As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by Fortune’s dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store:
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am sufficed,
And by a part of all thy glory live.
Look what is best, that best I wish in thee:
This wish I have; then ten times happy me!

Sonnet 37 above has been lauded as one of Shakespeare’s key sonnets because of a possible strong religious inference. Refer to the following excellent Website where all the sonnets are analysed in detail line by line. Sonnet 37 is also discussed in great length in the introduction to the sonnets where the sonnet is linked to biblical texts including Psalm 37.

It is my purpose in this post to explore this sonnet from a personal religious perspective … with reference to some of the text and analysis from the above mentioned site … http://www.shakespeares-sonnets.com/sonnet/index.php courtesy of Oxquarry Books Ltd.

The following text is from the sonnet summary …

An interlude occurs, in which the poet takes stock and reflects on what the youth has given him. Though he himself is old and useless, the abundance of the youth’s qualities feeds into his veins, like sap into a grafted tree. This transforms him and removes his lameness and his failures. The youth has everything that is desirable, and the great store of his qualities diffuses its glory around. The poet is contented, for he sees that his beloved has all that is best, all that he could wish for him, and he basks in this reflected glory, his decrepit status now entirely forgotten.

The key to my sonnet interpretation is in line 4 and the reference to thy.

Shakespeare is making comparison between Father and child in the preceding lines but it is not clear on the nature of the thy … but all comfort worth and truth is involved … and from a religious point of view thy could be a reference to Christ. Especially as all truth is involved – an attribute associated with deity.

My line by line commentary below is based on this interpretation and references some of the Site commentary …

1. As a decrepit father takes delight
2. To see his active child do deeds of youth,

decrepit father Shakespeare reflects on being like a father worn down by age who takes consolation in an active child (son). The Father – Son relationship is critical in Christian philosophy.

3. So I, made lame by Fortune’s dearest spite,
4. Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;

made lame – This is a metaphor associated with his need for support … Christ’s first actions were to heal (the lame).

If dearest spite = most severe malignancy … this could refer to the imperfection of man, the most severe of all malignancies … (the relationship is healed on the cross by active work of the son).

All comfort worth and truth … Shakespeare identifies with the son … a declaration of total support from Christ. In many of the sonnets the importance of the next generation is paramount (the son) in giving life to the preceding generation.

And from the Site commentary …Take all my comfort of = derive all my comfort from.

worth and truth are qualities which link the beloved to Christ, particularly the words of St. John’s Gospel, And the same word became fleshe, and dwelt among vs ( and we sawe the glory of it, as the glory of the only begotten sonne of the father) full of grace and trueth. John 1. 14. Bishop’s Bible 1568. The echo is not exact, but the youth is often praised for his grace, as e.g. in Sonnet 17.

5. For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,

These are the traditional inheritance characteristics of the aristocrat.

6. Or any of these all, or all, or more,

Text from the site …

The superabundance of all these qualities, and the way they seem to burst out of the boundaries of expressing them, as out of a magician’s hat, each one causing new wonderment, enhances the expectation of where it might lead. Are we to see a new monarch crowned, or a new era proclaimed? Surely they are enough to make the youth, or the beloved poet who sings his praises, immortal?

For this discussion I am equating the youth to Christ

7. Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit,

If the subject is in fact Christ then there is no question of entitlement.

8. I make my love engrafted to this store:

Text from the site …

I make my love engrafted to = I graft myself lovingly on to them. The Q spelling is ingrafted, possibly underlining the intimacy of the relationship. To this store = to the store and abundance of your qualities.

Grafting has vine religious connotations of personal association common in the New Testament.

9. So then I am not lame, poor, nor despised,

Reference to Christ’s support for those most in need.

10. Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give

Christ is like a shadow which is inseparable from the body though not always seen. This may be a stretch in thought but I do I like this wonderful imagery of Christ being always there for a person – and more in evidence when the sun is shining. To have Christ as a shadow is all that is needed given the nature of Christ.

And from the Site …

The imagery shifts from being engrafted, and bearing a title, to that of deriving sustenance from the beneficent shade offered by the youth. The meaning is approximately ‘While your shadow and your influence pours on to me such abundance of well-being, such absolute reality of existence’. The sudden appearance of substance and shadow in this sonnet is odd, and I suspect that it may be an oblique reference to the doctrine of transubstantiation, playing on the idea of the beloved as the Christ figure. There must be a link in thought also to sonnet 53.

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?

Shakespeare often used the substance/shadow dichotomy, which he seems to have been rather fond of. These are the instances of its use in the plays.

