John
Donne (1572-1631) is credited with the honour of being the poet who broke the
Petrarchan tradition in England and created a new mode of poetry. Rather than a
complete breach, Donne's poetry is a widening of the scope of the Elizabethan
tradition. He implements already existing modes in every aspect: new metrical
schemes (although he will return to the sonnet in his last works), a rich and
original imagery, a colloquial, conversational tone, and a mingling of intellect
and passion which disconcerted his contemporaries: he and his followers were
labeled as "metaphysical poets." Not that Donne's poems have any
philosophical intention: his themes are the traditional ones, although renewed
by a new attitude: love, religious feeling and satire. The love poems
correspond roughly to the early period of his career. He abandons the rigid
Elizabethan conventions, which sprung from Petrarchism, and adds realism,
sincerity, psychological penetration and a great variety of moods enhanced with
images taken from every field of experience. Some of his love poems are harsh
and cynical; others are nearly ecstatic, and celebrate love as the supreme
thing in the world. The most famous among these are "The Sun Rising,"
"The Dreame" and "The Good-Morrow". Love as the supreme
experience suggests to Donne connections between it and other aspects of
reality: everything can be used to try to describe an ineffable feeling. His
imagery ranges from the vulgar to the sublime, from daily activities to old
scientific theories; it may be of a deplorable bad taste or combine sheer
originality with beauty and accuracy. It is never ornamental: the poet seems to
think that sensation must be subordinated to thought. Much the same happens
with the sound pattern of his poems, which is very far away from the smoothness
of previous poets. Rhythm is secondary; at its best, it merely helps to
underline ideas.
I wonder by my troth, what thou, and
I
Did, till we lov'd? Were we not wean'd
till then?
But suck'd on countrey pleasures,
childishly?
Or snorted we in the seaven sleepers
den?
T'was so; But this, all pleasures
fancies bee.
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desir'd, and got, 'twas but
a dreame of thee.
And now good morrow to our waking
soules,
Which watch not one another out of
feare;
For love, all love of other sights
controules,
And makes one little roome, an every
where.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds
have gone,
Let Maps to other, worlds on worlds
have showne,
Let us possesse one world; each hath
one, and is one.
My face in thine eye, thine in mine
appeares,
And true plaine hearts doe in the
faces rest,
Where can we finde two better
hemispheares
Without sharpe North, without
declining West?
What ever dyes, was not mixed
equally;
If our two loves be one, or, thou
and I
Love so alike, that none doe
slacken, none can die.
Subject
This
is one of Donne's best known poems, and a perfect sample of his way. The
subject is love, love seen as an intense, absolute experience, which isolates
the lovers from reality, but gives them a different kind of awareness; a
simultaneous narrowing and widening of reality.
Contents
The
poem is divided in three stanzas. In the first one, the lover rejects the life
he led until he met his present love. He describes it as childish ("were
we not weaned," "childishly") and unconscious, a kind of sleep
("Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den"?). His past loves must
not be considered as serious, since he was not completely aware of himself at
the time. So, they are rejected:
.
. . But this, all pleasures fancies be;
If
ever any beauty I did see,
Which
I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
The second stanza is, in contrast, a celebration of the present. Each soul has
"awakened" to the other, and has discovered a whole world in it. The
union is self-sufficient; the "little room" where they are is all the
world, "an everywhere." Consequently, the outer world is rejected,
under the symbols of maps and discoverers. Up to now, the poet has cut off his
superfluous experience; past time (the first stanza), external space (2nd
stanza). He seems to be saying "Here and now."
The
third stanza shows the perfect sincerity and adequation of both lovers, and it
adds a hope for the future to that assertion of the present we have met in the
first stanza. This perfect love is not only immortal: it makes the lovers
immortal, too:
If
our two love be one, or thou and I
Love
so alike that none do slacken, none can die.
D.N.
Aloysius