I must confess, I am no exception.  Although I don’t call myself a Shakespeare scholar, I still enjoy finding interpretations of his sonnets that don’t completely mesh with the mainstream.

Even the very idea that he wrote the plays attributed to him is sometimes questioned.

To quote from the Wikipedia article on the “Shakespeare authorship question“:

The Shakespeare authorship question is the ongoing debate, first recorded in the early 18th century, about whether the works attributed to William Shakespeare of Stratford-upon-Avon were actually written by another writer, or a group of writers.  Among the numerous alternative candidates that have been proposed, major claimants have included Francis Bacon, Christopher Marlowe, and William Stanley (6th Earl of Derby).  The most popular [alternate-author] theory of the 20th century was that Shakespeare’s works were written by Edward de Vere (17th Earl of Oxford).

Personally, I think the notion of an “alternate author” is ridiculous.  Common justifications given for these theories range from “he couldn’t have been smart enough to write those plays” to “there’s not enough evidence that he actually wrote them.”  Considering how few records we have from four hundred years ago — especially about Shakespeare’s intelligence and education — both of these arguments (and most others) seem pretty shaky… or so it seems to me.

Sonnet 23

As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart;
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,
O’ercharg’d with burthen of mine own love’s might.
O! let my looks be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense,
More than that tongue that more hath more express’d.
      O! learn to read what silent love hath writ:
      To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.

What I get out of it

An unperfect actor?

How ironic it seems to us, in the twenty-first century, to think that Shakespeare was sometimes at a loss for words.  However, this is exactly the message he tries to communicate in Sonnet 23:  sometimes, even the great bard is silenced by intensity of emotion.

Like “an unperfect actor on the stage,” whose stage fright prevents him from slipping into his role… or like a “fierce thing” whose “too much rage” proves his undoing… Shakespeare’s poetic persona finds that his overflowing love makes it hard to express his affection with the “perfect ceremony” that love deserves.

His “love’s strength” makes Shakespeare’s composure “decay” – he is “o’ercharg’d” or overwhelmed with the heavy “burthen” of communicating how strongly he feels.

In desperation, Shakespeare pleads that his lover let his “looks,” or facial expression and body language, “be then the eloquence” that he cannot put into words.  His body language and “speaking breast,” which I take to mean his pounding heart, must “plead for love” instead of “that tongue” that he usually uses to express his feelings.

The closing couplet sums up his plea nicely:  “learn to read” the body language that “silent love” has written into his expression and pose; “to hear with eyes” is an appropriate skill for a lover’s “fine wit.”

Is it relevant?

I would say so.  In fact, this might be the first sonnet I’ve discussed that genuinely struck me as being rather sweet.  Sonnets like “shall I compare thee to a summer’s day” is so often quoted, it has become more of a cliché than a romantic expression.  Many of Shakespeare’s other poems, such as Sonnet 22, contain a hint of warning cynicism within their lines.

The sonnet above, on the other hand, expresses a sweetly innocent love that we can all recall… the moment of being left speechless, hearts pounding, staring into the face of our adoration and having absolutely nothing coherent to say.  I felt this way many times as my wife and I began dating.

You know what?  I often still do.

[T]hou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck. — Song of Solomon 4:9

(Coat of arms credit and license)

This much I have gotten out of 20: if Sonnet 19 could potentially be read as a love poem from one man to another, Sonnet 20 appears to be far less ambiguous on that point. The speaker of Sonnet 20 is probably male, and the object of the poem is almost certainly so.

Having said that, for Sonnet 21 (which is yet another poem of adoration), I’m defaulting in my interpretation back to “male speaker adores female object.” Regardless of whether an individual agrees that Shakespeare had intimate relationships with other men, all Shakespeare scholars (as far as I’m aware) agree that he definitely had intimate relations with at least one woman in his lifetime. This is, therefore, the most likely scenario with any particular love poem, unless that poem contains definite clues to the contrary.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

Sonnet 21

So is it not with me as with that Muse,
Stirr’d by a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse,
Making a couplement of proud compare’
With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems,
With April’s first-born flowers, and all things rare,
That heaven’s air in this huge rondure hems.
O! let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother’s child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix’d in heaven’s air:
Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.

