Volta project, weekend edition

Saturday  J  no matter how dark!  Sonnet 57:

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LVII

  Being your slave what should I do but tend,

  Upon the hours, and times of your desire?

  I have no precious time at all to spend;

  Nor services to do, till you require.

  Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,

  Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,

  Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,

  When you have bid your servant once adieu;

  Nor dare I question with my jealous thought

  Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,

  But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought

  Save, where you are, how happy you make those.

    So true a fool is love, that in your will,

    Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.

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The volta’s the but at the beginning of line 11.  The turn starts at the but at the beginning of line 11, continues with the save at the beginning of line 12, then with the so at the beginning of line 13, and then with the though at the beginning of line 14—an elaborate structure!  J—and is ornamented with the pattern of prepositional phrases that’s established in lines 11 and 12 and varied in lines 13 and 14, and is finally closed/clinched/completed in the last four words of the poem  J  More sometime tomorrow—

Blogging on the run

Sonnet 56 before the highway:

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LVI

  Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said

  Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,

  Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,

  To-morrow sharpened in his former might:

  So, love, be thou, although to-day thou fill

  Thy hungry eyes, even till they wink with fulness,

  To-morrow see again, and do not kill

  The spirit of love, with a perpetual dulness.

  Let this sad interim like the ocean be

  Which parts the shore, where two contracted new

  Come daily to the banks, that when they see

  Return of love, more blest may be the view;

    Or call it winter, which being full of care,

    Makes summer's welcome, thrice more wished, more rare.

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The first line of this one is famous  J  and beautiful.  Four well developed metaphors, so you could really count each change of metaphor as a turn, but I think the let at the beginning of the third quatrain would be the primary volta, because that’s where he’s also changing what he’s doing with his metaphors.

And now, I’ll drive to Ann Arbor to get my daughter  J  More tomorrow—

Thursday sonnet

Day with evening class, again.  So here’s sonnet 55 before that:

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LV

  Not marble, nor the gilded monuments

  Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;

  But you shall shine more bright in these contents

  Than unswept stone, besmear'd 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.

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The whole judgement day thing shows up everywhere in the work of some of my favorite Indian poets  J  On the other hand, this sonnet’s self-referential:  The this powerful rhyme in line 2, the these contents in line 3, the living record in line 8, the your praise in line 10, and the this in the last line all refer to Sonnet 55 of Shakespeare.

At any rate, the volta is the so, till at the beginning of the closing couplet.  Now I’ll go to Dr. Bechler’s class, and I’ll post the next sonnet tomorrow. 

Volta project, #54

Sonnet with visuals and smell images on a dark and damp afternoon:

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LIV

  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 odour, which doth in it live.

  The canker blooms have full as deep a dye

  As the perfumed tincture of the roses.

  Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly

  When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:

  But, for their virtue only is their show,

  They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade;

  Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;

  Of their sweet deaths, are sweetest odours made:

    And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,

    When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.

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A one-metaphor poem’s a one-hump wump  J  Also, this one includes ending a sentence in the middle of a line (in line 11)—rare in Shakespeare  J  The volta’s the and so at the beginning of the closing couplet, the turn in this case being turning from the flowers metaphor to the lyric you (and the lyric I), and the turn is only fully realized in the last five words of the sonnet.  More tomorrow—  

Have pencil, will write :)

My critique group’s starting to meet again  J  I haven’t written at all so far this year, so hopefully this will also get me started.  Sonnet 53 before I leave:

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LIII

  What is your substance, whereof are you made,

  That millions of strange shadows on you tend?

  Since every one, 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 blessed shape we know.

    In all external grace you have some part,

    But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

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Okay, here’s the point:  The volta’s the but at the beginning of the last line—that’s clear enough—but the real punch of the poem comes even later (in the last three words, obviously).

The next sonnet tomorrow—

Monday afternoon sonnet

Mondays are actually not so bad  J  when compared with Fridays this semester.  Sonnet 52:  

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LII

  So am I as the rich, whose blessed key,

  Can bring him to his sweet up-locked 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 that long year set,

  Like stones of worth they thinly placed 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 imprison'd pride.

    Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,

    Being had, to triumph; being lacked, to hope.

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Okay, the whole thing turns on the last four words—a poem is such a magic machine  J!—so I’ll call the semicolon in the last line the volta.  The next one tomorrow—

Daylight saving Sunday

Another weekend gone  L  Weekends should be longer …  This one was technically an hour longer than normal, but I’m still sleep deprived.  At any rate, sonnet 51:

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LI

  Thus can my love excuse the slow offence

  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 winged 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.'

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The whole horse thing from yesterday’s sonnet, again.  It all sounds perfect on paper  J  but two small points:  First, posting (line 4) is not necessarily the fastest thing you can do on a horse, you can post when trotting, which, while faster than walking, is of course slower than cantering, which in turn is slower than galloping; second, using spurs (line 7)—which seem to show up in every second poem with a horse in it—is usually not necessarily a good idea (yanking the reins is even worse, even though I have seen enough riders actually do that) (also, the whip’s mostly for show, you don’t actually touch your horse with your whip).  If you really want to be mounted on the wind (line 7), to feel no motion in winged speed (line 8), to ride fast as desire (lines 9 and 10), then try to achieve the one-plus-one-equals-one stage (where you and your horse are one and the same).  When your horse is through, you’ll go as fast (or as slow) as you want, you’ll make mighty impressive jumps, and you’ll look good making those jumps  J  The volta’s the but at the beginning of line 12.  More tomorrow—