7metaphysical poetry

Metaphysical Poetry

The metaphysical poets were a diverse group of poets writing between, roughly, 1610-1680. Metaphysical poetry, a term invented quite a while after the poets wrote and lived, is both intellectual and emotional, and operates at a high pitch of intensity. It uses ordinary speech as well as scientific concepts and terms drawn from the science of the day. Technical devices associated with the school are Paradox and Conceit. Love and religion were probably its commonest themes. Authors generally held to belong to the school are John Donne, Andrew Marvell, George Herbert, Henry Vaughan, John Cleveland, Abraham Cowley, and Richard Crashaw. The Metaphysical poets have become highly fashionable in the 20th century, but before this were often considered eccentric and difficult.

The distinguishing feature of metaphysical poetry A

peculiar blend of: Thought with passion, The colloquial with the ingenious, Realistic violence and meditative refinement

ConceitThe word conceit indicates an elaborate figurative device of a fanciful kind which often combines metaphor, simile, hyperbole& oxymoron. It is intended to surprise& delight readers by its wit& ingenuity. This device is chiefly associated with the metaphysical poets in 17th century. A comparison between two relatively unlike entities.

The most famous sustained conceit is Donne's drawing of parallels between: the continuing relationship of his persona's soul with that of his beloved's (despite their physical parting) and the coordinated movements of the two feet of a compass. A woman’s naked body as an explorer’s map—―Oh, my America!‖ A flea’s body that has just bitten both lovers as a sacred altar or a marriage bed

Obscene and vulgar poems as well as those of philosophical thinking (conflicts as his life experiences) From a Roman Catholic Church but had to join the Anglican Church Studied at Cam and then Ox but no degree; learned law but never practiced. A man as―Jack‖ Donne, a frequent visitor of ladies and theatres, a writer of vulgarly-charming poems but a happy and loyal marriage 1598 private secretary to Sir Thomas Egerton, and raged him by the marriage; Dismissed from the job and imprisoned. John Donne– Ann Donne 1621 Appointed dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral by James I.

John Donne(1571-1631)

Donne’s Works Two

kinds of poetry: secular poetry: love poetry religious matter: sonnets

―The

Flea‖,―The Good Morrow‖,―Song‖,―The Sun Rising‖,―The Canonization‖

Other Metaphysical PoetsGeorge Herbert (1593-1633) The Temple (1633)―The Altar‖―Redemption‖―Easter Wings‖―Affliction I‖―Church Monuments‖―The Windows‖―The Collar‖―Death‖―Love‖ Henry Vaughan (1621-1695) Silex Scintillans―Regeneration,‖―The Retreat,‖―The World‖―They Are All Gone into the World of

Light,‖―Cock-Crowing‖ Richard Crashaw (1613-1649) Steps to the Temple (1646)―To the Infant Martyrs‖―The Weeper‖ calls Mary Magdalene’s tears―portable and compendious oceans‖ and a breakfast for cherubs Andrew Marvell (1621-1678) Poems (published after his death)―Damon the Mower‖―The Mower’s Song‖―The Mower Against Gardens‖―The Mower’s Song‖―To His Coy Mistress‖―Upon Appleton House‖

A Valediction: forbidding mourning告别辞：莫悲伤(A farewell. Don’t grieve over my leaving.) John Donne

AS

virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls, to go, Whilst some of their sad friends do say, The breath goes now, and some say, no: 恰如德高者安详谢世， 悄声对灵魂耳语：走， 一些朋友伤心痛哭，

说他呼吸已止，有的则说：没有。

So

let us melt, and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move, T'were profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love. 让我们融化，悄然无息地， 没有如涌的泪泉，没有如风的叹息。

那是对我们快乐的亵渎， 如果向俗人把我们的爱情倾诉。

Moving

of th'earth brings harms and

fears, Men reckon what it did and meant, But trepidation of the spheres, Though greater far, is innocent. 地震带来祸害和恐怖， 人们探讨它的踪迹，它的意图，

然而，诸天体的震颤， 纵然更为巨大，却从不引起灾难。

Dull

sublunary lovers love (Whose soule is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove Those things which elemented it. 世上相亲相爱的凡人， (他们的灵魂即感官)无法容忍

别离，因为那会使他们脱离 那些充满快感的天地。

But

we by a love, so much refin'd, That our selves know not what it is, Inter-assured of the mind, Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss. 然而我们的爱情，却更为纯净， 那原委我们自己也说不清。

心心相印，生死与共， 岂在乎眼、唇和手的交融。

Our

two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat. 于是，我俩的灵魂浑然一体， 虽然我必须暂离，

却并不意味决裂，那只是延伸， 一如把金子敲打成薄片。

If

they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two, Thy soul the fixed foot, makes no show To move, but doth, if the'other do. 即便那真是两个，那也应如同 圆规双脚般的坚定。 你的灵魂是定脚，纹丝不动， 若是另一只脚起步，它也随之移动。

And

though it in the center sit, Yet when the other far doth roam, It leans, and hearkens after it, And grows erect, as that comes home. 尽管一直端坐中

央， 然而当另一只脚四周漫游，

那定脚便侧身，细听周详， 待它归来，便又挺直如旧。

Such

wilt thou be to me, who must Like th'other foot, obliquely run; Thy firmness makes my circle just, And makes me end, where I begun. 这便是你之于我，我一直 如同那另一只脚，侧身转圈，

你的坚贞使我的轨迹浑圆， 也使我的漫游在起跑点终止。

To the Virgins, to make much of TimeGATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles today To-morrow will be dying. That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun The higher he 's a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he 's to setting.

"To His Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell

Had we but world enough and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down, and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the flood, And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires and more slow; An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate.

But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found; Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long-preserved virginity, And your quaint honor turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust: The grave's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace.

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