What I get out of it

Praising beauty?

Shakespeare opens Sonnet 21 by setting up a stereotypical “Muse,” or poet, inspired to write poetry by his “painted beauty.” This Muse’s poetry, Shakespeare imagines, would “proud[ly] compare” the object of such a love-song “with sun and moon,” “gems,” “flowers,” and all other “things” of “rare” beauty beneath “heaven’s air.” Such a poem, according to the Bard, would be recited by “every fair” lad to “his fair” lady (or vice-versa), as the flowery phrases would be worthy to be used by “heaven itself.”

Awww, how sweet.

Shakespeare (or the poetic speaker he creates) would not write such a poem. It is “not with me as with that Muse,” he points out; such a lovely bit of rhyme might be fine for another poet, but Shakespeare’s speaker has different ideas.

“Let me,” the speaker pleads, “truly write, […] my love is as fair as any mother’s child.” However, unlike the other, stereotypical poet’s affection, this love is not meant to shine “so bright” as the stars “fix’d in heaven’s air,” for all to see. Allow more flamboyant poets to “say more” about their loves if they wish, but Shakespeare’s speaker “will not praise” so extravagantly a lady whom he “purpose[s] not to sell.”

Is it relevant?

Yes. As a high school teacher I work, on a daily basis, with children convinced that their current boyfriends or girlfriends are the most wonderful people on Earth. Some of these kids, bless them, occasionally write a bit of love poetry to their beloveds.

Some of them want to show me, their always-supportive literature teacher, the poetic masterpieces they’ve created.

*sigh*

Usually the best I can manage is a smile and a nod and a “very nice.” Phrases like “eyes like the sun/moon/stars” or “hair like a golden waterfall” tend to figure prominently. (Ok, the waterfall one is my own work, written in the early stages of dating the woman I married three weeks ago. Shameful, ain’t it?)

If any of these lovestruck teens continue to pursue their poetic aspirations, I know (or hope) that they will discover the horror that lies within cliché, the stickiness of excessive sweetness, and the ultimate commercial failure of the “roses are red” genre of verse. Shakespeare’s poetry has survived for so long in part because he rejected and satirized that approach to writing love songs. In Sonnet 130 (“My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun”) and related poems, Shakespeare’s wit utterly destroys the stereotypical poetry described here in Sonnet 21… which makes 130 one of his best-known and most-loved poems even now, four centuries later.

…The “hair like a golden waterfall” bit wasn’t that bad, was it? Was it?

To keep thee from the evil woman, from the flattery of the tongue of a strange woman.

Lust not after her beauty in thine heart; neither let her take thee with her eyelids.
– Proverbs 6:24-25

(Photo credit and license)

We could ask him, but...

What a week this has been… “devouring time” has indeed seemed to feast on the hours and minutes of the last seven days.  So, here we are once again with Shakespeare Saturday.

One constant source of heated debate and controversy regarding Shakespeare is speculation about his love life.  It is known that he was married, probably to legitimize his bride’s pregnancy (their first child was born about six months after vows were exchanged).  He probably also took another woman as mistress for some time later in his life.

Some of Shakespeare’s poetry suggests an additional liaison.  Many modern readers and critics believe that the Bard had a romantic relationship with another male, and Sonnet 19 is one of a number of sonnets which apparently indicate this.  Another school of thought argues that Shakespeare may merely have been expressing strong but friendly affection; another argues that the sonnets’ speaker (their “I” and “me”) might not represent Shakespeare himself; yet another leans toward the familial-love interpretation I briefly mentioned when I discussed Sonnet 18.  As any one person’s opinion is potentially as well-founded as any other, given the few clues available, I invite you to decide for yourself as you read:

Sonnet 19

Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion’s paws,
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,
And burn the long-liv’d phoenix, in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,
And do whate’er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
O! carve not with thy hours my love’s fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow
For beauty’s pattern to succeeding men.
    Yet, do thy worst old Time: despite thy wrong,
    My love shall in my verse ever live young.

