If It’s Square, It’s a Sonnet (no kidding!)

1. If It’s Square, It’s aSonnet(no kidding!)

2. History of the Sonnet

3. Quick Sonnet Overview

4. THE VOLTA or turn * a change from one rhyme group to another signifies a change in subject matter. This change occurs at the beginning of line 9 in the Italian sonnet and 9 or 12 in the Shakespearean; the volta/turn is an essential element of the sonnet form, perhaps the essential element. It is at the volta that resolution or human observation is introduced.

5. This is what it looks like… SONNET 29 BY SHAKESPEARE When in disgrace with Fortune and men's eyes, I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself and curse my fate, Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least. Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee, and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

6. This is what it means… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOCL_NEgf0g&feature=related

7. SONNET 116Shakespeare Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

8. SONNET 116Shakespeare Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

9. SONNET SEQUENCES

10. SONNET XXXIIIShakespeare Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide,Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:Even so my sun one early morn did shine With all triumphant splendor on my brow; But out, alack! he was but one hour mine, The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.

11. SONNET XXXIIIShakespeare A Full many a glorious morning have I seen B Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,A Kissing with golden face the meadows green, B Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; C Anon permit the basest clouds to ride D With ugly rack on his celestial face, C And from the forlorn world his visage hide,D Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:EEven so my sun one early morn did shine F With all triumphant splendor on my brow; E But out, alack! he was but one hour mine, F The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. G Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; G Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.

12. SONNET CXXVIIShakespeare In the old age black was not counted fair,Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;But now is black beauty's successive heir,And beauty slandered with a bastard shame:For since each hand hath put on Nature's power, Fairing the foul with Art's false borrowed face,Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black,Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seemAt such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,Sland'ring creation with a false esteem:   Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe,   That every tongue says beauty should look so.

13. SONNET CXXVIIShakespeare In the old age black was not counted fair,Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name;But now is black beauty's successive heir,And beauty slandered with a bastard shame:For since each hand hath put on Nature's power, Fairing the foul with Art's false borrowed face,Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black,Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seemAt such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,Sland'ring creation with a false esteem:Yet so they mourn becoming of their woe,That every tongue says beauty should look so.

14. ON HIS BLINDNESSJohn Milton WHEN I consider how my light is spent     E're half my days, in this dark world and wide,     And that one Talent which is death to hide,     Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent  To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, least he returning chide,     Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd,     I fondly ask; But patience to prevent  That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need    Either man's work or his own gifts, who best Bear his mildeyoak, they serve him best, his State  Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed     And post o're Land and Ocean without rest:     They also serve who only stand and waite.

15. ON HIS BLINDNESSJohn Milton A WHEN I consider how my light is spent     B E're half my days, in this dark world and wide,     B And that one Talent which is death to hide,     A Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent  A To serve therewith my Maker, and present BMy true account, least he returning chide,     B Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd,     A I fondly ask; But patience to prevent  C That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need    D Either man's work or his own gifts, who best E Bear his mildeyoak, they serve him best, his State  C Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed     D And post o're Land and Ocean without rest:     E They also serve who only stand and waite.

16. Holy Sonnet VIIByJohn Donne At the round earth's imagined corners blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go ; All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow, All whom war, dea[r]th, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance hath slain, and you, whose eyes Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe. But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space ; For, if above all these my sins abound,'Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace, When we are there.   Here on this lowly ground, Teach me how to repent, for that's as good As if Thou hadstseal'd my pardon with Thy blood.

17. Holy Sonnet VIIByJohn Donne AAt the round earth's imagined corners blowB Your trumpets, angels, and arise, ariseB From death, you numberless infinitiesA Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go ;A All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow,B All whom war, dea[r]th, age, agues, tyrannies,B Despair, law, chance hath slain, and you, whose eyesA Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe.CBut let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn a space ;D For, if above all these my sins abound,C 'Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace,D When we are there.   Here on this lowly ground,E Teach me how to repent, for that's as goodE As if Thou hadstseal'd my pardon with Thy blood.

18. OZYMANDIASPercy Bysshe Shelley I met a traveler from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal these words appear: “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!” Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.

19. Piazza PieceByJohn Crowe Ransom —I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying To make you hear.  Your ears are soft and small And listen to an old man not at all, They want the young men's whispering and sighing. But see the roses on your trellis dying And hear the spectral singing of the moon; For I must have my lovely lady soon, I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying. —I am a lady young in beauty waiting Until my truelove comes, and then we kiss. But what gray man among the vines is this Whose words are dry and faint as in a dream? Back from my trellis, Sir, before I scream! I am a lady young in beauty waiting.

20. Piazza PieceByJohn Crowe Ransom A —I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying B To make you hear.  Your ears are soft and small B And listen to an old man not at all, A They want the young men's whispering and sighing. A But see the roses on your trellis dying C And hear the spectral singing of the moon; C For I must have my lovely lady soon, A I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying. D —I am a lady young in beauty waiting E Until my truelove comes, and then we kiss. E But what gray man among the vines is this F Whose words are dry and faint as in a dream? F Back from my trellis, Sir, before I scream! D I am a lady young in beauty waiting.

21. THOSE WINTER SUNDAYSByRobert Hayden Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking. When the rooms were warm, he’d call, and slowly I would rise and dress, fearing the chronic angers of that house, Speaking indifferently to him, who had driven out the cold and polished my good shoes as well. What did I know, what did I know of love’s austere and lonely offices?

22. AS KINGFISHERS CATCH FIREByGerard Manley Hopkins As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies, dráwfláme ; As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring ; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name ; Each mortal thing does one thing and the same : Deals out that being indoors each one dwells ; Selves—goes itself ; myself it speaks and spells, Crying Whát I do is me : for that I came. I say móre : the just man justices ; Kéepsgráce : thát keeps all his goings graces ; Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is— Chríst—for Christ plays in ten thousand places, Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

23. AS KINGFISHERS CATCH FIREByGerard Manley Hopkins As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies, dráwfláme ; As tumbled over rim in roundy wells Stones ring ; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name ; Each mortal thing does one thing and the same : Deals out that being indoors each one dwells ; Selves—goes itself ; myself it speaks and spells, Crying Whát I do is me : for that I came. I say móre : the just man justices ; Kéepsgráce : thát keeps all his goings graces ; Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is— Chríst—for Christ plays in ten thousand places, Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

24. SonnetByBilly Collins All we need is fourteen lines, well, thirteen now, and after this one just a dozen to launch a little ship on love's storm-tossed seas, then only ten more left like rows of beans. How easily it goes unless you get Elizabethan and insist the iambic bongos must be played and rhymes positioned at the ends of lines, one for every station of the cross. But hang on here wile we make the turn into the final six where all will be resolved, where longing and heartache will find an end, where Laura will tell Petrarch to put down his pen, take off those crazy medieval tights, blow out the lights, and come at last to bed.

25. SonnetByBilly Collins A All we need is fourteen lines, well, thirteen now, B and after this one just a dozen C to launch a little ship on love's storm-tossed seas, D then only ten more left like rows of beans. E How easily it goes unless you get Elizabethan F and insist the iambic bongos must be played G and rhymes positioned at the ends of lines, H one for every station of the cross. I But hang on here wile we make the turn J into the final six where all will be resolved, K where longing and heartache will find an end, L where Laura will tell Petrarch to put down his pen, M take off those crazy medieval tights, N blow out the lights, and come at last to bed.

26. Homework • Create your own sonnet. • The handout/rubric is on the table for you.