The Canonization -- John Donne

Guest poem submitted by Divya Sampath:

(Poem #866) The Canonization For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love, Or chide my palsy, or my gout, My five grey hairs, or ruin'd fortune flout, With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve, Take you a course, get you a place, Observe his Honour, or his Grace, Or the King's real, or his stamped face Contemplate, what you will, approve, So you will let me love. Alas, alas, who's injur'd by my love? What merchant's ships have my sighs drown'd? Who says my tears have overflow'd his ground? When did my colds a forward spring remove? When did the heats which my veins fill Add one more to the plaguy bill? Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out still Litigious men, which quarrels move, Though she and I do love. Call us what you will, we are made such by love; Call her one, me another fly, We are tapers too, and at our own cost die, And we in us find th' eagle and the dove. The phoenix riddle hath more wit By us; we two being one, are it. So, to one neutral thing both sexes fit, We die and rise the same, and prove Mysterious by this love. We can die by it, if not live by love, And if unfit for tombs and hearse Our legend be, it will be fit for verse; And if no piece of chronicle we prove, We'll build in sonnets pretty rooms; As well a well-wrought urn becomes The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs, And by these hymns all shall approve Us canoniz'd for love; And thus invoke us: "You, whom reverend love Made one another's hermitage; You, to whom love was peace, that now is rage; Who did the whole world's soul contract, and drove Into the glasses of your eyes (So made such mirrors, and such spies, That they did all to you epitomize) Countries, towns, courts: beg from above A pattern of your love!" -- John Donne

John Donne has always been one of my favorites among the metaphysical poets.
I particularly like this poem, which contends  that  his love, while not the
sort that inspires epic poetry or is immortalised in tragic plays, is still
worthy - "and if no piece of chronicle we prove / we'll build in sonnets
pretty rooms."

Divya.

[Biography]

Donne, John (1572-1631), English poet, prose writer, and clergyman,
considered the greatest of the metaphysical poets and one of the greatest
writers of love poetry.

Donne was born in London; at the age of 11 he entered the University of
Oxford, where he studied for three years. According to some accounts, he
spent the next three years at the University of Cambridge but took no degree
at either university. He began the study of law at Lincoln's Inn, London, in
1592. About two years later, presumably, he relinquished the Roman Catholic
faith, in which he had been brought up, and joined the Anglican church. His
first book of poems, Satires, written during this period of residence in
London, is considered one of Donne's most important literary efforts.
Although not immediately published, the volume had a fairly wide readership
through private circulation of the manuscript, as did his love poems, Songs
and Sonnets, written at about the same time as the Satires.

The poetry of Donne is characterized by complex imagery and irregularity of
form. He frequently employed the conceit, an elaborate metaphor making
striking syntheses of apparently unrelated objects or ideas. His
intellectuality, introspection, and use of colloquial diction, seemingly
unpoetic but always uniquely precise in meaning and connotation, make his
poetry boldly divergent from the smooth, elegant verse of his day. The
content of his love poetry, often both cynical and sensuous, represents a
reaction against the sentimental Elizabethan sonnet, and this work
influenced the attitudes of the Cavalier poets. Those 17th-century religious
poets sometimes referred to as the metaphysical poets, including Richard
Crashaw, George Herbert, and Henry Vaughan, drew much inspiration from the
imagery and spirituality of Donne's religious poetry. Donne was almost
forgotten during the 18th century, but interest in his work developed during
the 19th century, and his popularity reached new heights after the 1920s,
when Ezra Pound and T. S. Eliot acknowledged his influence. Donne also wrote
the Anniversaries, an elegy in two parts (1611-1612); collections of essays;
and six collections of sermons.

        -- [broken link] http://encarta.msn.com

[Minstrels Links]

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)

Northwest Passage -- Stan Rogers

Guest poem sent in by Divya Sampath

So you're running a Canadian Theme? May I suggest Stan Rogers? His music was
beautifully representative of Canadian folk traditions, and his original
compositions always sounded like authentic, old songs. [I agree with Divya -
I have only heard a few of Rogers' songs, but this was the aspect that most
struck me. His songs do indeed sound traditional; a hard trick to pull off,
but Rogers does it beautifully. - m.] Two of my favourites are "Northwest
Passage" and "Barrett's Privateers". I first heard the former on the last
episode of the TV series 'Due South'; it was an incredible a capella version
that has to be heard to be truly appreciated.

