One More Sonnet

Tag: shakespeare

  • Staked His Claim

    Staked His Claim

    Boldly… staked his claim to a poet’s brag.
    He gave his word… promised Love’s salvation.
    And so, with upward lift and downward drag
    came the wait; the weight of expectation.
    Brazenly… gave rhyme to a poet’s shout.
    Penned in red-ink… “Love the ever-lasting”
    Gave perpetuity no timeless doubt.
    Raised the standard (banner, flag and masting).
    But, alas… with hope there came no finish.
    no conclusion… no evidence of claim.
    Nothing of his promise could distinguish
    anything of note… Time he did not tame.
    . So awkward is the stumble in retreat,
    . much better to be humble in defeat.

    © Tim Grace, 29 July 2011

    To the reader: In the engine room of life expectation is a key driver, a dramatic tool that motivates and energises. It’s also the mechanism that can let loose catastrophe. Expectation mixed with high-octane confidence pushes the needle in the gauge ever closer to the danger zone. As one needle tips to red, others likewise respond; the system is stretched; margins of error diminish; and finally, all tolerance is gone… the gasket blows!

    To the poet: The inevitable unrealised… junk yards. Rusting remnants … failed pursuits. Testaments and epitaphs … comparisons. A full collection of poems laid bare … his best and worst; side-by-side. The full journey with all its trammelling is what makes a full-reading of Shakespeare’s sonnets a rewarding exercise. The intrepid determination and commitment to his cause … for love sake; forsaken love.

     

    staked his claim staked his claim

     

  • Looked to Love

    Looked to Love

    He looked to love as destination;
    as would a traveller to journey’s end.
    He looked to love for sweet salvation;
    so all hearts broken be given mend.
    He sought from love guidance and direction;
    to navigate his way to certainty.
    He sought from love his soul’s protection;
    as guarantee, as life-long warranty.
    In search of love he found himself forlorn;
    always the wanderer in love’s pursuit.
    In search of love he feared the prick of thorn;
    and so reluctant, scarcely tasted fruit.
    . Too far he travelled and too long he searched;
    . void of love’s direction, he leaned and lurched.

    © Tim Grace, 27 July 2011

    To the reader: To map love would be an interesting endeavour. Begin with its orientation and from there give it latitude and longitudinal expansion. For the adventurous lover, the terrain would need the undulation of daring dreams that hang precariously above chasms of deep despair. For the intimate lover, there’d need to be shaded woods, babbling brooks and caverns carved into dells and dales. With love designed into the landscape, adventure and intimacy would define the perfect lover’s exploration.

    To the poet: Shakespeare’s sonnets express themselves through love’s interpretation; they follow the classic humours of disposition, preference, propensity and temperament. The love sonnets are seasonal: hot, moist and sanguine in Spring; cold, dry and phlegmatic in Winter. A sonnet’s lovescape is not incidentally structured, it’s deliberately sculptured to render love’s authenticity; foolish, debased, devoted, tormented, merciful … fair, kind and true.

     

    looked to love looked to love

     

  • All Things Perfect

    All Things Perfect

    Of all things perfect, none so more
    than he who casts his eyes to mine.
    In him, I see myself and so adore
    the common make of our design.
    All things from nothing yet compiled.
    An angel formed of pluck and sprite.
    He on me, has so been styled;
    and so, gives rise to my delight.
    I am touched that he would see me
    as same; and to my loving eyes attach.
    As if forever is but a certainty,
    and never more our hearts unlatch.
    .    To what does this doting verse engender?
    .    ‘Tis a father’s love most mild and tender.

    © Tim Grace, 24 July 2011

    To the reader: As I do yearn for Spring, so I also long for the return of my youthful prime. I remember myself, not as the looking-glass portrays me now: aged with the deep furrows of time’s decay; etched upon my brow. No, my perception of ‘self’ lives in the recall of an untrammelled field; full of potential, far from the ravaging harvest of sickle and scythe; that leaves me exhausted in a decrepit state of waste.

    To the poet: Dear Youth … love me tender… treat me with kindness and fair respect. In Shakespeare’s relatively short life he wrote of life with passion; an earthy, seasonal gift that so soon decomposes; loses its golden lustre. His season of fond recall was Spring, represented by the spirit of Youth and its zest for life. Life’s love found its perfect expression in the face of Youth… beauty’s image was His to bear: bounteous, brash, bold and abundant with promise.

