The Definition of Love

My Love is of a birth as rare
As 'tis, for object, strange and high;
It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility.

Magnanimous Despair alone
Could show me so divine a thing,
Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown
But vainly flapped its tinsel wing.

And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended soul is fixed;
But Fate does iron wedges drive,
And always crowd itself betwixt.

For Fate with jealous eye does see
Two perfect loves, no lets them close;
Their union would her ruin be,
And her tyrannic power depose.

And therefore her decress of steel
Us as the distant poles have placed
(Though Love's whole world on us doth wheel),
Not by themselves to be embraced,

Unless the giddy heaven fall,
And earth some new convulsion tear,
And, us to join, the world should all
Be cramped into a planisphere.

As lines, so loves oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet;
BUt ours, so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.

Therefore the love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debars,
Is the conjunction of the mind,
And opposition of the stars.


Andrew Marvell's poem The Definition of Love has a very interesting portrayal of Fate as a feminine character with human characteristics such as love. By personifying fate, Marvell places the onus of the relationship on Fate, and blames any hinderances on Fate itself. I found it interesting that Marvell would chose Fate to be feminine. Firstly, it made me thing of Greek mythology. Now, I really don't know Greek mythology, so I decided to google and see what I could find. The Fates were three goddesses that determined human life and destiny, according to MSN encarta. This seemed to fit rather nicely, whether or not Marvell had this in mind, I'm not quite sure. The poem surely speaks of Fate's interaction between the two lovers "But Fate does iron wedges drive/And alwasy crounds itself betwixt" (12). Another perhaps more modern interpretation I had of the feminine figure of Fate was that of a jealous ex lover. Jealousy for some reason seems to more oftenly fall on the side of the woman-lover, rather than the man. Marvell speaks of the lover's being parallel, yet never able to meet, due to Fate's intervension. This poem also had me thinking about what defines a 'soulmate' , and whether or not this poem could be a truth about it. The question that arose in my mind was if everone does have a soulmate, what happens if fate does intervene and you never meet? or what if you do meet and do not realize that it is your soulmate that you see face to face? It is quite harsh to believe that some people indeed to have a soulmate, yet never have the opportunity to meet that person that perhaps could complete them. I certainly hope that won't be the case for me!

Goblin Market & Playboy

Christina Rossetti is a poet found in our anthology, but unfortunately, my favourite poem of hers is not. Goblin Market is a poem originally intended for children that is gothic, allegorical, moralistic and didatic. It was originally marketed for children due to its rhyming, repetition, and sensory descriptions, yet has been transformed into a poem marketed to adults due to its sexual undercurrents. It is the poems flexibility that truly interests me, that one poem could be geared towards both children and adults due to two very different perspectives and interpretations of the text. It is a truly gothic poem due to creepy settings, images of ruin and decay, and depiction of the seedy underbelly of society, which in itself is fantastical. The allegory contained within the poem is a religious allegory of the Fall from innocence which is depicted in the corruption and degregation of Laura from eating fruit. The far most interesting fact I have learned about this poem, however, is that in the 1970's Playboy came out with an illustrated (obviously adult) version of the poem that focused on the eroticism of the poem by illustrating the lines literally, focusing on violence, pleasure and pain as described in the poem. Playboy also interpreted Laura & Lizzie's sisterhood as a form of lesbian love, exagerating the line "Eat me, drink me, love me" . Interested yet? Check out the site and interpret the poem for yourself!

http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/crossetti/gobmarket.html

Wordsworth's Seven

"We Are Seven"
---- A simple Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage Girl:
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was think with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad:
Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
–Her beauty made me glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,
How many may you be?"
"How many? Seven in all," she said
And wondering looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea."

"Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother;
And, in the church-yard cottage, I
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dweel,
And two are gone to sea,
Yet we are seven!-- I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be"

Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-year lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."

"You run about, my little Maid,
Your limbs they are alive;
If two are in the church–yard laid,
Then ye are only five."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen,"
The little Maid replied,
"Twelve step or more from my mother’s door,
And they are side by side."

"My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem;
And there upon the ground I sit,
And sing a song to them."

"And often after sunset, Sir,
When if is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there."

"The first that died was sister Jane;
In bed she moaning lay,
Till God released her of her pain;
And then she went away."

" So in the church-yard she was laid;
And, when the grass was dry,
Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I."

"And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
And he lies by her side."

"How many are you, then," said I,
"If they two are in heaven?"
Quick was the little Maid’s rely,
"O Master! We are seven."

"But they are dead; those two are dead!
Their spirits are in heaven!"
‘Twas throwing words away; for still
The little Maid would have her will,
And said, "Nay, we are seven!"

This ballad by Wordsworth truly touched me the moment I read it. It truly embraces not only the ideals of the Romantic period, but also supports Wordsworth’s Preface to Lyrical Ballads. The dialogue within the poem is between the narrator and the child, yet also between a voice of reason, and a voice of emotion or spirituality. Of course, in line with the Romantic period, the child represents the voice of emotion and spirituality, and in the end makes it seems as if reason is invalid and irrelevant. This poem can be viewed as either a pessimistic or optimistic poem, however, I like to see it in an optimistic light. The fact that death does not represent an end to the child is striking to the narrator, and it adds quite a sense of spirituality to the poem that although dead, the brother and sister are still counted amongst the other children. The image that stuck me as the central image was " Their graves are green, they may be seen" which offers a sense of rebirth and renewal that states that in the child’s eye that nothing truly dies. It is suggested through this poem that the children’s death is merely a physical death, and spiritually they each live on through the Maid.

In his Preface, Wordsworth offers the notion that poetry should "chose incidents and situations from common life" that reflect the rustic or rural. This poem surely reflects this notion, as well by using simplistic language that expresses emotion in an interesting way. Wordsworth ironically calls the Maid ‘simple’ in the first line of the poem, however, by the end, it is clear that she is much wiser than the Master, as she is not governed by reason, but rather, emotion.

Time to clear my mind

Muddled minds are cluttered closets
And holders of deepest secrets
Precedence has no hold here.
Focus is pertinent-
Yet scarily unobtainable,
And the future is so unclear.

~by Dana

The week before reading week seems like the harshest week of the school year. I have found it extremely difficult to retain focus since the holiday break, even though my mind feels like its going to explode, and my thoughts run in circle over the lists of things that need to be accomplished. So please excuse my sloth-like nature, it is only in appearence, not reality. This time of year has left me feeling completely overwhelmed with a lack of energy to tackle the tasks at hand. My poem is just an attempt at trying to voice these feelings, I'm not sure if it comes out clear or not, but if not, then I guess it truly echoes how I'm feeling at this point in time.