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                <title><hi rendition="#times">John Donne and Metaphysical Poetry</hi></title>
                <respStmt>
                    <name xml:id="whalen">Robert Whalen</name>
                    <resp>Author</resp>
                </respStmt>
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                <date>Fall 2023</date>
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            <p rendition="#times">Donne was a successful courtier&#x2014;secretary to Sir Thomas
                Egerton, Lord Keeper of the Privy Seal&#x2014;until he secretly married Lady
                Egerton’s niece, Ann More (without seeking her father’s permission), was briefly
                imprisoned, and his hopes of preferment at court were forever dashed. Trained as a
                lawyer at Lincoln’s Inn and a gifted orator, Donne eventually took up orders as a
                priest in the Church of England where he became Dean of St. Paul’s cathedral in
                London and one of the church’s greatest preachers.</p>
            <p rendition="#times">Donne’s career is often seen as encompassing two phases: the
                period prior to his becoming a priest, when he wrote a substantial quantity of
                &#8220;secular&#8221; verse, mostly love poems; and the religious period, in which
                he wrote devotional verse and sermons. This division, though convenient from a
                biographical or historical point of view, does scant justice to the complex ways in
                which, throughout his writing, Donne’s secular and religious preoccupations converge
                and overlap.</p>
            <p rendition="#times">The two poems selected for today’s discussion, one from each of
                the two periods, are examples of this tendency in Donne to combine the sacred and
                the profane&#x2014;i.e., spiritual and worldly concerns.</p>
            <p rendition="#times">Donne is one of the seventeenth-century “metaphysical” poets. His
                poetry, that is, is: <list type="bulleted" rendition="#times">
                    <item>intellectually complex</item>
                    <item>emotionally intense</item>
                    <item>introspective, philosophical</item>
                    <item>ironic and often paradoxical</item>
                    <item>both religious and erotic</item>
                    <item>organized around metaphysical “conceits”</item>
                </list></p>
            <p rendition="#times">A conceit in the Donnean mode is a witty, because surprising and
                unlikely, metaphor. In “A Valediction Forbidding Mourning,” for example, a
                mathematical compass symbolizes the erotically-charged spiritual union of lovers
                separated by physical absence. Or in “The Flea,” a tiny insect symbolizes at once
                the erotic and sacred dimensions of marriage. The outrageous (and sometimes
                humorous) aspect of these extreme metaphors is not merely clever and shocking. It
                attests, rather, to a world-view now mostly lost to we moderns: one in which
                metaphor is not some fanciful literary device, but rather a way of seeing the
                universe as an intricately interwoven set of relations among its otherwise disparate
                elements. Poets like Donne do not merely <hi rendition="#italic">create</hi>
                fanciful and surprising connections; they <hi rendition="#italic">discover</hi> and
                    <hi rendition="#italic">reveal</hi> them.</p>
            <div rendition="#times #plain">
                <head rendition="#times">&#8220;The Flea&#8221;</head>
                <lg>
                    <lb/>
                    <lb/>
                    <lg>
                        <l>MARK but this flea, and mark in this,</l>
                        <l>How little that which thou deniest me is;</l>
                        <l>It suck’d me first, and now sucks thee,</l>
                        <l>And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.</l>
                        <l>Thou know’st that this cannot be said</l>
                        <l>A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;</l>
                        <l>Yet this enjoys before it woo,</l>
                        <l>And pamper’d swells with one blood made of two;</l>
                        <l>And this, alas! is more than we would do.</l>
                        <lb/>
                        <lb/>
                    </lg>
                    <lg>
                        <l>O stay, three lives in one flea spare,</l>
                        <l>Where we almost, yea, more than married are.</l>
                        <l>This flea is you and I, and this</l>
                        <l>Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.</l>
                        <l>Though parents grudge, and you, we’re met,</l>
                        <l>And cloister’d in these living walls of jet.</l>
                        <l>Though use make you apt to kill me,</l>
                        <l>Let not to that self-murder added be,</l>
                        <l>And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.</l>
                        <lb/>
                        <lb/>
                    </lg>
                    <lg>
                        <l>Cruel and sudden, hast thou since</l>
                        <l>Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?</l>
                        <l>Wherein could this flea guilty be,</l>
                        <l>Except in that drop which it suck’d from thee?</l>
                        <l>Yet thou triumph’st, and say’st that thou</l>
                        <l>Find’st not thyself nor me the weaker now.</l>
                        <l>’Tis true; then learn how false fears be;</l>
                        <l>Just so much honour, when thou yield’st to me,</l>
                        <l>Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.</l>
