#Shakespeare sonnet 29 full#

The volume is pristine, except for a pencil mark that circles this poem. Years ago I was given a copy of ShakespeareвЂ™s works that used to belong to my great great grandfather. This sonnet also gives me some sense of link to my past. Unfortunately, IвЂ™m not quite sure where you can get ahold of a recording. He manages to avoid the pitfalls of trying to set iambic pentameter into its natural rhythmвЂ“which is utterly boringвЂ“and in fact produces a simple structure that is higly effective in evoking the spirit of the poem. On some side notes, my wife recently introduced me to a beautiful setting of this poem by Rufus Wainwright. Stephen Booth once remarked to our class that, вЂњsaying Shakespeare was the best poet of his age is like saying King Kong was bigger than the other monkeys.вЂќ Despite changes in the English language and literary fashion, the bard remains an enduring example of elevating art to its highest potential. There is no disputing ShakespeareвЂ™s importance to poetry. Furthermore, he brings all its devices to bear to intimate something that seems meaningful, beautiful, and important to us. What is so great about this poet is that he makes a form as intense, compact, and exacting as the English sonnet seem effortless.

#Shakespeare sonnet 29 full#

Just as it is not the literal meaning, but the wonderful tension between the sense of certainty and the literal ambiguity that brings to us the full richness of this poem. Yet it is not actually the beloved, but the memoryвЂ“the inner experienceвЂ“that brings the poet richness.

In this thought the poet realizes the memory of his love for his beloved is so rich as to make him better off than a king. Wonderful, ambiguous line endings like his вЂњbootless criesвЂќ, (which resonates with being barefoot and poor) though desiring to be, вЂњrich in hopeвЂќ (can you deposit that in a bank?), вЂњwith friends possessedвЂќ (is that really a good thing?), desiring one manвЂ™s art and anotherвЂ™s вЂњscopeвЂќ (range? or what? and how?)вЂ“yet each of these line endings rings with a remarkable clarity and certainty, not because they are logical but because they rhyme with the ending two lines back.ДЄnd so, we are dazzled and carried along to this wonderful, unexpected ending involving a bird who rises up from the earth (apparently thatвЂ™s where they nest) and sings to heaven. The tension that drives us here lies between fulfilling and confounding our expectations. Literally, it means something like, вЂњWhen the lark wakes up at dawn it sings to heaven from the earth, and this is just like what happens when I am feeling very bad about myself and then I think of you.вЂќ How, exactly, does the poet turn from the previous lines of crying, cursing, and discontent into a lark? Or is it the turn of mind itselfвЂ“the act of thinking on his belovedвЂ“that is lark-like? Is it the poet, his state, or his transformation that resemble a lark? And where did this bird come from in the first place?ДЇortunately, we find ourselves not troubling a bit over these details, because by the time we arrive at the end of the third quatrain, we have been swept away by a poem that takes full advantage of the meter and rhyme scheme of the sonnet to propel us toward a spectacular end. Even though this unnamed person isn't exactly around right now, just thinking about his or her 'sweet love' makes our speaker feel like the luckiest guy ever-so lucky that he wouldn't trade places with anyone else for all the money and power in the world.What is so great about this poem is that it makes excellent use of the momentum of the English sonnet form, culminating in a beautiful pair of lines that simultaneously do and do not make sense:ДЇrom sullen earth, sings hymns at havenвЂ™s gate The mere thought of this unnamed mystery person makes our speaker so unbelievably happy and hopeful that he feels like a bird (a 'lark,' to be exact) that rises up and sings to the heavens.ДЇinally, our speaker concludes that, hey, life is pretty great after all. Just as our bummed out speaker is thinking about all the stuff he used to really dig, he suddenly remembers a special person in his life and his mood begins to shift in a big, dramatic way. But he's not, which is why nothing seems fun anymore-not even the stuff he used to enjoy doing. Also, he totally wishes he was good looking, popular with friends, and talented like some other dudes he knows. He says he wishes he was rich and had something to hope for. Even God is ignoring him and won't return his phone calls. He says he's all alone and feels alienated and unsuccessful. The speaker of this sonnet says he's completely bummed and that he's been bawling his eyes out over his pathetic life and all of his misfortune.