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Showing posts with label Poet: Sir Walter Raleigh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poet: Sir Walter Raleigh. Show all posts

Even Such is Time -- Sir Walter Raleigh

Guest poem submitted by Steve Cookinham
(Poem #1832) Even Such is Time
 Even such is time, that takes in trust
 Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
 And pays us but with earth and dust;
 Who, in the dark and silent grave,
 When we have wandered all our ways,
 Shuts up the story of our days:
 But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
 My God shall raise me up, I trust.
-- Sir Walter Raleigh
I'm 59 years old, and though a lifetime avid reader (mostly history) I
really hadn't often "clicked" with a poem and so hadn't done much
exploration of the genre before stumbling onto your site a couple of years
ago.

While on what was supposed to be a 'round the world bicycle trip - Odyssey
2000 - I missed a turn in the Drakensberg range in the Transvaal in South
Africa and augured into a mountainside, breaking my pelvis, sacrum and some
ribs.  End of trip for me, and after surgery I spent a couple of months
living in the home of a Boer couple in Mpumalanga.  In a way the accident
wasn't a completely bad thing, in that our discussions provided each of us
insights into the others' country we didn't have before and I got to know
some wonderful people.

While I was recovering they took me one day to a used bookstore, where Petra
found a 19th century anthology of English poetry and gave it to me.  I
stumbled onto Sir Walter Raleigh's "Even Such is Time" and in my near-death
experience PTSD frame of mind it struck a deep chord. I loved this poem so
much I even posted most of it on my country-store website along with a local
photograph of a spot which always reminds me of the poem:
[broken link] http://www.dayvillemerc.com/time.htm

Steve Cookinham.

As You Came from the Holy Land -- Sir Walter Raleigh

Guest poem submitted by Fraser Spratt :
(Poem #1695) As You Came from the Holy Land
 As you came from the holy land
    Of Walsinghame,
 Met you not with my true love
    By the way as you came ?

 How shall I know your true love,
    That have met many one,
 As I went to the holy land,
    That have come, that have gone ?

 She is neither white nor brown,
    But as the heavens fair ;
 There is none hath a form so divine
    In the earth or the air.

 Such a one did I meet, good sir,
    Such an angel-like face,
 Who like a queen, like a nymph, did appear,
    By her gait, by her grace.

 She hath left me here all alone,
    All alone, as unknown,
 Who sometimes did me lead with herself,
    And me loved as her own.

 What's the cause that she leaves you alone,
    And a new way doth take,
 Who loved you once as her own,
    And her joy did you make ?

 I have loved her all my youth,
    But now old, as you see,
 Love likes not the falling fruit
    From the withered tree.

 Know that Love is a careless child,
    And forgets promise past ;
 He is blind, he is deaf when he list,
    And in faith never fast.

 His desire is a dureless content,
    And a trustless joy ;
 He is won with a world of despair,
    And is lost with a toy.

 Of womankind such indeed is the love,
    Or the word love abusèd,
 Under which many childish desires
    And conceits are excusèd.

 But true love is a durable fire,
    In the mind ever burning,
 Never sick, never old, never dead,
    From itself never turning.
-- Sir Walter Raleigh
I've been listening to Andrew Motion's "A Map of British Poetry" series on
Radio 4 [1] and have simply been blown away by every show. The vast range of
poetry that is being performed is amazing, and all the actors they've hired
are simply outstanding, Simon Russell Beale especially. It was his reading
of this poem I'm submitting that opened my eyes, if you will, to just how
moving poetry can be.

And you know, there's a lot of brilliant analysis in this archive, and for
that I applaud all involved. It can, however, feel slightly unnecessary and
intimidating on occasion. That of course may simply be my limited experience
showing through. Nevertheless, I know what effects me emotionally and this
poem most certainly does that.

Fraser.

[1] http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/arts/mapportal.shtml

From Catullus V -- Sir Walter Raleigh

       
(Poem #1464) From Catullus V
 The sun may set and rise,
 But we, contrariwise,
 Sleep, after our short light,
 One everlasting night.
-- Sir Walter Raleigh
Typically, Raleigh seizes upon the most fatalistic aspect of Catullus'
love song, and converts it into an epigram that is no less poignant for
being less than staggeringly original. I don't have much more to say,
and this commentary is already twice as long as the poem being commented
on, so I'll stop here :)

thomas.