COUNTESS of A. Then have I substance too.
TALBOT No, no, I am but shadow of myself:
You are deceived, my substance is not here; 1H6-2-3

That Talbot is but shadow of himself?
These are his substance, sinews, arms and strength, 1H6-2-3

To your most gracious hands, that are the substance
Of that great shadow I did represent; 2H6-1-1

Which dreams indeed are ambition, for the very
substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream. Ham.II.2

…..Yet look how far
The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
In underprizing it, so far this shadow
Doth limp behind the substance. MV.III.2.126-9

That I have purchased at an infinite rate, and that hath taught me to say this:
‘Love like a shadow flies when substance love pursues;
Pursuing that that flies, and flying what pursues’. MW.II.2.206-9.

The usual direction of traffic is from substance to shadow. It is interesting that the reverse is shown, in that the shadow gives substance. The implication is that Christ as a shadow has more power and substance than the body of a person. An emphasis given to the shadow (spiritual nature) .

11. That I in thy abundance am sufficed,

So that I have sufficient for myself from your abundant supply of excellence. Cf from Psalm 37

… the meeke spirited shall possesse the earth: and shalbe delighted in the abundance of peace Psalm 37:11

12. And by a part of all thy glory live.

A mere part of your glory is enough to give life and being to me.

13. Look what is best, that best I wish in thee:

Look what is best = whatever (in the world) is best. As in sonnet 9 – Look what an unthrift in the world doth spend …

Christ deserves all that is best … his right.

14. This wish I have; then ten times happy me!

I am so happy when Christ continues to grow with all that is best (as the world repairs).

Disabled

He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
Legless, sewn short at elbow. Through the park
Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
Voices of play and pleasure after day,
Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.

About this time Town used to swing so gay
When glow-lamps budded in the light blue trees,
And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,-
In the old times, before he threw away his knees.
Now he will never feel again how slim Girls’ waists are,
or how warm their subtle hands.
All of them touch him like some queer disease.

There was an artist silly for his face,
For it was younger than his youth, last year.
Now, he is old; his back will never brace;
He’s lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,
And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race
And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.

One time he liked a blood-smear down his leg,
After the matches, carried shoulder-high.
It was after football, when he’d drunk a peg,
He thought he’d better join. – He wonders why.
Someone had said he’d look a god in kilts,
That’s why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,
Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts
He asked to join. He didn’t have to beg;
Smiling they wrote his lie: aged nineteen years.

Germans he scarcely thought of; all their guilt,
And Austria’s, did not move him. And no fears
Of Fear came yet. He drought of jewelled hills
For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;
And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.

And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.
Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.
Only a solemn man who brought him fruits
Thanked him; and then enquired about his soul.

Now, he will spend a few sick years in institutes,
And do what things the rules consider wise,
And take whatever pity they may dole.
Tonight he noticed how the women’s eyes
Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.
How cold and late it is! Why don’t they come
And put him into bed? Why don’t they come?

Wilfred Owen

Here is a Remembrance Day poem. Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon are reknown for their WW1poetry. Both actively served in the trenches. Wilfred Owen died at the very end of the war while on duty at the age of 25 and is best known for his poem ‘Anthem for a Doomed Youth’.

In a recent U3A poetry session we looked at contrast in poems and there is great personal contrast in this poem.

The youth who really wanted go to war for such sorry reasons … look a god in kilts / to please the giddy jilts  is a different picture after his return. He is now legless and restricted by a wheelchair … previously he was a champion at sport, previously his youth and mobility swept the girls off the floor … now all the girls ignore him and what is more he is condemned to reliance on the support of a Carer in order to perform the basic of tasks.

The drain of life- vitality to remain living but dead is dramatically stated in the following lines in the third stanza …
He’s lost his colour very far from here,
Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,

It is a poem that highlights the long lasting effect of war on those that survived … especially the difficulties of those returning in coming to terms with their change of circumstance … and at a very personal level. Wilfred Owen spent some time convalescing in Scotland before he returned for a second tour of duty. It was here that he met Siegfried Sassoon and many other men that had been wounded or suffered shell-shock.

But perhaps of more importance the poem highlights the naivety and unprepared nature of many young men that enlisted without any knowledge and understanding of the nature of war- succumbing to the glory image perpetuated throughout society at the time of the First World War. The poetry of Owen and Sassoon continues to wave a flag in a different direction.

… here is a link to another WordPress analysis of this poem

Delight in Disorder

A sweet disorder in the dress
Kindles in clothes a wantonness;
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
Into a fine distraction;
An erring lace, which here and there
Enthrals the crimson stomacher;
A cuff neglectful, and thereby
Ribands to flow confusedly;
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat;
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie
I see a wild civility:
Do more bewitch me, than when art
Is too precise in every part.

