Critical Analysis

Lec 8
Critical Analysis
John Donne is known as the first and greatest of metaphysical poets ,he has taken a Romantic form and transformed a transcendental struggle of life and death into a quiet ending, one in which death “shall be no more”. Where Mr Johnson spied cumbersome force, John Donne’s style dazzles with soft and calm brilliance, even in the cascade of calumnies against Death. “Fate, chance, kings and desperate men” are yoked together, not in bondage, but in freedom, in their power to inflict and manipulate death at will. The panorama of life and legacy has overcome death time and again, yet John Donne expounds the expansive exploitation of death in one verse. It is the will of man that triumphs over the cessation of life, the will to believe in what cannot be seen, to dismiss “poor death” as mere “pictures” compared to the substance of life infused with the Spirit. Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; No bragging rights for Death, according to the poet, who in the first two lines of his sonnet denounces in apostrophe the end of life, “not proud”, “not so”. “Mighty and dreadful”, two weighty terms, do not belong nor confer any majesty on death. “Thou are not so.” A simple statement, a certain indictment and the poet has dispensed with Death, who is ponderous, no preposterous for the previous fears His presence has impressed on mankind. For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow? Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me. In this neat conceit, Death himself is fooled, limited by the surface. “Thou think’st thou dost overthrow,” the monarch of destruction is an impoverished exile, removed forever more from the room of imperious prominence. “Poor death” is now the object of pity, the last enemy that will be thrown into the lake of fire. From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery. The poet compares death not to a savage desecration nor a fatal, final battle, but to easy rest, one from which a man receives “much pleasure”. “Rest and sleep” as “pictures”, the poet condescendingly remarks, bring death into the secondary status of demeaning dimension. Men’s bones receive a welcome respite and their soul the final delivery from this Earth. Death has nothing to brag about, for death is put in comparison with rest, with sleep, with regenerative silence. Death does not catch the prey of frail men, but instead sets men free and without fail. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well? And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then? Here, death as deemed a slave, a unique trope, one, which the poet fashions with wit and wisdom. “Fate” is far greater the force than the end of life, which menaces many men. “Chance” is a game, a mere trifle, a toy that men gamble with, whether ending their fortunes or their lives. “Kings” put evil rebels, madmen and threats to the state, to death. No one escapes the justice, the rule, the righteousness of the king, who even in passing, his dynasty passes on: “The King is dead. The company of death as the poet mentioned is “poison”, “war” “Sickness” . “Poppy or charms can make us sleep as well. “Poppy” is a joyful word, a colourful, childlike flower winding away with careless wonder in the wind. “Charms”, whether magical or romantic, are bewitching and bewailing, at least for the one who has fallen beneath their spell. Sometimes, the simple charm of a smiling face suffices more, traced with the soft face of a poppy gladly handed to a loved one. And so, Death is outdone once again! One short sleep past, we wake eternally…etc