     

    all things perfect

     

  • Ever more

    Ever more

    “Evermore will time stand still,
    for ‘now’ has been extended.
    Through turn of phrase and stroke of quill,
    this moment is suspended.”
    And thus, he wrote of Time’s defeat,
    as conquered through his verse:
    “No more will youth through age retreat,
    as if struck by mortal curse.”
    He inscripted youth, at beauty’s prime,
    to best achieve his quip.
    Empowered-up, to temper time,
    he released its savage grip.
    . That form, given rhyme and verse: so beautiful.
    . That image, as of now: immutable.

    © Tim Grace, 21 July 2011

    To the reader: In reality, there is no such things as a pause in time; we can pause an activity but alas not time. Distorting our sense of time to suit our purposes is a useful skill. Being able to find a meditative moment amid a rush of urgency rejuvenates the soul. Of all the ‘arts’ it’s music that best allows us to adjust our sense of time; with musical accompaniment we recalibrate our tempo. Sometimes, in partnership with music, a lyric will further emphasise a restive refrain.

    To the poet: We can oversell our poetic powers. We can become besotted by our cleverness: wordage becomes verbiage; impact is dulled. In what becomes a brilliantly exhaustive passage of sonnets, Shakespeare openly struggles to outwit Time’s corrosive effect on the perfect patina of life; as expressed through Spring’s expression of youth. With every power, vested to a poet, Shakespeare mounts his case only to realise the futility of cause … “o, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out, against the wrackful siege of battering days… Time decays (Sonnets 64 & 65).

     

    evermore evermore

     

  • So Be Twins

    So Be Twins

    Time and nature so be twins;
    in course, they groove the one same rut.
    As one turns the other spins;
    so stems a common strut.
    Nature is but time expressed;
    the two can not be parted.
    Once in seasons we invest
    then sewn the end’s been started.
    All things, from nature bred,
    succumb to time’s rotation.
    Youthful beauty so is shed
    through weathered maturation.
    . It is with pen he inks a perfect line;
    . outwits the jinx of self-design.

    © Tim Grace, 17 July 2011

    To the reader: Nature and time are inseparable not interchangeable. Nature is the producer: ever ready to compromise; endlessly adapting as circumstances change. Time is the consumer: demanding and impatient; in one hand a scythe the other a sickle. Seen together (as in reap the harvest) there appears a partnership but this is not based on negotiation; nothing more than convenience. Without a perpetual contract nature has learnt not to resist time. Through accommodation nature extends and also yields its fleeting crop.

    To the poet: In sonnets 17 and 18, Shakespeare changes tack regarding the power of procreation. If youthful beauty stubbornly resists its duty to duplicate by means of perpetual parenting then alternative methods must be found. To a poet it seems obvious that words perfectly written can capture youth and outwit Time. With new zeal, Shakespeare takes it upon himself to write a poem that leaves the beauty of youth beyond compare; beyond Time’s destruction.

    so be twins so be twins
  • Golden Harvest

    Golden Harvest

    In none too subtle terms he stated
    the consequence of wasted harvest.
    He pitied those who contemplated
    taking to the grave a treasure chest
    of spring-time sweets and summer jewels.
    He reminded those, who chose to self-invest,
    that unstoked love consumes; more so than fuels.
    In wisdom, nature’s rules suggest
    beauty thrives on life repeated;
    and so, laments the spinster’s nest
    and he who loves himself conceited.
    . Time strips beauty of its youthful zest,
    . the womb, not the tomb, does future best.

    © Tim Grace, 10 July 2011

    To the reader: In an agricultural age, full of uncertainty, populate or perish must have been an accepted adage; giving guidance to family planning. In his first handful of sonnets, Shakespeare’s advice to a youthful sire is to go forth and spread his seeds in beauty’s empty fields. The agricultural advice promotes a robust tillage of vacant plots; making the most of spring-time’s lustful days for “thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee, calls back the lovely April of her prime”.

    To the poet: Just as one word does not make a sentence nor does one reading of one sonnet suffice to meet Shakespeare’s purpose. The various sets of sonnets were written over a short enough period to have overlapping features that connect them as siblings to a family. One word will evolve its use (niggard); and phrases will roll one into another, as with: golden time (3), on a golden pilgrimage (7) to his gold complexion dimmed(18).

     

    golden harvest
    golden harvest