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The Complete English Poems (1971)

par John Donne, John Donne

Autres auteurs: Voir la section autres auteur(e)s.

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This edition, compiled and introduced by C. A. Patrides, is recognized as the most complete and scholarly one-volume collection of the poetical works of John Donne. Introduction by C. A. Patrides.
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  SueJBeard | Feb 14, 2023 |
John Donne is one of my favorite poets. This collection is excellent. His poems are spiritual and his poems are sensual. I love his mindset and the time in which he lived. He may have been a cleric, but I'm not being preached at. I can open this book and just enjoy. ( )
  Chica3000 | Dec 11, 2020 |
Before picking this up, I’d only read two or three of Donne’s poems in a high school English class. I liked what I saw and found him more readable than Shakespeare, and I still agree with that assessment now that I’ve read everything. His rhythms and words are plainer, more like spoken English than anything, without the stylistic complexity that Shakespeare seems to inject into everything longer than four lines, and so there’s a different sort of beauty to it. And the meanings come through better, at least for me.

I think where Donne really shines is his love poems (and I’m not alone in that view, I don’t think). He gets the tenderness and submissiveness of romance, and the flattery of wooing, and can get downright erotic without ever getting racy—though the poem where he gently and persistently talks his lover into taking all her clothes off in front of him was probably close at the time, even if he’s using religious metaphors.

He’s also good at memorial poems and wrote a lot of religious poems as well, and there was this whole genre of letter-poems which I didn’t know about, in which you’d write a friend about your life or to continue a conversation, except you’d do it in rhyming verse. There were some miscellaneous sorts of poems as well, and the overall tone of his poems is gentleness and reverence, with a quiet wit. I was as taken with that as I was with his technique, and did I mention he has some truly impressive rhymes?

All that said, though, this is 17th century poetry. It’s not the easiest of reads, especially the longer poems that go on for pages, and I definitely found myself reread poems a few times to understand what he was saying in them. By the time I was nearing the end of the collection, I was also very ready to be. The poems are wonderful but they’re also 200 pages of moderately difficult verse so y’know. I really liked the collection and am glad I picked it up, but unless you’re like me and willing to commit to the experience, it might be better if you simply look up Donne’s poems and read a few of them. (Which I absolutely suggest you do.)

To bear in mind: Donne was writing in the 1600s and, while more open-minded than some of his peers, was still a man of his time. Do not expect perfect 21st-century ideas about women—but you weren’t going to, were you?

9/10 ( )
  NinjaMuse | Jul 26, 2020 |
Il "Notturnale" di Santa Lucia. Il cammino verso il Natale è disseminato da molte occasioni per festeggiare. Feste antiche e moderne, pagane e religiose, tradizionali e popolari, le occasioni non mancano in tutte le culture. Prima e dopo la Natività i giorni del calendario religioso si intrecciano con quello atmosferico. Come è il caso della festa dedicata a Santa Lucia, una figura storica femminile nella quale si celano diversi simboli.

Lucia era una donna di origine siciliana, proveniente da una ricca famiglia di Siracusa. Venne martirizzat a a causa della sua fede cristiana durante le persecuzioni anticristiane dell’imperatore Diocleziano. Visse a cavallo tra il III e IV secolo dell’era moderna. La leggenda narra che sua madre si fosse ammalata e che Lucia andasse in pellegrinaggio fino a Catania a pregare sulla tomba di Sant’Agata martire per guadagnare la sua salute. La Santa le apparve e le preannunziò il suo martirio. Lucia, tornata a casa lasciò il suo fidanzato promesso sposo e si dedicò completamente alla vocazione religiosa. La tradizione dice inoltre che visitasse anche i malati nelle catacombe con una candela sulla testa per farsi luce. Il promesso sposo la denunziò per la sua fede. Venne sottoposta a torture per farla abiurare. Non riuscirono a piegare la sua fede nemmeno quando venne condannata a morte. Prima di morire preannunziò sia la morte di Diocleziano che la fine delle persecuzioni contro i cristiani.

Ciò avvenne di fatto nel 313 d.C. con l’editto di Costantino. Il 13 dicembre viene festeggiato il giorno della sua nascita che secondo il calendario giuliano, in vigore fino al 1582, era il giorno più breve dell’anno. Tutt’oggi la festa di santa Lucia rappresenta, quindi, dopo i giorni invernali più bui, il cammino ancora lungo verso il ritorno della luce. E’ sull’origine del suo nome che si gioca tutto il significato di una festa che ha risonanze oltre che pagane e religiose anche poetiche e letterarie. Basta pensare al significato della parola latina “lux”, di qui la considerazione importante del fatto che Santa Lucia è anche la protettrice dei ciechi. Fu il giorno di Santa Lucia ad ispirare al poeta metafisico inglese John Donne la poesia “A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day…”.

‘TIS the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s,
Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ;
The sun is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays ;
The world’s whole sap is sunk ;
The general balm th’ hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed’s-feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr’d ; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compared with me, who am their epitaph.

E’ la mezzanotte dell’anno.
E’ la mezzanotte del giorno di Lucia,
per sette ore a stento si disvela.
Il sole è sfinito e dalle sue fiasche
non raggi costanti, ma deboli bagliori ora manda.
La linfa del mondo tutta fu assorbita.
Bevve la terra idropica l’universale balsamo.
Morta e interrata la vita si è ritratta,
là, ai piedi del letto, quasi. Eppure,
tutto ciò non par che un riso
rispetto a me che sono il suo epitaffio.

Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring ;
For I am every dead thing,
In whom Love wrought new alchemy.
For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness ;
He ruin’d me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death—things which are not.

E allora studiatemi, voi che sarete amanti
in un altro mondo, in un’altra primavera,
perchè io sono ogni cosa morta
che nuova alchimia d’amore ha trasmutato.
Perchè anche dal nulla la sua arte
ha distillato una quintessenza,
da opaca privazione, da povera vuotezza.
Annichilito, ora rinasco
dall’assenza, dal buio, dalla morte,
cose che non sono.

All others, from all things, draw all that’s good,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have ;
I, by Love’s limbec, am the grave
Of all, that’s nothing. Oft a flood
Have we two wept, and so
Drown’d the whole world, us two ; oft did we grow,
To be two chaoses, when we did show
Care to aught else ; and often absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.

Da ogni cosa, ogni altro prende ciò che è bene,
vita, anima, forma, spirito, ne trae esistenza.
Dall’alambicco dell’amore così fatto,
sono la tomba io, di tutto quel che è nulla. Spesso
fu un diluvio il nostro pianto,
ne sommergemmo il mondo. Noi due. E spesso
siamo mutati sino a essere due caos
quando parve che d’altro ci curassimo. E spesso
l’assenza ci privò dell’anima. Fece di noi carcasse.

But I am by her death—which word wrongs her—
Of the first nothing the elixir grown ;
Were I a man, that I were one
I needs must know ; I should prefer,
If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means ; yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love ; all, all some properties invest.
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light, and body must be here.

Ma per la sua morte (parola che le fa torto)
del primigenio nulla un elisir son fatto.
Se fossi un uomo, che sono uno
dovrei di necessità saperlo. Seguirei,
se fossi un animale, un fine, un mezzo.
Le stesse piante, le stesse pietre
odiano, amano; e tutto, tutto possiede una proprietà.
Se fossi un qualunque nulla,
come lo è un’ombra, vi dovrebbe pur essere
una luce, un corpo.

But I am none ; nor will my sun renew.
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun
At this time to the Goat is run
To fetch new lust, and give it you,
Enjoy your summer all,
Since she enjoys her long night’s festival.
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year’s and the day’s deep midnight is.

Ma io sono il Nulla; il mio sole non si rinnoverà.
E voi amanti, voi per cui il sole minore
è trascorso ora in Capricorno
per prendere nuova passione, e a voi donarla,
godete intera la vostra estate perchè lei gode
la festa della sua lunga notte.
Io a lei mi disporrò e chiamerò quest’ora
la sua vigilia, la sua veglia,
in questa profonda mezzanotte
del giorno e dell’anno.

(Traduzione di Rosa Tavelli)

Una poesia quanto mai difficile che qui presento in una buona traduzione. Anche a distanza di tanto tempo, il poeta inglese riesce a trasmettere al lettore moderno il senso di questa festa dedicata sì a Santa Lucia ed alla morte dell’amata del poeta, ma in effetti all’importanza della LUCE nella vita degli uomini. Quella luce che da lì a qualche giorno dalla festa della Santa comincerà lentamente ad aumentare con il solstizio d’inverno il 22 dicembre. Ancora qualche giorno e poi la luce vera del Natale e della Natività darà luce agli uomini portata dalla cometa su quella stalla a Nazareth. In Costa d’Amalfi si suole cadenzare l’aumento della luce seguendo lo scorrere della festa di Santa Lucia dicendo: “A Santa Lucia nu passe ‘e gallina, a Sant’Aniello nu passe ‘e pecuriello”. Ci si riferisce, appunto, allo scorrere del tempo nel giorno 13 dicembre (Santa Lucia). La giornata si allunga di un po’, come un passo di gallina, il giorno successivo (si festeggia sant’Aniello) il giorno avanza ancora di più, come un passo di pecora. ( )
  AntonioGallo | Nov 2, 2017 |
Having read the first section, Songs and Sonnets, I can see why Donne enjoys a reputation as a 'difficult' poet. The tortured syntax combined with the number of words that have changed their meaning make several readings of each poem necessary just to be sure of the surface meaning, before one can even start thinking about the metaphors Donne uses and the symbolism he references.

Poems I particularly liked:
For the first twenty years since yesterday
Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm
When my grave is broke up again
He that cannot choose but love
Go and catch a falling star
Sweetest love, I do not go
Now thou hast loved me one whole day.

The second section, Elegies, was a bit easier. Some of them were very funny, particularly "Jealousy" and "The Anagram".

The third section, Epithalamions, was more comprehensible, although none of the poems really grabbed my attention.

The fourth section, Epigrams, was short, and mildly amusing, though no doubt went down better at the time when references to current events did not have to be explained.

I found the poems in the fifth section, Satires, difficult to follow, particularly as I was feeling a little bit hungover.

The sixth section, Metempsychosis, was easier to follow but felt rather pointless.

I must admit I found the seventh section, Verse Letters, difficult to understand and what I did understand was embarrassingly fulsome in its praise of the recipients.

The high praises in the eighth section, Epicedes and Obsequies, were more understandable since they were mourning poems, but the next section, Anniversaries, written on the anniversaries of a young girl's death, were way over the top.

The last section, Divine Poems, were, for me, the best in the book in that they were comprehensible and seemed to show real religious feeling rather than have been written to order. ( )
1 voter Robertgreaves | Jan 27, 2009 |
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