Love Poems about Love Poetry Engl1001/UNBSJ/12-1-17/Dr. M. Jones

Today William Shakespeare, Sonnet 130, p493 Scansion Interpretation Eavan Boland,“Against Love Poetry,”p736 bpNichol,“[dear Captain Poetry],” p738

analysis of verse into metrical patterns SCANSION “ analysis of verse into metrical patterns ”

William Shakespeare The Cobbe portrait (1610), The Chandos portrait (early 1600s) and the Droeshout portrait (1622)

My mistress’eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red, than her lips’ red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head; I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.

My mistress’eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red, than her lips’ red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head; I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare. a b c d e f g

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red, than her lips’ red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head; I have seen roses damasked, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress when she walks treads on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare. a b c d e f g

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red, than her lips’ red;

˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ′ ˘ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ My mist / ress’ eyes / are no / thing like / the sun; ′ ˘ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ Coral / is far / more red, / than her / lips’ red;

Eavan Boland b. 1944 in Dublin lived in London, NYC, Killiney Trinity College Dublin Professor at Stanford U prolific author of poems and literary criticism

— Eavan Boland to Alice Quinn, the New Yorker online Against Love Poetry pub. 2001 “ So much of European love poetry is court poetry, coming out of the glamorous traditions of the court…There’s little about the ordinariness of love. — Eavan Boland to Alice Quinn, the New Yorker online ”

We were married in summer, thirty years ago. I have loved you AGAINST LOVE POETRY We were married in summer, thirty years ago. I have loved you deeply from that moment to this. I have loved other things as well. Among them the idea of women's freedom. Why do I put these words side by side? Because I am a woman. Because marriage is not freedom. Therefore, every word here is written against love poetry. Love poetry can do no justice to this. Here, instead, is a remembered story from a faraway history: A great king lost a war and was paraded in chains through the city of his enemy. They taunted him. They brought his wife and children to him—he showed no emotion. They brought his former courtiers—he showed no emotion. They brought his old servant—only then did he break down and weep. I did not find my womanhood in the servitudes of custom. But I saw my humanity look back at me there. It is to mark the contradictions of a daily love that I have written this. Against love poetry.

bpnichol 1944 — 1988 b. Vancouver known best for concrete poetry: “poetry in which the meaning or effect is conveyed partly or wholly by visual means, using patterns of words or letters and other typographical devices.” collaborative work

Captain Poetry originally published in 1970 via mimeograph

'dear Captain Poetry' dear Captain Poetry, your poetry is trite. you cannot write a sonnet tho you've tried to every night since i've known you. we're thru!! Madame X dear Madame X Look how the sun leaps now upon our faces Stomps & boots our eyes into our skulls Drives all thot to weird & foreign places Till the world reels & the kicked mind dulls, Drags our hands up across our eyes Sends all white hurling into black Makes the inner cranium our skies And turns all looks sent forward burning back. And you, my lady, who should be gentler, kind, Have yet the fiery aspect of the sun Sending words to burn into my mind Destroying all my feelings one by one; You who should have tiptoed thru my halls Have slammed my doors & smashed me into wall love Cap Poetry

Look how the sun leaps now upon our faces Stomps & boots our eyes into our skulls Drives all thot to weird & foreign places Till the world reels & the kicked mind dulls, Drags our hands up across our eyes Sends all white hurling into black Makes the inner cranium our skies And turns all looks sent forward burning back. And you, my lady, who should be gentler, kind, Have yet the fiery aspect of the sun Sending words to burn into my mind Destroying all my feelings one by one; You who should have tiptoed thru my halls Have slammed my doors & smashed me into wall

Look how the sun leaps now upon our faces Stomps & boots our eyes into our skulls Drives all thot to weird & foreign places Till the world reels & the kicked mind dulls, Drags our hands up across our eyes Sends all white hurling into black Makes the inner cranium our skies And turns all looks sent forward burning back. And you, my lady, who should be gentler, kind, Have yet the fiery aspect of the sun Sending words to burn into my mind Destroying all my feelings one by one; You who should have tiptoed thru my halls Have slammed my doors & smashed me into wall a b c d e f g

Look how the sun leaps now upon our faces Stomps & boots our eyes into our skulls Drives all thot to weird & foreign places Till the world reels & the kicked mind dulls, Drags our hands up across our eyes Sends all white hurling into black Makes the inner cranium our skies And turns all looks sent forward burning back. And you, my lady, who should be gentler, kind, Have yet the fiery aspect of the sun Sending words to burn into my mind Destroying all my feelings one by one; You who should have tiptoed thru my halls Have slammed my doors & smashed me into wall a b c d e f g

Look how the sun leaps now upon our faces Stomps & boots our eyes into our skulls

˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ Look how / the sun / leaps now / upon / our faces ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ ˘ ′ Stomps & / boots our / eyes in / to our / skulls

'dear Captain Poetry' dear Captain Poetry, your poetry is trite. you cannot write a sonnet tho you've tried to every night since i've known you. we're thru!! Madame X dear Madame X Look how the sun leaps now upon our faces Stomps & boots our eyes into our skulls Drives all thot to weird & foreign places Till the world reels & the kicked mind dulls, Drags our hands up across our eyes Sends all white hurling into black Makes the inner cranium our skies And turns all looks sent forward burning back. And you, my lady, who should be gentler, kind, Have yet the fiery aspect of the sun Sending words to burn into my mind Destroying all my feelings one by one; You who should have tiptoed thru my halls Have slammed my doors & smashed me into wall love Cap Poetry