Romeo Montague (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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fandomhigh2012-07-16 09:39 am
withoutverona) wrote in fandomhigh2012-07-16 09:39 am
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Poetry 101, Monday
Romeo looked wry as he took his place at the front of the class. “I’m about to beg your pardon twice,” he warned. “Once for my absence last week, as I was a puma, and once for the topic we’re taking up this week – poems about coping with death. If you’d prefer not to talk about it, I’ll not think less of you should you leave now.”
He waited for a moment, just in case, then began. “The poem I can’t get out of my head this week is called Spring And Fall, by Gerard Manley Hopkins,” he said, and began to read in a steady voice. “Margaret, are you grieving/ Over Goldengrove unleaving? … It is the blight man was born for/ It is Margaret you mourn for.”
“So,” he said, once he was done, “that would be one way to look at it: We’re sad not because other things die, but because it reminds us we will go too, and possibly sooner than we’d like. The other poem along some of the same lines is called Death Be Not Proud, by John Donne.”
And this one, too, he read: “Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so … One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.”
“What Donne met,” he said, when done, “or at least what I think he meant, is that death does nothing other things can’t do, and in the end all go to Heaven and death loses. Some of you may not believe that, but all Donne was writing for did.”
He sat his papers aside. “Those are poems about death and dying that I like. Do you agree with either, or both? Are there other poems you know and prefer? And is death a subject you’d ever take it upon yourself to write on?”
He waited for a moment, just in case, then began. “The poem I can’t get out of my head this week is called Spring And Fall, by Gerard Manley Hopkins,” he said, and began to read in a steady voice. “Margaret, are you grieving/ Over Goldengrove unleaving? … It is the blight man was born for/ It is Margaret you mourn for.”
“So,” he said, once he was done, “that would be one way to look at it: We’re sad not because other things die, but because it reminds us we will go too, and possibly sooner than we’d like. The other poem along some of the same lines is called Death Be Not Proud, by John Donne.”
And this one, too, he read: “Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so … One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.”
“What Donne met,” he said, when done, “or at least what I think he meant, is that death does nothing other things can’t do, and in the end all go to Heaven and death loses. Some of you may not believe that, but all Donne was writing for did.”
He sat his papers aside. “Those are poems about death and dying that I like. Do you agree with either, or both? Are there other poems you know and prefer? And is death a subject you’d ever take it upon yourself to write on?”
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