What I get out of it

The God of Passing Time

Shakespeare’s poetic speaker addresses him- (or her-) self to an animated and malicious “Time.”  Time works destruction on everything in the universe.  It “blunt[s] the lion’s paws” and “pluck[s] the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws,” rendering these fearsome predators ineffective in their old age.  It brings an end even to the ever-renewing life of the “phoenix.”  It forces the “sweet brood” of living creatures to be devoured by — figuratively, buried in –”the earth” that spawned them.  The seasons themselves are born (made “glad”) but then die (make “sorry”) as Time touches them.

Shakespeare’s speaker acknowledges this and accepts it — but one act is unacceptable and unforgivable.  Time must not ever commit the “heinous crime” of bringing age and ruin to the young man about whom the poem is written.  Fearing that Time will “carve” wrinkles into ”my love’s fair brow,” the poem’s speaker pleads for Time’s mercy.  “Draw no lines,” the speaker begs, in the young man’s face; ”allow” his “untainted” beauty to be appreciated by others.

The sonnet’s closing couplet, however, turns defiant.  “Do thy worst,” the speaker sneers, “my love shall in my verse ever live young.”  As with Sonnet 18, the poem is a memorial, a way for the poem’s object to live eternally young and attractive, thanks to the poet’s homage.

Is it relevant?

The short answer is, “yes.”  The long answer depends on your decision regarding Shakespeare’s intentions when writing this sonnet.

If Shakespeare is writing this to a romantic interest (either a real one, or an imagined interest of the poem’s speaker), the relevance lies in the fact that we always want our lovers (and ourselves) to remain as young, fit, and attractive as they were when first we met them (even though age may not lessen the love or desire).

If Shakespeare is writing this to a close friend, he may be empathizing with the young man’s fears of growing old, either because Shakespeare shared those fears or had already realized them.

Finally, if Shakespeare writes Sonnet 19 to his son or another relative, he may simply be echoing every father’s desire for his young descendants to remain children forever.

For honourable age is not that which standeth in length of time, nor that is measured by number of years.  But wisdom is the gray hair unto men, and an unspotted life is old age. — Wisdom of Solomon 4:8-9

(Grave: Photo Credit and License; Statue: Public Domain)

First Edition

A friend gave me a book of Shakespeare’s Sonnets as a wedding gift last week (along with books of poetry by two of my other favorites, T.S. Eliot and Langston Hughes).  Gifts that are both thoughtful and personal are quite difficult for me to pick out… so I try to always give kudos when someone else gives me one.  Thanks!

After discussing the repetitive themes of Sonnets 1-3, I decided to skip ahead a bit.  My good friend, a Mr. Wiki Pedia, informs me that the first 17 or so sonnets share a common message… so, in my search for variety, I hereby skip to:

Sonnet 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimm’d:
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st,
    So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

What I get out of it

Summer

The famous question posed in the sonnet’s opening line seems to be answered with seven lines of “well… not really.”  “A summer’s day,” to Shakespeare, brings to mind mostly good qualities — but includes some negative traits as well.  For example, early summer has “rough winds” that “do shake the darling buds of May.”  In a person, the buds might represent attractive qualities; the winds could be compared to a person’s “rough” moods or other temporary detractions.  Additionally, in summer “the eye of heaven” (the sun) shines “too hot” or becomes “dimm’d” with storms.  The person to whom Shakespeare is writing is “more temperate” than summer:  “rough winds” of anger or sadness are more rarely seen, and “hot” tempers and storms of rage rarely appear.

