Wednesday, 25 June 2014

John Donne, and A Valediction Forbidding Mourning

A Valediction Forbidding Mourning


AS virtuous men pass mildly away,
    And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
    "Now his breath goes," and some say, "No." 

                
So let us melt, and make no noise,                                       5 
    No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ; 
'Twere profanation of our joys  
    To tell the laity our love. 


Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears; 
    Men reckon what it did, and meant;                              10 
But trepidation of the spheres,  
    Though greater far, is innocent. 


Dull sublunary lovers' love  
    —Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove                                     15 
    The thing which elemented it. 


But we by a love so much refined, 
    That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
    Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.          
               20

Our two souls therefore, which are one, 
    Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
    Like gold to aery thinness beat. 


If they be two, they are two so                                          25 
    As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show  
    To move, but doth, if th' other do. 


And though it in the centre sit,  
    Yet, when the other far doth roam,                                30 
It leans, and hearkens after it,  
    And grows erect, as that comes home. 


Such wilt thou be to me, who must, 
    Like th' other foot, obliquely run; 
Thy firmness makes my circle just,                                    35 
    And makes me end where I begun.  



About John Donne

John Donne was born in 1572 to a recusant Catholic family (meaning a family that did not attend Anglican practices). At the time, practicing Catholicism was illegal in England. Though his family faced much persecution, John Donne managed to achieve a private education, going on to study at Cambridge – However, he failed to get a degree due to his Catholicism. Later in life, after questioning his faith, he became a Protestant – He fought in the Anglo-Spanish war, and upon returning, he began an illustrious career as chief secretary to Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, Sir Thomas Egerton. However, this did not last; four years later, he displeased Egerton and married his niece, Anne More, ending his diplomatic career. For several years, Donne struggled to cope with his ever-growing family (His wife had no fewer than 12 children). However, from 1610, Donne’s life took a turn for the better – he received patronage from Sir Robert Drury, and eventually became the Dean of St Pauls, a lucrative and prominent position within the church of England. He remained in this position until he died in 1631.
In John Donne’s poetry, we must address a key concept – that of Christian joy. Adam Potkay captures this important theme when discussing Donne’s work by stating;
‘… within the Protestant “pluriverse” of souls each striving for God and struggling against Satan or fallen human nature, joy serves as a countervailing, centripetal force, a sign and surety of adhesion to God and neighbour.’[i] Donne believed that joy was something biblical, a connection to the divine that actively opposed the forces of evil, and Satan. He actively condemned joylessness, and struggled in his famous sermons to draw people away from joyless lives. However, today John Donne is perhaps best known for being one of the first Metaphysical Poets – This group of independent writers was defined by dealing with topics such as love and religion, as well as using ingenious metaphors, or ‘conceits’, to great effect. John Donne’s most famous example is his use of a Flea to discuss sexual relations between two people in The Flea;
Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
It suck’d me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
This kind of imagery is extremely evocative, and was particularly effective during the sixteenth- and seventeenth centuries for pushing people’s understanding of language beyond their limits. Conceits broke new ground; as Helen Gardner states, ‘A conceit is a comparison whose ingenuity is more striking than its justness’[ii] – meaning that their denotative meaning was not immediately indicative of their connotative meaning. Basically, they used unusual and unconventional metaphors to challenge people to think about their source material.

Looking at 'A Valediction Forbidding Mourning'

