The sonnet, which originated in the thirteenth century in Italy; is a short poem with fourteen lines, which usually have a particular rhyming patter, and originally had contrasting ideas – or emotions or themes, which were usually resolved, or sometimes just expressed in the verse. It is a favourite form of mine – not to write, although I did write in sonnet form when I was young, but to read. I like the denseness and the simplicity, the cleverness and the elegance of sonnets when they are brilliantly written, as Wyatt did, and Shakespeare, Milton and Michael Drayton.
I was interested in the review section of today’s newspaper to see a modern poet, Don Paterson, has published a collection, ’40 Sonnets, and I think I might treat myself, and buy it. Paterson is A Scottish poet, writer, and musician; he was born in 1963 and has published eight other books of his work, as well as editing other collections, writing drama criticisms. Charlotte Runcie who writes the review comments that ‘reading this collection you feel lucky to be alive while Paterson is writing’.
Here is a sonnet from five hundred years ago, by a master of the form:
The long love that in my heart doth harbour
And in mine heart doth keep his residence,
Into my face presseth with bold pretense,
And there campeth, displaying his banner.
She that me learneth to love and to suffer,
And wills that my trust and lust’s negligence
Be reined by reason, shame, and reverence,
With his hardiness taketh displeasure.
Wherewith love to the heart’s forest he fleeth,
Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry,
And there him hideth and not appeareth.
What may I do when my master feareth
But in the field with him to live and die?
For good is the life ending faithfully.
Thomas Wyatt
Here is a link to Don Paterson’s page:
Lois Elsden 