[Minstrels Links]

Ben Jonson:
Poem #301, The Noble Nature
Poem #313, Gypsy Songs
Poem #340, To Celia
Poem #724, Hymn to Diana

John Donne:
Poem #330, A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning
Poem #384, Song
Poem #403, A Lame Beggar
Poem #465, The Sun Rising
Poem #796, Death Be Not Proud (Holy Sonnets: X)
Poem #866, The Canonization
Poem #1002, The Bait
Poem #1168, The Good Morrow

and others:
Poem #149, Bethsabe's Song  -- George Peele
Poem #957, Whoso list to hunt -- Thomas Wyatt
Poem #1001, The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd -- Sir Walter Raleigh
Poem #1289, The Lie -- Sir Walter Raleigh
Poem #1336, Of Human Knowledge -- John Davies

The Lie -- Sir Walter Raleigh

       
(Poem #1289) The Lie
 Go, Soul, the body's guest,
   Upon a thankless errand:
 Fear not to touch the best;
   The truth shall be thy warrant:
 Go, since I needs must die,
 And give the world the lie.

 Say to the court, it glows
   And shines like rotten wood;
 Say to the church, it shows
   What's good, and doth no good:
 If church and court reply,
 Then give them both the lie.

 Tell potentates, they live
   Acting by others' action;
 Not loved unless they give,
   Not strong, but by a faction:
 If potentates reply,
 Give potentates the lie.

 Tell men of high condition,
   That manage the estate,
 Their purpose is ambition,
   Their practice only hate:
 And if they once reply,
 Then give them all the lie.

 Tell them that brave it most,
   They beg for more by spending,
 Who, in their greatest cost,
   Seek nothing but commending:
 And if they make reply,
 Then give them all the lie.

 Tell zeal it wants devotion;
   Tell love it is but lust;
 Tell time it is but motion;
   Tell flesh it is but dust:
 And wish them not reply,
 For thou must give the lie.

 Tell age it daily wasteth;
   Tell honour how it alters;
 Tell beauty how she blasteth;
   Tell favour how it falters:
 And as they shall reply,
 Give every one the lie.

 Tell wit how much it wrangles
   In tickle points of niceness;
 Tell wisdom she entangles
   Herself in over-wiseness:
 And when they do reply,
 Straight give them both the lie.

 Tell physic of her boldness;
   Tell skill it is pretension;
 Tell charity of coldness;
   Tell law it is contention:
 And as they do reply,
 So give them still the lie.

 Tell fortune of her blindness;
   Tell nature of decay;
 Tell friendship of unkindness;
   Tell justice of delay;
 And if they will reply,
 Then give them all the lie.

 Tell arts they have no soundness,
   But vary by esteeming;
 Tell schools they want profoundness,
   And stand too much on seeming:
 If arts and schools reply,
 Give arts and schools the lie.

 Tell faith it's fled the city;
   Tell how the country erreth;
 Tell, manhood shakes off pity;
   Tell, virtue least preferreth:
 And if they do reply,
 Spare not to give the lie.

 So when thou hast, as I
   Commanded thee, done blabbing --
 Although to give the lie
   Deserves no less than stabbing --
 Stab at thee he that will,
 No stab the soul can kill.
-- Sir Walter Raleigh
Today's poem makes an interesting companion piece to Chidiock
Tichborne's elegy "My prime of youth is but a frost of cares" (Minstrels
Poem #144). Both poems were written in the Tower of London, while their
authors awaited execution. But whereas Tichborne's earlier piece is
suffused with an air of 'what might have been', Raleigh's offering is
all bitter defiance. This is the outpouring of a man who, more than
most, knew the ups and downs of Fortune, from favoured courtier to
condemned prisoner. And it shows; there's an edge to his satire --
especially in the attacks on court, church, potentates and men of high
estate -- that's noteworthy given his reputation as dashing gallant.

t.