In 'A Valediction Forbidding Mourning', Donne uses this and much more to talk about the dangers and irrationality of loss, grief and joylessness. The title itself is enough to tell us that – Valediction essentially means ‘farewell’, and so the title reads ‘A Farewell Forbidding Mourning’. This ties in to the context of the piece, as it was written to his wife before departing for continental Europe around 1611-12. However, it’s clear that his themes stretch beyond departing on a journey, as the piece begins by referring to the death of ‘virtuous men’. He wants us to understand that these men were loved by friends and family. And yet, whilst some say, ‘… ‘Now his breath goes,’ and some say ‘No.’’, Donne suggests that we ‘melt, and make no noise’; that it is ‘profanation of our joys/ to tell the laity our love.’ He wishes for us to move directly against the concept of mourning by breaking the traditions of a funeral. He refers to the workings of the universe, to the ‘Moving of th’ earth’ and man’s ‘trepidation of the spheres’, as an innocent yet harmful speculation – whilst ‘Men reckon what it did’, they will eventually find no answer to their questions. Here, spheres may be referring to something spiritual as opposed to literal, such as the afterlife, or heaven; however, either way the meaning is much the same. People consider loss on a scale that is beyond their understanding, ergo: why has this happened?
Once we move into the fourth stanza, the main theme of the poem becomes apparent; Donne isn’t just referring to the loss of a friend or relative. He’s talking about the loss of a lover, or a loved partner. He talks about the irrationality of love, and it’s blinding sense of ‘logic’; ‘sublunary lovers’ love/ - Whose soul is sense – cannot admit/ Of absence’. These lines are particularly significant because, in them, he identifies a paradox; lover’s rationality is subjective. Between two lovers, their feelings and experiences are alive and earthly (aka – sublunary, meaning belonging to this world, normally as opposed to a spiritual one). Their souls, made of ‘sense’, cannot adjust to absence as the act of acceptance would kill that feeling. He’s referring to moving on, and the need to put something behind you; ‘cannot admit/ Absence, ‘cause it doth remove/ The thing which elemented it.’ It’s a double-edged sword: on one hand, the loss of this love is a raw and open wound; on the other, moving on risks the chance of betraying yourself.
Donne reinforces this idea in the next stanza, suggesting that this conviction leads us to ‘Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.’ This is a reference to the wilful negligence of a lover in mourning, and the active pursuit of ignoring emotions and rational responses – specifically, he talks about the senses. The next stanza opens up the theme of joyfulness for the first time, as opposed to his position on joylessness. He talks of an ‘expansion’, as opposed to a ‘breach’, referring to the two souls still being one, ‘Though I must go’ – here he acknowledges a physical separation, whilst alluding to a spiritual connection. They don’t halve; instead, they expand, ‘Like gold to aery thinness beat.’ Essentially, it’s similar to dissolution; whilst they spread far apart, the solution is the same. A drop of wine in a glass of water spreads, and remains connected.
The last three stanzas of the poem, my favourite part, essentially embodies the Metaphysical conceit, or extended metaphor, that poets like Donne were so brilliant at crafting. He compares the two separated souls to needles on a compass; ‘If they be two, they are two so/ As stiff twin compasses are two’. The implications of this image are so ingenious, that just considering it brings the reader to several inherent truths about the irrationality of joylessness. By their very nature, the needles of a compass can never meet; ‘Thy soul, the fix’d foot, makes no show/ To move, but doth, if th’ other do.’ The act of pursuing lost love is the futile act of the two hands of a compass attempting to meet. He still considers the two liked at the centre; ‘Yet, when the other far doth roam,/ It leans, and hearkens after it,/ And grows erect, as that comes home.’ There’s a yearning feeling, something which is transcribed as a physical force – the act of grief is a force of nature, a primal sadness.
At the end of the poem, Donne brings the subject matter back to his wife, the recipient of the poem, ‘who must,/ Like th’ other foot, obliquely run’. Here, the title of the poem comes back to us, and we’re reminded that this is his own farewell to his wife, forbidding mourning. He reminds her, however, that whilst in death they may never physically be together, the force of their love can retain joyfulness even after death; ‘Thy firmness makes my circle just,/ And makes me end where I begun.’ Here, in the last lines, he brings the poem full circle by referring to his own beginnings. He reminds her – and by extension, us the readers – that in our memories, the true life of love will always be found.




[i] Adam Potkay, ‘Spenser, Donne, and the Theology of Joy’, Studies in English Literature, 1500-1900, 46.1 (2006) p.43
[ii] Helen Gardner, The Metaphysical Poets (England: Oxford University Press, 1961) p. xxiii

Frank O'Hara, and childhood in his poetry

Childhood in Frank O'Hara's poetry


'There I could never be a boy,
though I rode like a god when the horse reared.
At a cry from mother, I fell to my knees!'
Frank O'Hara, ‘Poem (There I could never be a boy)’

Frank O'Hara is perhaps best imagined as the cosmopolitan; the critic, the party-goer, the curator. He was an enthusiastic student of the arts. His deep passion for media and artistic portrayal is something that can be found deeply rooted in his poetry, and there’s no denying his adoration of the city of New York that saturates his work. However, Frank was not born into that lifestyle: He grew up in the small town of Grafton, Massachusetts, to parents Russell and Katherine O'Hara; populated by around 6000 people, Grafton was far-removed from the glamour of the big city. He was the oldest sibling, out of his brother John (or Phil) and his sister Maureen, and he attended St Paul’s Catholic grade school from 1932-1940. His family owned and managed a farm, and were well-respected in the community. Despite a frosty relationship with his family at the time of his death, he was often considered his mother’s child during his time before joining the navy. Family life for young Frank O'Hara (aka., Francis) was good; for example, when writing home during one point of his deployment, he wrote (without any sense of sarcasm), ‘Blondie will always be a symbol of our family life to me[i] (alluding to the film). So where does this rural background come in to Frank O’Hara’s poetry? Does it possess any kind of levity? What of his sexual identity, or his literary genius? Where does this upbringing show in the city-poet's work?