                    </lg>
                </lg>
                <p rendition="#times">&#8220;The Flea&#8221; is a seduction poem in which a speaker
                    tries to convince his (silent) beloved to have sex with him. The dramatic
                    context is two lovers in a private room. The <hi rendition="#italic"
                        >conceit</hi> has the speaker proposing that a flea or mosquito, filled with
                    the blood of the two lovers, is a sacred symbol of marriage.</p>
                <p rendition="#times">In what ways does the poem combine sexual and religious
                    ideas?</p>
                <p rendition="#times">Notice that the first line of the second stanza implies that
                    the otherwise silent beloved is about to do something, and that the first line
                    of the third stanza implies that she has done something. What is it she has
                    done, and why? What’s her point?</p>
                <p rendition="#times">How does the speaker recover from this challenge to his
                    argument? Is his argument effective? Who wins this contest of wit?</p>
                <p rendition="#times">Analyze and comment upon some particularly effective or
                    otherwise striking passage.</p>
            </div>
            <div rendition="#times #plain">
                <head rendition="#times">&#8220;Holy Sonnet XIV&#8221;</head>
                <lg>
                    <lb/>
                    <lb/>
                    <l>Batter my heart, three-person’d God; for you</l>
                    <l>As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend;</l>
                    <l>That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend</l>
                    <l>Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.</l>
                    <l>I, like an usurp’d town, to another due,</l>
                    <l>Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.</l>
                    <l>Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,</l>
                    <l>But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.</l>
                    <l>Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,</l>
                    <l>But am betroth’d unto your enemy;</l>
                    <l>Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again.</l>
                    <l>Take me to you, imprison me; for I,</l>
                    <l>Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,</l>
                    <l>Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.</l>
                </lg>
                <p rendition="#times">Whereas &#8220;The Flea&#8221; is a seduction poem utilizing
                    sacred ideas, &#8220;Holy Sonnet XIV&#8221; is ostensibly a devotional
                    poem&#x2014;a prayer, in fact&#x2014;that utilizes some of the strategies of the
                    love poet.</p>
                <p rendition="#times">The speaker pleads with God, as might a lover his beloved, to
                    relieve him of the anguish of being separated, distant, and perhaps unloved by
                    the supreme object of his devotion. The theological context of the poem assumes
                    that human beings are so damaged by original sin that they are powerless to be
                    reunited with God, no matter how hard they try. Even human reason is damaged
                    beyond any capacity to think clearly and thereby reconnect with the divine.</p>
                <p rendition="#times">An arresting feature of this sonnet is its manipulation of
                    Petrarchan poetics (recall Petrarch from the introductory lecture on lyric
                    poetry). Unlike the speaking voice of the typical love sonnet, wherein a male
                    lover pursues an unattainable female beloved, Donne’s speaker here is the
                    beloved asking to be pursued by the silent lover (God). The frustrated erotic
                    desire of the lover becomes here the spiritual perturbation of a would-be
                    beloved. This (feminized?) speaker is plagued by doubt and vexed by the lover’s
                    apparent silence and indifference.</p>
                <p rendition="#times">What sort of imagery does the poem use as a metaphor for this
                    state of spiritual depravity?</p>
                <p rendition="#times">What role is played in the poem by the language of human love
                    and/or sexuality?</p>
                <p rendition="#times">Analyze and comment upon some particularly effective or
                    otherwise striking passage.</p>
            </div>
            <div rendition="#times #plain">
                <head rendition="#times">Other Poems</head>
                <p rendition="#times">Below are two additional favorites of mine. Choose one and
                    offer comments on any aspect or passage. Again, consult the <ref
                        rendition="#plain" target="https://www.oed.com/">Oxford English
                        Dictionary</ref> for help with the (many) puzzling terms.</p>
                <p rendition="#times">A good selection of other Donne poems may be found at <ref
                        rendition="#plain"
                        target="http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/donne/donnebib.htm"
                        >Luminarium</ref>.</p>
                <lg>
                    <head rendition="#times"><hi rendition="#bold">“A Valediction Forbidding
                            Mourning”</hi></head>
                    <lb/>
                    <lb/>
                    <lg>
                        <l>As virtuous men pass mildly away,</l>
                        <l>And whisper to their souls to go,</l>
                        <l>Whilst some of their sad friends do say,</l>
                        <l>“Now his breath goes,” and some say, “No.”</l>
                    </lg>