“Summer’s lease,” writes Shakespeare, is too brief — it “hath all too short a date.”  Every beautiful aspect of summer “sometime declines” in beauty whether through accidental “chance,” or by “nature’s changing course” leading from summer toward winter.  On the other hand, this person’s beautiful aspects (which are “more lovely” than summer anyway) are “eternal” and “shall not fade” or ”lose” their beauty.  Here, we have a clue that our poet is not writing about physical beauty… a glance at earlier sonnets will confirm that Shakespeare recognized the transitory nature of a lovely appearance.  Instead, he must be showing appreciation for the more “eternal” beauty of an exceptional person’s soul or legacy.

Speaking of legacies, Sonnet 18 is far more than a mere expression of love or admiration; it is meant to be a lasting tribute to its object.  “Death,” according to line 11, may not “brag” that the person has died and “wander’st in his [Death's] shade” now that “eternal lines” of poetry have preserved an echo of the person’s beauty.  “So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,” writes Shakespeare, “so long lives this” poem, and this poem “gives life to thee.”  The poet has crafted a form of immortality for the person to whom he writes, and as long as anyone is alive to read the sonnet, its object will not pass from this world.

Is it relevant?

Yes, and because of its relevance, this must be one of the Bard’s most famous sonnets… it’s almost certainly the one I hear quoted, misquoted, parodied, and otherwise referenced in popular culture.

On the surface, it is a simple love poem, such as any wooing teen or adult might write to the object of their affections.  There is little difference between this aspect of the sonnet and a large percentage of pop music lyrics heard on the radio.

On a slightly deeper level, it is a monument — a sincere attempt to leave a written (and, therefore, permanent) memory of a loved one.  Similar motives continue to inspire today’s poets, authors, filmmakers, and even bloggers.  I’ve done it, too.

On this note, I want to add one final bit of personal interpretation:  although Sonnet 18 is generally accepted as a poetic expression of romantic love, Shakespeare could just as easily have written it to communicate familial love, friendly love, or any of the other myriad varieties of affection with which our hearts are blessed.  Allowing for a bit of poetic license here and there, I could imagine Shakespeare dedicating this poem to one of his children as easily as to a lover.  It’s something to think about, at least.

Now learn a parable of the fig tree; When her branch is yet tender, and putteth forth leaves, ye know that summer is near.

Heaven and earth shall pass away: but my words shall not pass away.

– Mark 13:28, 31

(Photo Credit and License)

Home of Anne Hathaway

I should call it “Shakespeare Saturday.” My readings of Shakespeare’s sonnets continue with Sonnet 3.

But first, a little biographical information that you may or may not have known about Shakespeare:

• He was married to Anne Hathaway, possibly because he’d gotten her pregnant.
• He had three children in all, Susanna (the eldest) and fraternal twins Hamnet and Judith.
• When Shakespeare died at the ripe old age of 52, he bequeathed to Anne his “second-best bed.”  How… sweet.

Sonnet 3

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear’d womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
    But if thou live, remember’d not to be,
    Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

What I get out of it

Look in thy glass

This is getting a tad repetitive.  Ok, more than a tad.  When Shakespeare got an idea set in his head, he apparently couldn’t shake it.  Admittedly, our ADD culture could probably benefit from his practice of considering things from multiple angles.

The idea he’s set on, once again, is that the person to whom Sonnet 3 is dedicated needs to hurry up and make babies.  “Look in thy glass,” or mirror, and tell yourself that the face you see “should form another”… in a reproductive sense.  If you don’t “renew” your beautiful features by passing them along to a new generation, you are teasing (“beguiling”) the world and taking away what should be a blessing upon a new “mother”:  the blessing of having your beautiful child.

Shakespeare continues:  you could have anyone you want!  What woman is “so fair” that she “disdains the tillage of thy husbandry,” refusing to have your child?  (I think I’ll ignore the rather unsettling comparison of plowing with the act of love.)  How can you be “so fond” in “self-love” that you will “stop posterity” and allow your lineage to die out?

“Thou art thy mother’s glass”… you are your mother’s mirror image.  When she had you, she preserved her own “lovely” appearance, at least for a time.  If you pass that along to your own children, then when you are old, you will see your youthful beauty (and hers) in the faces of your offspring.  On the other hand, if you don’t leave anyone to “remember” you, then “die single” and take your beauty to your grave.