(Poem #783) Northwest Passage Chorus: Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea; Tracing one warm line through a land so wild and savage And make a Northwest Passage to the sea. Westward from the Davis Strait 'tis there 'twas said to lie The sea route to the Orient for which so many died; Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones. Three centuries thereafter, I take passage overland In the footsteps of brave Kelso, where his "sea of flowers" began Watching cities rise before me, then behind me sink again This tardiest explorer, driving hard across the plain. And through the night, behind the wheel, the mileage clicking west I think upon Mackenzie, David Thompson and the rest Who cracked the mountain ramparts and did show a path for me To race the roaring Fraser to the sea. How then am I so different from the first men through this way? Like them, I left a settled life, I threw it all away. To seek a Northwest Passage at the call of many men To find there but the road back home again. Unpublished additional verse: And if should be I come again to loved ones left at home, Put the journals on the mantle, shake the frost out of my bones, Making memories of the passage, only memories after all, And hardships there the hardest to recall. -- Stan Rogers

** Notes:

I first heard this song on the last episode of 'Due South', which also
mentioned Sir John Franklin and his ill-fated expedition to find the
Northwest Passage. It made me curious enough to look up the history behind
it. For an excellent online resource, check out:

  http://www.franklintrail.com/index.htm

Notice how, after the fashion of most legends, Franklin appears to be alive
in this song: his hand is still 'reaching for the Beaufort Sea'. The song
evokes the compelling drive to seek that 'one warm line', i.e., the
Northwest Passage, through the miles of Arctic waste separating North
America from the Asian land mass.

One memorable evening, I listened to this song in a car driving through a
lonely highway in the Pacific Northwest between Portland and Seattle;  it
called up irresistible mental images of following the trail of the early
pioneers, who sought 'gold and 'glory', but left behind only 'weathered,
broken bones.'

The rhythms and vocabulary are remarkably informed by Stan Rogers extensive
knowledge of traditonal sea shanties and folk songs. The result is a sort of
"faux authenticity" that has many listeners confusing this with a genuinely
antique trad number.

** History (condensed from various sources, including www.franklintrail.com):

The list of legendary ocean routes includes the so-called "Northwest
Passage", linking the Pacific to the Atlantic Ocean by  way of the Arctic
Ocean in northern Canada.  One of the most famous men to try, and the
subject of legends and folklore, was Sir John Franklin, a British rear
admiral. There is no evidence that he himself completed the Passage -- a
letter left by his crew stated that he had died 70 miles from the end;
nonetheless, he is still cited as the first man to cross the Northwest
Passage.  The trip had cost him his crew, his ships, and his life.  His
adventure was to complete the work of earlier failed explorers.

Two sailing ships, the Erebus and the Terror, left England on May 19, 1845
with the dangerous goal to finish the voyage across the Northwest Passage
that had yet to be completely traversed by explorers.  The supply ship
Baretto Junior accompanied them across the Atlantic.  With 128 men and two
ships, Franklin entered the icy Davis Strait in July 1845.  He and his men
were last seen by whalers on July 28 entering Lancaster Sound, between Devon
Island and Baffin Island.  Baffin Island is a large land mass bordering
Hudson Bay to the north. This route would take them above the Arctic Circle,
where for much of the year the waters were covered with ice.  The were
attempting to sail between the Queen Elizabeth Islands in the Canadian
Archipelago, across 300 miles of uncharted seas.  The trip all together from
England to the Beaufort Sea north of Alaska and out to Asia was expected to
last only three years.  To that date, the expedition was the best
provisioned to attempt the journey.  Franklin died on June 11, 1847, and was
buried on King William Island.  No one is sure why he died, but nine
officers and fifteen crewmen joined him on that final journey.

England had no idea what was going on in the three years that they waited
for Franklin's return.  In 1848, three years after the Erebus and the Terror
were last spotted in Lancaster Sound, search parties were organized to find
the missing sailors.  Over forty rescue missions were planned and executed
in 6 years.  Much of the previously undiscovered land was charted during the
rescue missions, but few leads were found.  The final rescue party was lead
by Franklin's wife, Lady Jane, and Captain Leopold McLintock in 1857.
Search parties uncovered the remains of a few crewmen and a boat.  Their
bodies lay on the last stretch of the uncharted lands; their final journey
completed the map of the Great North.  They had made the Northwest Passage!

Sir John Franklin's remains were never found, and he slipped into legend...

** Stan Rogers Bio (from sonicnet.com):

 b. 1949, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada, d. 2 June 1983.