                    <lg>
                        <l>So let us melt, and make no noise,</l>
                        <l>No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;</l>
                        <l>’Twere profanation of our joys</l>
                        <l>To tell the laity our love.</l>
                    </lg>

                    <lg>
                        <l>Moving of th’ earth brings harms and fears;</l>
                        <l>Men reckon what it did, and meant;</l>
                        <l>But trepidation of the spheres,</l>
                        <l>Though greater far, is innocent.</l>
                    </lg>

                    <lg>
                        <l>Dull sublunary lovers’ love</l>
                        <l>—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit</l>
                        <l>Of absence, ’cause it doth remove</l>
                        <l>The thing which elemented it.</l>
                    </lg>

                    <lg>
                        <l>But we by a love so much refined,</l>
                        <l>That ourselves know not what it is,</l>
                        <l>Inter-assurèd of the mind,</l>
                        <l>Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.</l>
                    </lg>

                    <lg>
                        <l>Our two souls therefore, which are one,</l>
                        <l>Though I must go, endure not yet</l>
                        <l>A breach, but an expansion,</l>
                        <l>Like gold to aery thinness beat.</l>
                    </lg>

                    <lg>
                        <l>If they be two, they are two so</l>
                        <l>As stiff twin compasses are two;</l>
                        <l>Thy soul, the fix’d foot, makes no show</l>
                        <l>To move, but doth, if th’ other do.</l>
                    </lg>

                    <lg>
                        <l>And though it in the centre sit,</l>
                        <l>Yet, when the other far doth roam,</l>
                        <l>It leans, and hearkens after it,</l>
                        <l>And grows erect, as that comes home.</l>
                    </lg>

                    <lg>
                        <l>Such wilt thou be to me, who must,</l>
                        <l>Like th’ other foot, obliquely run;</l>
                        <l>Thy firmness makes my circle just,</l>
                        <l>And makes me end where I begun.</l>
                    </lg>
                </lg>
                <lb/>
                <lb/>
                <lg>
                    <head rendition="#times"><hi rendition="#bold">“A Nocturnal Upon St. Lucy’s Day,
                            <lb/>&#8195;&#8195;Being the Shortest Day”</hi></head>
                    <lb/>
                    <lb/>
                    <lg>
                        <l>’Tis the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s,</l>
                        <l>Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;</l>
                        <l>&#8195;The sun is spent, and now his flasks</l>
                        <l>&#8195;Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;</l>
                        <l>&#8195;&#8195;The world’s whole sap is sunk;</l>
                        <l>The general balm th’hydroptic earth hath drunk,</l>
                        <l>Whither, as to the bed’s feet, life is shrunk,</l>
                        <l>Dead and interr’d; yet all these seem to laugh,</l>
                        <l>Compared with me, who am their epitaph.</l>
                    </lg>
                    <lg>
                        <l>Study me then, you who shall lovers be</l>
                        <l>At the next world, that is, at the next spring;</l>
                        <l>&#8195;For I am every dead thing,</l>
                        <l>&#8195;In whom Love wrought new alchemy.</l>
                        <l>&#8195;&#8195;For his art did express</l>
                        <l>A quintessence even from nothingness,</l>
                        <l>From dull privations, and lean emptiness;</l>
                        <l>He ruin’d me, and I am re-begot</l>
                        <l>Of absence, darkness, death—things which are not.</l>
                    </lg>
                    <lg>
                        <l>All others, from all things, draw all that’s good:</l>
                        <l>Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have;</l>
                        <l>&#8195;I, by Love’s limbec, am the grave</l>
                        <l>&#8195;Of all, that’s nothing. Oft a flood</l>
                        <l>&#8195;&#8195;Have we two wept, and so</l>
                        <l>Drown’d the whole world, us two; oft did we grow,</l>
                        <l>To be two chaoses, when we did show</l>
                        <l>Care to aught else; and often absences</l>
                        <l>Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.</l>
                    </lg>
                    <lg>
                        <l>But I am by her death—which word wrongs her—</l>
                        <l>Of the first nothing the elixir grown;</l>
                        <l>&#8195;Were I a man, that I were one</l>
                        <l>&#8195;I needs must know; I should prefer,</l>
                        <l>&#8195;&#8195;If I were any beast,</l>
                        <l>Some ends, some means; yea plants, yea stones detest,</l>
                        <l>And love; all, all some properties invest.</l>
                        <l>If I an ordinary nothing were,</l>
                        <l>As shadow, a light, and body must be here.</l>
                    </lg>
                    <lg>
                        <l>But I am none; nor will my sun renew.</l>
                        <l>You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun</l>
                        <l>&#8195;At this time to the Goat is run</l>
                        <l>&#8195;To fetch new lust, and give it you,</l>
                        <l>&#8195;&#8195;Enjoy your summer all.</l>
                        <l>Since she enjoys her long night’s festival,</l>
                        <l>Let me prepare towards her, and let me call</l>
                        <l>This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this</l>
                        <l>Both the year’s and the day’s deep midnight is.</l>
                    </lg>
                </lg>
            </div>
            <closer rendition="#times">&#169;Robert Whalen, 2023</closer>
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