When all else fails, turn to Shakespeare

Sonnet 60

Like as the waves make toward the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end,
Each changing place with that which goes before,
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned,
Crooked eclipses ‘gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty’s brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

— William Shakespeare

I have been delving parallels in my brow, whether or no it was ever a beauty, trying to come up with something intelligent to put out here on this blog today and, having just decided that it’s not going to happen, I also decided to let Mr. Shakespeare act as my place holder.

How’s that for ego?

I ran across this particular sonnet in an instructing anthology by Helen Vendler called Poems, Poets, Poetry (Bedford Books of St. Martin’s Press, 1997).

What, you might ask yourself, could be the subject of such an anthology?

As an introduction to Sonnet 60, Ms. Vendler says:

When poets describe Time, they tend to employ many of the images of passing time that have entered cultural memory — such motifs as the waves of the sea, the progress of the sun from dawn to dusk, the fall of great men, the tragedy of early death, Time the Grim Reaper, and so on. Here, using such time-honored resources, is Shakespeare on Time. [p. 13]

I was struck by the last couplet — it’s sort of the “Summer’s Day” motif from Sonnet 18:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Modern-day poets don’t say that. Such a statement might get you laughed out of the workshop.

The closing couplet here in Sonnet 60 is perhaps more modest, one we would feel more comfortable espousing.

Speaking of ego.