[Biography]

Raleigh, Sir Walter (1552?-1618) English explorer, courtier, poet, and
prose writer. One of the favorites of Queen Elizabeth between 1581 and
1592, Raleigh helped his friend Edmund Spenser arrange for the
publication of the first three books of The Faerie Queene; also during
this period he sent several expeditions to North America, though the
Queen would not allow him to make the voyages himself. He fell from
Elizabeth's favor in 1592, according to legend, because of his seduction
of one of her maids of honor. He took advantage of being in the Queen's
bad graces by making in 1595 an expeditionary voyage to South America,
which he described in the colorful (and fanciful) Discovery of Guiana.
He was reinstated at court during the last years of Elizabeth's reign,
but at the accession of James I he was imprisoned on a flimsy charge of
treason. He narrowly escaped execution, and was detained in the Tower
(though in reasonable comfort) for the next thirteen years. In 1616 he
was released on the promise to James I to discover gold in South
America, providing that he neither intruded on Spanish possessions nor
pirated Spanish ships, Unfortunately, Raleigh attacked a Spanish
settlement, and on his return to England was condemned and executed. A
true courtier poet, Raleigh did not publish his poetry but had it
circulated in manuscript. As a result, only a few of his poems have come
down to the present day, "Cynthia," a long poem in honor of the Queen,
was highly praised by Spenser, but only a fragment has survived. Among
his best-known poems are "The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd," an answer
to Christopher Marlowe's "Passionate Shepherd"; "The Lie"; "The
Passionate Man's Pilgrimage"; and the sonnet beginning "Methought I saw
the grave where Laura lay," prefixed to Spenser's Faerie Queene. In
addition to a prose History of the World (of which only one volume was
completed), Raleigh wrote a narrative of the sea baffle between the
Revenge and a Spanish warship in which his cousin, Sir Richard
Grenville, was killed; Tennyson's ballad "The Revenge" is largely based
on Raleigh's account. The legend of the courteous Sir Walter spreading
his cloak over a puddle that the Queen might cross dry-shod is mentioned
by Sir Walter Scott in Kenilworth.

        -- [broken link] http://www.ks.ac.kr/~ycsuh/courses/engsurvey/ ...
... engsurveyindex/biography/16century/biowraleigh.htm

More biographies can be found here:
http://www.luminarium.org/renlit/ralegadd.htm

The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd -- Sir Walter Raleigh

       
(Poem #1001) The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd
 If all the world and love were young,
 And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
 These pretty pleasures might me move
 To live with thee and be thy love.

 Time drives the flocks from field to fold
 When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,
 And Philomel becometh dumb;
 The rest complains of cares to come.

 The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
 To wayward winter reckoning yields;
 A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
 Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall,

 Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
 Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies
 Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten--
 In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

 Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
 Thy coral claps and somber studs,
 All these in me no means can move
 To come to thee and be thy love.

 But could youth last and love still breed,
 Had joys no date nor age no need,
 Then these delights my mind might move
 To live with thee and be thy love.
-- Sir Walter Raleigh
It seems ironic. Sir Walter Raleigh was the romantic favourite of Queen
Elizabeth I, famed in legend for (among other things) spreading his cloak
over a puddle so that Her Majesty might not get her feet wet. Christopher
Marlowe, on the other hand, was a spy whose intrigues led him to a nasty
end, stabbed to death in a tavern brawl in one of the seamier parts of
London. And yet it's the latter who wrote "The Passionate Shepherd", a
cheerfully optimistic piece that charms and delights in its seeming naivete;
it's the former who responded with "The Nymph's Reply", a cynical rejoinder
that is nonetheless more worldly-wise, more cognizant of the wisdom of
experience and disappointment.

I'm not sure which of the two poems I like better. On balance, I think
Raleigh's.

thomas.

[Notes]

"And Philomel becometh dumb" - the name Philomel is often used in poetry to
refer to the nightingale, after the legend of Philomel:

"In Greek legend, Tereus was a king of Thrace who married Procne, daughter
of Pandion, king of Athens. Tereus seduced Procne's sister Philomela,
pretending that Procne was dead. In order to hide his guilt, he cut out
Philomela's tongue. But she revealed the crime to her sister by working the
details in embroidery. Procne sought revenge by serving up her son Itys for
Tereus' supper. On learning what Procne had done, Tereus pursued the two
sisters with an ax. But the gods took pity and changed them all into birds,
Tereus into a hoopoe (or hawk), Procne into a nightingale (or swallow), and
Philomela into a swallow (or nightingale)."
        -- EB

The themes of betrayal, faithlessness and deception in the Philomel story
jibe nicely with today's poem; they are used to similar effect in Eliot's
masterpiece "The Waste Land".

[Minstrels Links]

Poem #997, The Passionate Shepherd to His Love -- Christopher Marlowe
Poem #354, (an excerpt from) The Waste Land  -- T. S. Eliot
Poem #858, (another excerpt from) The Waste Land  -- T. S. Eliot
Poem #859, Waste Land Limericks -- Wendy Cope