Singer-songwriter Rogers began as a bass player in a rock band before
becoming a well-respected artist within the folk arena. In 1969, he turned
professional and, the following year, released two singles for RCA Records.
There followed a period of playing the coffee house circuit, with Nigel
Russell (guitar), until Stan's brother, Garnet Rogers (violin/flute/vocals/
guitar), joined them. Garnet worked with Stan for nearly 10 years. Stan
Rogers' low-register voice exuded a warm sensitive sound, the perfect
complement to his sensitive lyrics. Remembered for songs such as "Northwest
Passage" and "The Lock-keeper", he is probably best known for "The Mary
Ellen Carter". Writing for films and television, and having toured a number
of countries, Rogers was poised for international success but was killed in
an aeroplane fire in 1983.

There's a great site dedicated to Stan Rogers at
[broken link] http://stevebriggs.superb.net/stanrogers/main.html

For background on how Stan Rogers came to write this song, see:
[broken link] http://stevebriggs.superb.net/stanrogers/songs/nwp-sng.html

Cheers,
Divya

Epitaph on Charles II -- John Wilmot

Gues poem submitted by Divya Sampath:

(Poem #669) Epitaph on Charles II Here lies a great and mighty King, Whose promise none relied on; He never said a foolish thing, Nor ever did a wise one. -- John Wilmot

     (Earl of Rochester)

[Notes]

Following Martial's example [1], later epigrammatists often composed
epitaphs for the still living. The one above was written by John Wilmot
during a falling out with the King - a fairly frequent occurrence, by all
accounts, though they were otherwise fast friends. In response to this,
Charles II is supposed to have said, "That is very true, for my words are my
own, but my acts, my ministers'".

[1] Marcus Valerius Martialis (40-104 C.E), who wrote (among other things)
the following pithy words:

 "Epigrammaton"
 Hic est quem legis ille, quem requiris,
 toto notus in orbe Martialis
 argutis epigrammaton libellis:
 cui, lector studiose, quod dedisti
 uiuenti decus atque sentienti,
 rari post cineres habent poetae.

(He unto whom thou art so partial,
 Oh, reader! is the well-known Martial,
 The Epigrammatist: while living,
 Give him the fame thou wouldst be giving;
 So shall he hear, and feel, and know it --
 Post-obits rarely reach a poet. )
(tr. George Gordon, Lord Byron)

[Brief Bio]

John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester (1647-1680)

John Wilmot was born at Ditchley in Oxfordshire, England. The son of a
Cavalier hero and his deeply religious wife, he grew into a notorious
rakehell. By the age of eighteen he had indulged in a number of love
affairs, one of which resulted in the birth of an illegitimate daughter. In
1665 he kidnapped the much sought after heiress Elizabeth Malet, whom he
later married. His lifestyle and wit earned him the (mercurial) favour of
Charles II. Despite several banishments from the court, he remained a
favourite of the king.

In the last year of his life, he seemed to regret his self-indulgent
lifestyle, while being cared for by the rising Anglican Bishop, Gilbert
Burnet. Wilmot influenced and was admired by a large number of poets
including John Dryden, Jonathan Swift and Alexander Pope.

     -- condensed from various sources, including the EB

Divya.

Odes: Book 1, Verse 11 -- Horace

Guest poem submitted by Divya Sampath:

(Poem #633) Odes: Book 1, Verse 11 Stop these efforts to learn - knowing is banned - what will be my, and your, final god-given end, Leuconoe, cease Babylonian divination by stars. Better by far: all that will come, endure! Whether Jupiter grants many a long winter, or this our last, which now tires, against pumice-strewn shores lying below us, that vast Tyrrhenian Sea. Learn to be wise, strain out the wine, and prune lavish hopes to the quick. While we converse, envious time will have vanished: harvest today, placing the least credence on what's to come. -- Horace

Or, in the original:

 "Carmina, Liber Primus, XI"

 Tu ne quaesieris (scire nefas) quem mihi, quem tibi
 finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios
 temptaris numeros. Vt melius quicquid erit pati!
 Seu pluris hiemes seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam,
 quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare
 Tyrrhenum, sapias, uina liques et spatio breui
 spem longam reseces. Dum loquimur, fugerit inuida
 aetas: carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.

        -- Q. Horatius Flacci

[Notes]

I quote the Latin, because there is a definite music in Horace, especially
when read aloud. It's amazing, the vivid imagery he conjures, in the
sparest, most economical phrases.

The translation above is by Steven J. Willett. He is Professor of English
and Cultural Studies at the University of Shizuoka. This is excerpted from
his published translation of excerpts from Horace's Odes at Diotima:
http://www.stoa.org/diotima

My attachment to this particular verse stems, I confess, from the oft-quoted
last line :-)

[On the Odes]

Horace portrayed himself as a poetic craftsman working in the tradition of
Greek lyric poetry as it was practiced about 600BC on the island of Lesbos
by the Greek poets Alcaeus and Sappho. However, rather than any similarity
of emotion, tone, or content, what the Odes reflect are the meter of the
Greek poets. Of the 103 odes, 37 are Alcaic and 25 Sapphic. (The rhythms of
both Greek and Latin poetry are based on the absolute quantitative length of
syllables).

