily new and old,

    So is my love still telling what is told.

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Three voltas in this one:  The O! at the beginning of the third quatrain, the so at the beginning of line 11, and the for at the beginning of the closing couplet.  The power of the final metaphor!  J  Happy Thanksgiving—

Volta project, part 75

Blogging before I drive to Ann Arbor to get my daughter  J  _______________________________________

LXXV

  So are you to my thoughts as food to life,

  Or as sweet-season'd showers are to the ground;

  And for the peace of you I hold such strife

  As 'twixt a miser and his wealth is found.

  Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon

  Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;

  Now counting best to be with you alone,

  Then better'd that the world may see my pleasure:

  Sometime all full with feasting on your sight,

  And by and by clean starved for a look;

  Possessing or pursuing no delight,

  Save what is had, or must from you be took.

    Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,

    Or gluttoning on all, or all away.

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As food to life—and I’m reading this on the day before Thanksgiving  J  The pairs of opposites that run through the poem—peace/strife in line 3, line 5/line6, line 7/line 8, line 9/line 10—each serves as a turn by virtue of the opposition in it.  The closing couplet, with the final pair of opposites in its two lines, makes the or at the beginning of the last line the main volta of the sonnet.

Tuesday (feels like Friday)

It’s full-fledged winter already (nasty roads and everything), even though it’s not even Thanksgiving yet  L  But here’s sonnet 74:

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LXXIV

  But be contented: when that fell arrest

  Without all bail shall carry me away,

  My life hath in this line some interest,

  Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.

  When thou reviewest this, thou dost review

  The very part was consecrate to thee:

  The earth can have but earth, which is his due;

  My spirit is thine, the better part of me:

  So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,

  The prey of worms, my body being dead;

  The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,

  Too base of thee to be remembered.

    The worth of that is that which it contains,

    And that is this, and this with thee remains.

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Starts with a standard turn marker but!!  J  And the volta is the and ath the beginning of the last line, which is late enough to justify starting the poem with the but.

That time of year

A very famous sonnet on this very dark day  J

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LXXIII

  That time of year thou mayst in me behold

  When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

  Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

  Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

  In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

  As after sunset fadeth in the west;

  Which by and by black night doth take away,

  Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

  In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,

  That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

  As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,

  Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

    This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

    To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

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I won’t write ad nauseam (but only because too many people have already done that).  I’ll just repeat this much:  In this one, Shakespeare’s standard three-metaphor structure for sonnets is “zooming in” in three steps, moving from a time of year in the first quatrain to a time of day in the second to a fire in the third, and that’s the extra part (on top of the perfection of form, of course).  The volta is the more in line 13.

Snow already

Snow at quarter to December.  Sonnet 72:

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LXXII

  O! lest the world should task you to recite

  What merit lived in me, that you should love

  After my death,--dear love, forget me quite,

  For you in me can nothing worthy prove;

  Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,

  To do more for me than mine own desert,

  And hang more praise upon deceased I

  Than niggard truth would willingly impart:

  O! lest your true love may seem false in this

  That you for love speak well of me untrue,

  My name be buried where my body is,

  And live no more to shame nor me nor you.

    For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,

    And so should you, to love things nothing worth.

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The for at the beginning of line 4 can count as a turn.  The unless at the beginning of line 5 is definitely a turn, but is reversed by the turn O! lest at the beginning of line 9.  The for at the beginning of the closing couplet, as well as the and at the beginning of the last line, are the other turns I’m seeing here.

Compounded with clay

Done with classes for the week (it’s after five on Saturday).  Sonnet 71:

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LXXI

  No longer mourn for me when I am dead

  Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell

  Give warning to the world that I am fled

  From this vile world with vilest worms to dwell:

  Nay, if you read this line, remember not

  The hand that writ it, for I love you so,

  That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,

  If thinking on me then should make you woe.

  O! if,--I say you look upon this verse,

  When I perhaps compounded am with clay,

  Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;

  But let your love even with my life decay;

    Lest the wise world should look into your moan,

    And mock you with me after I am gone.

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Reminds me of at least a dozen later (and lesser) poems in at least four languages, and I’m wondering which (if any) of those poems were consciously inspired by this one  J  The volta’s the lest at the beginning with the closing couplet, explaining the striking sequence of imperatives in the first twelve lines.  

Short weekend

Finally, Friday  J  So what if it isn’t a real weekend, but a directed study weekend?  At least I don’t have a class until 1:30 p.m. tomorrow!  Here’s sonnet 70:

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LXX

  That thou art blam'd shall not be thy defect,

  For slander's mark was ever yet the fair;

  The ornament of beauty is suspect,

  A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air.

  So thou be good, slander doth but approve

  Thy worth the greater being woo'd of time;

  For canker vice the sweetest buds doth love,

  And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.

  Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days

  Either not assail'd, or victor being charg'd;

  Yet this thy praise cannot be so thy praise,

  To tie up envy, evermore enlarg'd,

    If some suspect of ill mask'd not thy show,

    Then thou alone kingdoms of hearts shouldst owe.

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As a hangover from yesterday, I’m seeing more voltas than I normally do:  I think the for at the beginning of line 2 and the for at the beginning of line 7 are turns.  But the main volta—in the sense of Jim—would be the yet at the beginning of line 11.  More tomorrow (after my Saturday afternoon directed study).

Volta project, before the midterm

Blogging before I go fail Listening with Dr. Bechler.  Sonnet 69:

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LXIX

  Those parts of thee that the world's eye doth view

  Want nothing that the thought of hearts can mend;

  All tongues--the voice of souls--give thee that due,

  Uttering bare truth, even so as foes commend.

  Thy outward thus with outward praise is crown'd;

  But those same tongues, that give thee so thine own,

  In other accents do this praise confound

  By seeing farther than the eye hath shown.

  They look into the beauty of thy mind,

  And that in guess they measure by thy deeds;

  Then--churls--their thoughts, although their eyes were kind,

  To thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds:

    But why thy odour matcheth not thy show,

    The soil is this, that thou dost common grow.

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Multiple turns, in the style of Dante  J  The but at the beginning of line 6 is the first:  The first five lines set up a status quo, and this volta breaks that status quo.  The they at the beginning of the third quatrain is a second turn:  lines 6–8, in their contrast with lines 1–5, constitute a paradox, and now the paradox is stated explicitly, by explicating the seeing farther of line 8.  Finally, the but at the beginning of the closing couplet is a third volta, marking the beginning of an explanation of the root cause of the problem.  I love the wordplay, which is brought to a climax with the soil and the inversion common grow in the last line  J  More tomorrow—

The map

Wednesday  :(  Even worse:  My Thursday evening class has a two-hour exam tomorrow night …  But here’s sonnet 68:

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LXVIII

  Thus is his cheek the map of days outworn,

  When beauty lived and died as flowers do now,

  Before these bastard signs of fair were born,

  Or durst inhabit on a living brow;

  Before the golden tresses of the dead,

  The right of sepulchres, were shorn away,

  To live a second life on second head;

  Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay:

  In him those holy antique hours are seen,

  Without all ornament, itself and true,

  Making no summer of another's green,

  Robbing no old to dress his beauty new;

    And him as for a map doth Nature store,

    To show false Art what beauty was of yore.

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Following a principle I learnt in my speech class last year  J  the first line of the closing couplet connects back to the first line of the poem with the word map.  The volta would be the to at the beginning of the last line, explaining why everything that’s said in the first 13 lines of the poem is happening.  More tomorrow—

Volta project, #67

Blogging between rehearsing my Italian song (I don’t sing, and I don’t speak Italian) and going to my critique group’s meeting (I didn’t start writing yet this year)  J

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LXVII

  Ah! wherefore with infection should he live,

  And with his presence grace impiety,

  That sin by him advantage should achieve,

  And lace itself with his society?

  Why should false painting imitate his cheek,

  And steel dead seeming of his living hue?

  Why should poor beauty indirectly seek

  Roses of shadow, since his rose is true?

  Why should he live, now Nature bankrupt is,

  Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins?

  For she hath no exchequer now but his,

  And proud of many, lives upon his gains.

    O! him she stores, to show what wealth she had

    In days long since, before these last so bad.

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The volta marker is the O! at the beginning of the closing couplet, pretty obvious, and a nice echo of the Ah! at the beginning of the poem.  More tomorrow—

After the tornado :)

Okay, so the tornado took out some power lines, and we had no electricity for almost a whole day.  Variety on a Monday  J  But now the power’s back, and here’s sonnet 66:

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LXVI

  Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,

  As to behold desert a beggar born,

  And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,

  And purest faith unhappily forsworn,

  And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd,

  And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,

  And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,

  And strength by limping sway disabled

  And art made tongue-tied by authority,

  And folly--doctor-like--controlling skill,

  And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,

  And captive good attending captain ill:

    Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone,

    Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

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So the volta’s the save that at the beginning of the last line.  Starting every one of lines 2–10 with and definitely has a strong visual effect  J  but it’s ridiculously difficult to back up something like that so beautifully (with vivid and varied imagery) as Shakespeare does it.  More tomorrow—

More on the black ink

Tornado warning!  J  Sonnet 65:

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LXV

  Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,

  But sad mortality o'ersways their power,

  How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,

  Whose action is no stronger than a flower?

  O! how shall summer's honey breath hold out,

  Against the wrackful siege of battering days,

  When rocks impregnable are not so stout,

  Nor gates of steel so strong but Time decays?

  O fearful meditation! where, alack,

  Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?

  Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?

  Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?

    O! none, unless this miracle have might,

    That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

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The volta’s the unless in the penultimate line.  He makes the crisis sound final with the none just before the turn  J  More tomorrow—

Volta project, #64

Saturday sonnet:

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LXIV

  When I have seen by Time's fell hand defac'd

  The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age;

  When sometime lofty towers I see down-raz'd,

  And brass eternal slave to mortal rage;

  When I have seen the hungry ocean gain

  Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,

  And the firm soil win of the watery main,

  Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;

  When I have seen such interchange of state,

  Or state itself confounded, to decay;

  Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate--

  That Time will come and take my love away.

    This thought is as a death which cannot choose

    But weep to have, that which it fears to lose.

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Tha volta’s the but at the beginning of the last line.  It’s absurd how much work I have on weekends  L  Next sonnet tomorrow—

Almost done for the week :)

Friday!!  J  Except that I still have one more thing that’s due tonight …  But before that, here’s sonnet 63:

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LXIII

  Against my love shall be as I am now,

  With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn;

  When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow

  With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn

  Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night;

  And all those beauties whereof now he's king

  Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight,

  Stealing away the treasure of his spring;

  For such a time do I now fortify

  Against confounding age's cruel knife,

  That he shall never cut from memory

  My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life:

    His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,

    And they shall live, and he in them still green.

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For only the second time so far in the project, it stands out to me that Shakespeare can actually use cæsuræ and enjambment if he wants to  J  Which, of course, makes his partiality towards end-stopped lines all the more significant …  The volta’s the never in line 11.  More tomorrow.

Thinking summer again :)

The Big News is that the Iowa Writersʼ Workshop updated their website yesterday:  Jim’s going to teach the May poetry class again next year!!  J  I better get started with my writing soon …  Here’s sonnet 62:

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LXII

  Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye

  And all my soul, and all my every part;

  And for this sin there is no remedy,

  It is so grounded inward in my heart.

  Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,

  No shape so true, no truth of such account;

  And for myself mine own worth do define,

  As I all other in all worths surmount.

  But when my glass shows me myself indeed

  Beated and chopp'd with tanned antiquity,

  Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;

  Self so self-loving were iniquity.

    'Tis thee,--myself,--that for myself I praise,

    Painting my age with beauty of thy days.

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The volta’s the but at the beginning of the third quatrain, and the conflict (between lines 1–8 and lines 9–12) is resolved in the closing couplet.  Now to my Thursday evening class (more tomorrow)—

Wake-induced lucid dream?

Bad week—again.  Sonnet 61:

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LXI

  Is it thy will, thy image should keep open

  My heavy eyelids to the weary night?

  Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,

  While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?

  Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee

  So far from home into my deeds to pry,

  To find out shames and idle hours in me,

  The scope and tenure of thy jealousy?

  O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:

  It is my love that keeps mine eye awake:

  Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,

  To play the watchman ever for thy sake:

    For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,

    From me far off, with others all too near.

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The volta’s the O, no! at the beginning of the third quatrain, and it’s clinched with the last five words of the poem.  More tomorrow (now getting back to the paper due tomorrow)—

To times in hope :)

Sonnet sixty.  With a scythe in it!   J

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LX

  Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,

  So do our minutes hasten to their end;

  Each changing place with that which goes before,

  In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

  Nativity, once in the main of light,

  Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,

  Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,

  And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.

  Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth

  And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,

  Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,

  And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:

    And yet to times in hope, my verse shall stand.

    Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

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The yet in line 13, and the despite in line 14.  More tomorrow!

Shakespeare on the wits of former days

It’s 2½ weeks to Thanksgiving, and the snow’s starting already  L  But at least I have sonnet 59:

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LIX

  If there be nothing new, but that which is

  Hath been before, how are our brains beguil'd,

  Which labouring for invention bear amiss

  The second burthen of a former child!

  O! that record could with a backward look,

  Even of five hundred courses of the sun,

  Show me your image in some antique book,

  Since mind at first in character was done!

  That I might see what the old world could say

  To this composed wonder of your frame;

  Wh'r we are mended, or wh'r better they,

  Or whether revolution be the same.

    O! sure I am the wits of former days,

    To subjects worse have given admiring praise.

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And at least the volta’s obvious  J  it’s the O! at the beginning of the closing couplet.

Blogging late

Back late from Ann Arbor.  Sonnet 58:

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LVIII

  That god forbid, that made me first your slave,

  I should in thought control your times of pleasure,

  Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,

  Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!

  O! let me suffer, being at your beck,

  The imprison'd absence of your liberty;

  And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check,

  Without accusing you of injury.

  Be where you list, your charter is so strong

  That you yourself may privilege your time

  To what you will; to you it doth belong

  Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.

    I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,

    Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well.

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The volta’s the not at the beginning of the last line.  More tomorrow—