The unusual thoughts in John Donne's poems.

[rex_yuan]

:banana:
I find John Donne's unusual metaphors(Conceits) interesting, such as the comparison between the lovers and a compass. And in this poem:A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER he manipulats the similarity between "done" and his name, :crash: "Donne". But I could not understand what alusion there is in "I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore " What thread? Is the shore one of the five rivers in Hades?


A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER.
by John Donne



I.

WILT Thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin, through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.


II.

Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.


III.

I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore ;
But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore ;
And having done that, Thou hast done ;
I fear no more.

[rex_yuan]

What do you think this poem?
THE FLEA.
by John Donne


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.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;
And this, alas ! is more than we would do.

O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.

[emily655321]

It's cute, but perhaps the flea thing was less disgusting to people in the 17th c. Somehow that just spoils the mood for me. :p But, my goodness, that narrator's slick. One of those guys that pretends to be romantic to get what he wants -- trying reverse psychology on the poor girl; "oh, it isn't like I'm just looking to get you in bed; it's far more spiritual than that. I just want our 'blood to mingle,' if even only in the body of a flea that bites us both. So, when you think about it, what's so bad about going to bed with me...?" :rolleyes: Geeeez...creep me out.

[verybaddmom]

i actually think its a pretty clever argument.
and i love the way the action changes between stanzas.
there is oodles of symbolism in the flea as well...three stanzas, nine lines each (three trimesters, three months each...nine months total: result of winning argument?). i find lots of veiled references to pregnancy in this poem, the cloistered walls of jet, the mingling of the blood of two, making three in the body of one.
i think Donne was one of the greatest poets ever in case no one noticed in previous threads. have you read the "Sonne rising"? mmmm.....

BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school-boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices ;
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Thy beams so reverend, and strong
Why shouldst thou think ?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and to-morrow late tell me,
Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."

She's all states, and all princes I ;
Nothing else is ;
Princes do but play us ; compared to this,
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world's contracted thus ;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.

[emily655321]

Ohh. :) That's so sweet.

[iclufianeaw]

I believe the threads in "A Hymn to God the Father" are a reference to the Fates.

[mahrooq]

I think it is funny that he describes the sun as a "saucy and pedantic wretch."