[References]

1. Babylonians were held to be diviners and mystics of repute. Their skills
in Astrology were well known in Rome, though Horace deprecates them here.
2. Jupiter - the supreme god in the Roman pantheon, often equated with the
Greek Zeus, but more probably finding his roots in the Etruscan
Patriarch-God, Tin/Tinia. The Romans worshipped him as Jupiter Optimus
Maximus - Jupiter, Best and Greatest. Most often associated with Juno and
Minerva.
3. Tyrhennian=Etruscan.

[Biography]

 b. December 65 BC, Venusia, Italy
 d. Nov. 27, 8 BC, Rome

QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS (Horace): outstanding Latin lyric poet and satirist
under the emperor Augustus. The most frequent themes of his Odes and verse
Epistles are love, friendship, philosophy, and the art of poetry. Horace was
probably of the Sabellian hillman stock of Italy's central highlands. His
father had once been a slave but gained freedom before Horace's birth and
became an auctioneer's assistant. In about 46 BC Horace went to Athens,
attending lectures at the Academy. After Julius Caesar's murder in March 44
BC, the eastern empire, including Athens, came temporarily into the
possession of his assassins Brutus and Cassius, who could scarcely avoid
clashing with Caesar's partisans, Mark Antony and Octavian (later Augustus),
the young great-nephew whom Caesar, in his will, had appointed as his
personal heir. Horace joined Brutus' army and was made tribunus militum, an
exceptional honour for a freedman's son.

In November 42, at the two battles of Philippi against Antony and Octavian,
Horace and his fellow tribunes (in the unusual absence of a more senior
officer) commanded one of Brutus' and Cassius' legions. After their total
defeat and death, he fled back to Italy--controlled by Octavian--but his
father's farm at Venusia had been confiscated to provide land for veterans.
Horace, however, proceeded to Rome, obtaining, either before or after a
general amnesty of 39 BC, the minor but quite important post of one of the
36 clerks of the treasury (scribae quaestorii). Early in 38 BC he was
introduced to Gaius Maecenas, a man of letters from Etruria in central Italy
who was one of Octavian's principal political advisers. He now enrolled
Horace in the circle of writers with whom he was friendly. Before long,
through Maecenas, Horace also came to Octavian's notice.

After Octavian had defeated Antony and Cleopatra at Actium, off northwestern
Greece (31 BC), Horace published his Epodes and a second book of eight
Satires in 30-29 BC. Then, while the victor, styled Augustus in 27 BC,
settled down, Horace turned, in the most active period of his poetical life,
to the Odes, of which he published three books, comprising 88 short poems,
in 23 BC. Horace, in the Odes, represented himself as heir to earlier Greek
lyric poets but displayed a sensitive, economical mastery of words all his
own. He sings of love, wine, nature (almost romantically), of friends, of
moderation; in short, his favourite topics. Some of the Odes are about
Maecenas or Augustus: although he praises the ancient Roman virtues the
latter was trying to reintroduce, he remains his own master and never
confines an ode to a single subject or mood. At some stage Augustus offered
Horace the post of his private secretary, but the poet declined on the plea
of ill health. Notwithstanding, Augustus did not resent his refusal, and
indeed their relationship became closer.

The best poems, Horace thought, edify as well as delight; the secret of good
writing is wisdom (implying goodness); the poet needs teaching and training
to give of his best. In 8 BC  Horace died, after naming Augustus as his
heir. He was buried on the Esquiline Hill near Maecenas' grave.

        -- EB

Divya.

Love's Philosophy -- Percy Bysshe Shelley

Guest poem submitted by Divya Sampath:

(Poem #531) Love's Philosophy The fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers with the ocean; The winds of heaven mix forever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In another's being mingle-- Why not I with thine? See, the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower could be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea;-- What is all this sweet work worth, If thou kiss not me? -- Percy Bysshe Shelley

I always did like "Love's Philosophy". It's fluff, but enjoyable fluff.

This is Shelley in a rare, whimsical mood. It's fairly unusual to find the poet
speaking in this voice. Shelley can be difficult to appreciate, especially when
he's being thrust down one's throat in high school (there was a point when "To a
Skylark"  made me want to throw things around the classroom), but I've since
discovered he can be quite bearable.

Divya.