Robert Herrick 1591 – 1674

I do like the light gentle sensual interplay between gentleman and lady … although the lady is only speaking with her dress  … I say gentleman and lady because Robert Herrick was a clergyman and I guess he had association with the more refined – the drawing room ladies of his time … look at the description of the dress in the above text … apart from a tempestuous petticoat there are a couple of unusual words …

Lawn = a fine light cotton or cotton-and-polyester fabric. Use: clothing, household linen.

Stomacher = a stiff panel of material, often decorated with embroidery or jewels, worn over the chest and abdomen by women in the 17th and 18th centuries, and earlier by both sexes

Ribands = a ribbon, especially one that is presented to somebody as an award or prize

The last lines are the most important and here we see the movement from the dress of a lady to art … of course art and the female form are synonymous so it is not a great transference.  I have a certain sympathy with the suggestion that ‘art’ as well as dress needs a little disorder to give it a more human quality … but perhaps a lost arm doesn’t always enhance.

The poem is a fourteen line sonnet of rhyming couplets though some of the end rhymes may be seen as a little disorderly … for example ‘tie’ and ‘civility’ … but there again perhaps this is very appropriate in the expression of the underlining sentiment of the poem!

… so the bottom line is if you are making your own custard don’t worry if there is an uneven quality and even a few small lumps hanging around … the taste is all that matters … you will be forgiven, and of course you can’t be perfect.

The Tuft of Flowers

I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been—alone,

‘As all must be,’ I said within my heart,
‘Whether they work together or apart.’

But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a bewildered butterfly,

Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night
Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.

And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.

I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;

But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,

A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one though of ours to him,
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

‘Men work together,’ I told him from the heart,
‘Whether they work together or apart.’

Robert Frost

Robert Frost wrote this poem at the end of the nineteenth century when grass was cut by hand using a scythe. He worked on farmland and this is probably a first hand reflection when he had the job of turning cut meadow grass.

The flower festival in Canberra has just ended and all the bulbs will be taken out so it is a fitting poem for this time of year. Whether the gardeners will leave some form of memory of the magnificence of the spring showing is another matter.

Often when we work with nature there is something of beauty we must destroy … there is always a desire to keep something of what we are taking … this is clearly evident in the work of the reaper … he wants to keep something of that beauty … it is of course a message too to another who may come that way.

But the main thought that came through was that when we take on a job following the work of another … which is always the case … there is always a connection something left behind … and hopefully something to enjoy … no empty coke cans lying in the furrows … and even if there are negatives can we find a positive and maybe first the butterfly to lead us to that positive … and in that sense we are never alone as we incorporate the connecting positives in our own work.

I do like that word ‘tuft’ – a small bunch of hair, grass, feathers, or fibres held or growing together at the base.

Cherry-Ripe

There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;
There cherries grow that done may buy,
Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rosebuds fill’d with snow;
Yet them no peer nor prince may buy,
Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry.

Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her bows like bended bows do stand,
Threat’ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that approach with eye or hand
These sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry!

Anonymous

I found this poem in ‘The Golden Treasury’ an old anthology. I was actually looking for some garden poetry and this caught my eye. The archaic language and structure is clearly evident of poetry written in the seventeenth century.

According to the Internet and Wikipedia this poem was written by Thomas Campion – Thomas Campion (sometimes Campian) (12 February 1567 – 1 March 1620) was an English composer, poet, and physician. He wrote over a hundred lute songs, masques for dancing, and an authoritative technical treatise on music.

What is Cherry-Ripe – not just a statement on a full red colour – after reading this poem with the repetition of the last line in each stanza perhaps it is more a call –  ‘red and ready’  – and with the implication ready to be tasted.

Poets often link words to form a new joint association – cherry and ripe marry nicely in the mind – you could say a tasteful sensual association.

Cherry-Ripe is perhaps more known today as a Cadburys chocolate bar – at least in Australia.

The poem gives a certain lip-service to the sacred (virgin) lady who cannot be bought or sold.  A lady who is only accessible on maturity and when that lady indicates that she is ready – which is not a certainty. In fact the most beautiful may remain inaccessible as a cry of ‘Cherry-Ripe’ would only detract from that beauty – ‘Cherry-Ripe bars’ sound very nice but they are a bit sickly.

Apart from the obvious love connotation and the ‘wooing a beautiful maiden’ nature of the words it does say something about being patient and waiting for the appropriate time whether or not it eventuates.

Incidentally cherry picking time is November in Australia – the first trays fetch high prices in the markets – but I can wait, I’m not that desperate.