Sonnet 60 – Shakespeare

Well the New Year is well and truly over … and that bright spark moment of celebration too … and days flow on relentlessly … like the waves in the sea as in this sonnet by Shakespeare …

 Sonnet 60 

Like as the waves make towards the pebbl'd shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.

Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:

And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

…. the sea quite an appropriate metaphor for time as one minute flows to the next … in contrast to the discrete increments in measurement as we look at our watch … the resultant efect on life flows on in similar manner from moment to moment whether a raging bushfire or winning at point in the Australian Open

… this sonnet is a sad lament at what time does from being an initial gift and providing joy in youth to destroying facial beauty by the lines in the brow due to age defined as parallels in the third stanza

… I always associate the word nativity with Christ’s birth, but of course it refers to being born and experiencing light … if the crooked eclipses are our eyes then it is quite so that they do lose appreciation of beauty with age … especially in the days of Shakespeare when glasses were not prevalent

… appaprently it was written in connection of a young aquaintance of Shakespeare so that the person concerned will forever be remembered as a worthy sole due to the poetic immortality of the last line … assuming these words from Shakespeare will live forever … and lets face it Shakespeare is now spread wide across the world due to the internet … and I guess by this Post I have added to that fact

… I will make a positive comment … joy can be found in every stage of life … with suitable adjustment in how this is facilitated as we age … and regarding time … we are a gift with a use-by date … it is up to us to unpack this gift and make best use … and of course thanks for reading my words LOL

Morte D’Arthur – Epilogue – Tennyson – Comments

Morte D'Arthur - Epilogue

Here ended Hall, and our last light, that long
  Had wink'd and threaten'd darkness, flared and fell:
  At which the Parson, sent to sleep with sound,
  And waked with silence, grunted "Good!" but we
  Sat rapt: It was the tone with which he read--
  Perhaps some modern touches here and there
  Redeem'd it from the charge of nothingness--
  Or else we loved the man, and prized his work;
  I know not: but we sitting, as I said,
  The cock crew loud; as at that time of year
  The lusty bird takes every hour for dawn:
  Then Francis, muttering, like a man ill-used,
  "There now--that's nothing!" drew a little back,
  And drove his heel into the smoulder'd log,
  That sent a blast of sparkles up the flue;
  And so to bed; where yet in sleep I seem'd
  To sail with Arthur under looming shores.
  Point after point; till on to dawn, when dreams
  Begin to feel the truth and stir of day,
  To me, methought, who waited with a crowd,
  There came a bark that, blowing forward, bore,
  King Arthur, like a modern gentleman
  Of stateliest port; and all the people cried,
  "Arthur is come again: he cannot die".
  Then those that stood upon the hills behind
  Repeated--"Come again, and thrice as fair";
  And, further inland, voices echoed--
  "Come With all good things, and war shall be no more".
  At this a hundred bells began to peal,
  That with the sound I woke, and heard indeed
  The clear church-bells ring in the Christmas morn.

Tennyson (1809 – 1892)

This is the epilogue at the end of ‘Morte D’Arthur’ Tennyson’s famous poem on the death of the legendry King Arthur from the Knights of the Round Table. Not everybody is aware of these lines and it certainly was the case at our local U3A discussion on Tennyson.

It is Christmas Eve and the Parson has been reading and it is long into the evening with the remains of the fire smoldering. It is known that a cockerel will call out repeatedly well before the advent of day. And the cockerel is calling out many more times than three in the denunciation of Peter.

But what the parson had been reading stirred Tennyson into thought so much so that his dreams were of Arthur, King Arthur who is often also equated to his dead close friend Arthur Hallam – ‘I seem’d  /  To sail with Arthur under looming shores’.

I do love the words – ‘when dreams / Begin to feel the truth and stir of day’ which indicate he has been dreaming right up to daybreak when dreams dissolve in the reality of day.

It is what he dreamed that is so important … if you read the end of the death of Arthur in Tennyson’s poem you will be aware of the bark and the portraying of Arthur’s moving descriptive departure at death …

So said he, and the barge with oar and sail
Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death,
Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere
Revolving many memories, till the hull
Look'd one black dot against the verge of dawn,
And on the mere the wailing died away.

Everybody is overjoyed at the return of the legendry King Arthur. And what good would then be accomplished. Equally Tennyson is overjoyed if he is thinking of Arthur Hallam, which is probably the case. And then the link to Christianity as the Christmas Bells peal out in joyous celebration of the arrival of Christmas Day.

Tennyson explored immortality and was hoping for individuality to be retained in any afterlife. He didn’t want the afterlife to be lost in a nebulous generic love cloud. For interest here is a link to a study of Tennyson and immortality – A Short Analysis of Tennyson’s ‘Morte d’Arthur’ – Interesting Literature

Tennyson on Wikipedia – Alfred, Lord Tennyson – Wikipedia

The Immortal Part – A. E. Housman -Comments

The Immortal Part

When I meet the morning beam,
Or lay me down at night to dream,
I hear my bones within me say,
‘Another night, another day.

‘When shall this slough of sense be cast,
This dust of thoughts be laid at last,
The man of flesh and soul be slain
And the man of bone remain?

‘This tongue that talks, these lungs that shout
These thews that hustle us about,
This brain that fills the skull with schemes,
And its humming hive of dreams,—

‘These to-day are proud in power
And lord it in their little hour:
The immortal bones obey control
Of dying flesh and dying soul.

”Tis long till eve and morn are gone:
Slow the endless night comes on,
And late to fulness grows the birth
That shall last as long as earth.

‘Wanderers eastward, wanderers west,
Know you why you cannot rest?
‘Tis that every mother’s son
Travails with a skeleton.

Lie down in the bed of dust;
Bear the fruit that bear you must;
Bring the eternal seed to light,
And morn is all the same as night.

‘Rest you so from trouble sore,
Fear the heat o’ the sun no more,
Nor the snowing winter wild,
Now you labour not with child.

‘Empty vessel, garment cast,
We that wore you long shall last.
—Another night, another day.’
So my bones within me say.

Therefore they shall do my will
To-day while I am master still,
And flesh and soul, now both are strong,
Shall hale the sullen slaves along,

Before this fire of sense decay,
This smoke of thought blow clean away,
And leave with ancient night alone
The stedfast and enduring bone.

A. E. Housman

Strong iambic rhythm and rhyme in each of the four line stanzas (aabb).

As I get older my bones are in tune with the bone-talking words expressed in the first stanza (but I can recommend glucosamine). And I liked the way he talked of death as a birth in stanza five – And late to fulness grows the birth / That shall last as long as earth.

Getting to the bones of this poem, looking at the last stanza and the first line – before this fire of sense decay … while we are master over flesh and before the decay to everlasting bone – the immortal part (if indeed bones last forever) let us make the most of our being! And don’t let’s concentrate our thoughts on that enduring bone or that ancient nightThis smoke of thought blow clean away – line two of  the last stanza.

Housman was an atheist and a somewhat depressive character. Even so it is interesting to have a look at one of his quotes …

The troubles of our proud and angry dust are from eternity, and shall not fail. Bear them we can, and if we can we must. Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale.

He believed that we can bear all our troubles and not only we can bear them but he states that we must bear them. Let’s face it, what creator (or God if you like) would design a universe where we were not capable of bearing our troubles – it’s not worth thinking of … it would be such a horrid scenario – in this sense he at least believed in a good creator.

And here is a link to A. E. Housman on Wikipedia