As it turns out, he regularly alluded to his childhood throughout various examples of his poetry, in different manners and with different attitudes. Perhaps the most obvious example of his allusion to his childhood can be found in his poem, 'Ode to Michael Goldberg ('s Birth and Other Births)'. In this candid piece, he extracts the segments of the child, Francis O'Hara, from the perspective of the adult poet, Frank - This has the effect of bringing us into his own perspective as both adult and adolescent, whilst showing us what aspects of his childhood later cultivated into adulthood. Throughout the poem, his wandering, musing voice casually recalls senses and memories to expose to us things like his awakening sexuality; his referral to, '... the twitching odor of hay...' being a possible reference to his first sexual experience with a stable boy
[ii]. Interestingly, whilst he generally removed himself from the responsibilities surrounding the farm and it's management, he is drawn to that first experience and the masculinity of that lifestyle around him. Even if this is not true, it is the working-class, masculine world which he chooses to eroticise - for example, referring to the remarks made by the Whitney Brothers - as opposed to the more educated lifestyle he had learnt from his aunts (the life of the arts, and literature). In other poems, too, he specifically refers to this idea of sexual awakening; in 'Ave Maria', he suggests that mothers that send children to the cinema might find their children thanking them, '... for their first sexual experience/ which only cost you a quarter/ and didn't upset the peaceful home...' Here, there's also the possibility that O'Hara was quite aware of his homosexuality at a younger age; more, that he had the maturity to recognise his own vulnerability being gay, and the difficulties he would face because of this. There is the chance that, like in so much of his poetry, he is being semi-autobiographical.

In another poem,Poem (There I could never be a boy)’, Frank approaches the subject of his childhood in a different manner than in 'Ode to Michael Goldberg'; with the mentality of the poet. From the very first line, we get the impression that he felt that his own personality - his own passion and drive - prevented him from enjoying a normal childhood. Similarly, he refers to his mother in this poem, and the conflict she elicited from him with regards to his creativity: He discusses his uncontainable creative drive through an extended metaphor that flows throughout the piece, 'though I bloomed on the back of a frightened black mare...', later writing, 'All these things are tragic/ when a mother watches!/... I knew her, but I could not be a boy...'. However, here it is difficult to imagine that he's doing anything other than looking back in hindsight through tinted shades. There are plenty of examples of Francis the child being decidedly boyish, from his childhood love of music (which he shared with his father AND mother) to his references of childish antics in 'Ode to Michael Goldberg', '... in bushes playing tag, being called in, walk-/ing up onto the porch crying bitterly because it wasn't a/ veranda'. He even emphasises his youth by referring to a time before he was aware of sexuality as a part of himself, when, 'I wasn't proud of my penis yet, how did I know how to act?' Here, he actually refers to a specific LACK of awareness of the poet in him; instead, he is ONLY the boy.

Lastly, in his poetry, he regularly refers to his influences from literature, art and film - even beyond his childhood. However, specifically in pieces such as 'Autobiographia Literaria', we gain some insight into how important these influences were. Again, he refers to a solitary childhood - something which we have to consider with a pinch of incredulity (Gooch refers to a relevant collection of friends that O'Hara spent time with throughout his childhood [iii]) - however, he concludes the poem with, 'And here I am, the/ centre of all beauty!/ writing these poems!/ Imagine!'. This poem was written whilst he was still studying at Harvard in 1949-50, and is the first piece that dealt with his childhood. This is relevant because of how he chose to emphasise his desire to write and be a part of the educated, creative community he was so influenced by. He was an exceptionally bright child: His aunt Margaret helped him to develop a love of reading into an insatiable desire to learn - being a librarian, it was she who plied him with the works of Dickens, Washington Irving, and many others [iv]. In 'Ave Maria', his appreciation of films is immediately obvious, 'Mothers of America/ let your kids go to the movies!' Here, movies is more than just it's literal interpretation; he uses them as a conduit for experiencing life in general. This is apparent in the closing lines of the piece, where he states that the children of parents who don't allow their children to get out of the house and experience things eventually, '... grow old and blind in front of the TV set/ seeing/ movies you wouldn't let them see when they were young'. This alludes to his own childhood, where his aunt Lizzie introduced him to the world of film. He became a firm believer in the importance of film as a medium; something which he would never release.

Frank O'Hara rarely liked to talk about his childhood in later years. His friend, painter Jane Freilicher, suggested that he always exuded this feeling that he was, ‘… very much on his own.’[v] However, whilst it perhaps wasn't as clear-cut as he might imply from his New York apartment conversations with his mother over the phone, nor as he might suggest in his letter to his brother, in which he states, 'As you know I don't give a fuck for families', Frank O'Hara retained some of that relationship with his mother, albeit shrouded in distaste. He traces his own sexual identity through his time spent in the navy, and Harvard, and New York, all the way to the smell of hay; a lifeline to his youth, and it remains there. Overall, Frank O'Hara may have chosen to distance himself from his childhood - However, whilst he had drifted away from his rural beginnings and family ties by the 1960s, Frank O'Hara never chose to completely shake his childhood experience. 






[i] Brad Gooch, City Poet: The Life and Times of Frank O’Hara (New York: Alfred A. Knopf Inc., 1993) p. 13
[ii] Brad Gooch, p. 51
[iii] Brad Gooch, p. 43 - 46
[iv] Brad Gooch, p. 33
[v] Brad Gooch, p. 12


Notes - Hey guys, I hope that you liked this piece - sorry it's out at the skin of my teeth on Sunday night, but here it is regardless! Enjoy!

Poems: 
Ode to Michael Goldberg ('s Birth and Other Births) - search contents
Ave Maria
Poem (There I Could Never be a Boy) - search contents
Autobiographia Literaria