Posts Tagged ‘William Shakespeare’

Entry 206 — Shakespeare’s Sonnet 97

Monday, August 30th, 2010

Over at the Forest of Arden, I had a lot of trouble figuring out Shakespeare’s Sonnet 97, then suddenly put together an explication of it I liked so much, I’m posting it here.

Sonnet 97

How like a Winter hath my absence beene
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting yeare?
What freezings haue I felt, what darke daies seene?
What old Decembers barenesse euery where?
And yet this time remou’d was sommers time,
The teeming Autumne big with ritch increase,
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,
Like widdowed wombes after their Lords decease:
Yet this aboundant issue seem’d to me,
But hope of Orphans, and vn-fathered fruite,
For Sommer and his pleasures waite on thee,
And thou away, the very birds are mute.
Or if they sing, tis with so dull a cheere,
That leaues looke pale, dreading the Winters neere.

* * * * *

Okay, here beginnith my explication:

How like a Winter hath my absence beene
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting yeare?
What freezings haue I felt, what darke daies seene?

What old Decembers barenesse euery where?
the quickly passing year, is like being in winter.
Coldness, darkness, December’s bareness seem
everywhere to me, as everyone agrees. Vendler
adds that Shakespeare is picturing an “imaginary
winter.”  He isn’t.  He’s just making a simile.

And yet this time remou’d was sommers time,

The time we’ve been apart was summer.
Still straightforward and undebatable.

The teeming Autumne big with ritch increase,
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,
Like widdowed wombes after their Lords decease:
NoSweatShakespeare, a website with sonnet analyses, put
an “and” at the beginning of this.  I wouldn’t, but the
“and,” which I’d previously thought of, too, then discarded
helped me accept this as just a continuation of the previous line:

I missed, Joe, Sally .  .  .  The speaker was gone during the
end of summer and much of autumn. . .   So, to backtrack:

And yet this time remou’d was sommers time,
The teeming Autumne big with ritch increase,
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime,
Like widdowed wombes after their Lords decease:

The time I have been away from you was
summer followed by autumn, which was
bearing a good crop like women bearing dead
husbands’ offspring.

Yet this aboundant issue seem’d to me,
But hope of Orphans, and vn-fathered fruite,

However fine the autumn, abundant and promising
seemed to me a dreary place for orphans and fruit
no love-making had produced
, which is about
as nearly everyone would have it, I’m sure.

For Sommer and his pleasures waite on thee,

For, imaginatively, it’s still summer, because the realest
summer although it wasn’t exactly hers) is still waiting for
the addressee’s to continue.

Confession: I got the contrast of what’s imagined, what real,
from Vendler.

And thou away, the very birds are mute.
Or if they sing, tis with so dull a cheere,
That leaues looke pale, dreading the Winters neere.

Back in the real world, where it’s autumn, the birdies
and the leafies are sad, thinking about the nearness
of winter.

Have I more or less finally gotten it?  Regardless, I feel
quite buoyed to have come up with what I did.  Later I
discovered Robert Stonehouse had much the same
interpretation as mine, but I think I did better on
“summer/ Autumn” and “summer waits” than he,
so remain happy about my achievement.

Entry 74 — Poetic Densities, Continued

Thursday, January 14th, 2010

.

.        Sonnet 18
.
.       Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
.       Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
.       Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
.       And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
.
.       Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines
.       And often is his gold complexion dimmed.
.       And every fair from fair sometime declines
.       By chance or Nature’s changing course untrimmed.
.
.       But thy eternal summer shall not fade
.       Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st.
.       Nor shall Death brag thou wandr’st in his shade
.       When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st.
.
.       So long as men have breath and eyes to see,
.       So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
.

Shakespeare, 140 syllables,  116 words (because I count “sometime’ as two words) to give a semantic density of .83.  That’s lower than I estimated yesterday because when I forgot that not all its words of more than one syllable had only one more than one.  So Frost’s poem is quite a bit higher than Shakespeare’s.

The sonnet has a surprisingly low euphonic density: .09.  It makes up for that in repenemic density.  I have the figures somewhere to measure that with but am not up to finding them just now.

Entry 73 — “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”

Wednesday, January 13th, 2010

As long-term readers of my blog will know, one of my projects is an in-depth study of Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 18.”  I’ve also been interested in Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”  While thinking about it recently, I realized how few polysyllabic words it had.  Always ready to formulaize something if I can, I soon came up with a (possibly) new characteristic of poems, semantic density.  It is equal to  the number of syllables in a poem divided into the number of words in the poem.  It turns out the Frost poem’s semantic density is .86, Shakespeare’s about the same.   I suspect few other poems have as high a semantic density, but I haven’t investigated the matter.

.                 Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

.                 Whose woods these are I think I know.
.                 His house is in the village though;
.                 He will not see me stopping here
.                 To watch his woods fill up with snow.

.                 My little horse must think it queer
.                 To stop without a farmhouse near
.                 Between the woods and frozen lake
.                 The darkest evening of the year.

.                 He gives his harness bells a shake
.                 To ask if there is some mistake.
.                 The only other sound’s the sweep
.                 Of easy wind and downy flake.

.                 The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
.                 But I have promises to keep,
.                 And miles to go before I sleep,
.                 And miles to go before I sleep.

Technically speaking, there are seventeen polysyllabic words in this poem, one of them three syllables in length, all the others just two in length.  I do not count “farmhouse” as a single word, though, since each of its two syllables has a clear separate meaning, “farm” really being an adjective pushed into a noun, “house.”  And I count “”sound’s” as two words, because it is: “sound” plus “is.”  Yet is is only one syllable in length.  So, to get the semantic density of the poem, we divide 110, not 109, by 128

Once become mathematically irreverent toward about the ratio of words in a poem to its syllables, I thought of other density ratios applicable to poems: e.g., euphonic density or the ratio of euphonies (long-o‘s, long-u‘s and “ah”-sounds) to number of syllables in a poem, repenemic density (repenemes to syllables, a repeneme being a repeated melodation such as alliterationor rhyme, the latter counting as two repenemes) and–this one I especially like–oddword density.  This would be the ratio of unusual words to syllable-count, with “unusual” being what a word is that comes up only a certain low number of times in s large sample of contemporary writing.

The euphonic denisty of Frost’s poem is just under .20.  I’d be surprised if many other poems have a euphonic denisty that high.  I’ll check Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 18″ tomorrow.