Is it relevant?

Yes.  It reminds me of a conversation I got dragged into once when I was a child.  The MacOdys family consists mostly of women, especially in my father’s generation.  These women, having been married, no longer carry the MacOdys name.  My only male cousin who is named MacOdys has only daughters; my brother likewise has no sons.  My mother was remarking on this to my father.

Suddenly, she turned to face me, playing with my action figures.  “Aylad, it looks like it’s up to you to preserve the MacOdys name,” she said.

No pressure or anything.  Heckuva thing to tell a ten-year-old.

Whether beauty, or wealth, or a name, people are still sometimes pressured to have children to pass along some inherited trait.  When this fails to happen, we click our tongues — tsk, tsk — and remark what a shame it is.  Just for an example, William Shakespeare’s only son died as a child; his daughters married and lost the Shakespeare name… a fact I can’t help lamenting.

And God said [to Abraham], Sarah thy wife shall bear thee a son indeed; and thou shalt call his name Isaac: and I will establish my covenant with him for an everlasting covenant, and with his seed after him.

And as for Ishmael, I have heard thee: Behold, I have blessed him, and will make him fruitful, and will multiply him exceedingly; twelve princes shall he beget, and I will make him a great nation.
– Genesis 17:19-20

 (Images are in public domain.)

My study of Shakespeare’s sonnets continues.  Read the first post if you’re not sure what “study” I’m talking about.  The short version is that I’m going through The Sonnets one by one, reading, reflecting, dissecting, and discussing them here.  The interpretations are my own; I’m not seeking input from other sources before posting my thoughts.  Ideally, as Shreds of Truth gains readers, this will become a good source of discussion and civil debate… at least, that is my hope.

Sonnet 2

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Thy youth’s proud livery, so gaz’d on now,
Will be a tatter’d weed, of small worth held;
Then being ask’d where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use,
If thou couldst answer ‘This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,’
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
    This were to be new made when thou art old,
    And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.

What I get out of it

Großvater und Enkel

“When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,” at least, is pretty straightforward:  in Shakespeare’s time, forty years of age was somewhat advanced in years.  A forty-something living in the early 1600s could expect to be rather wrinkly, with “deep trenches” across their formerly beautiful faces.  The healthy appearance of youth, which now earns admiring glances, will be admired no more than “a tatter’d weed” once age has stolen it away.

If someone then asks where “thy beauty” has gone, to answer “within thine own deep-sunken eyes” seems a “shame.”  In other words, if beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder, then someday the beholder might have cause to change his or her mind.

Fortunately, Shakespeare gives us the solution!  If a formerly beautiful person passes his or her beauty on to a “fair child,” the parent’s beauty hasn’t truly vanished… it has merely been inherited.  This will “excuse” any signs of age in the parent, according to our poet.  To have children is “to be new made when thou art old” — to see yourself reborn — and “thy blood” will be “warm” in a child’s veins even as it runs “cold” in yours.

Is it relevant?

Absolutely.  Parents still feel this way about their children.  What loving, caring parent (yeah, I know, they come in other flavors) doesn’t see themselves in their child?  Who doesn’t try to give their kids all the things the parents wanted but didn’t have?  Who doesn’t see their kids… at least until a certain age… as miniature clones of themselves?

…Ok, conceivably some parents don’t.  Lots do.  So, yes, Sonnet 2 is still quite relevant.

Whoever loves the Father also loves the child who is born of him. –1 John 5:1, World English Version

(Painting:  “An Old Man and His Grandson” by Domenico Ghirlandaio)

Harri Stojka

Guitars and needles, strings and yarn… the past
returns with chords of music, wool, and wood.
The strands of music weave their way around
his strands of hair. Its hue is like the back
of his guitar, its acorn-chestnut glow
like Grandma’s polished floor, her polished chair.
She knitted in that chair, and he knits tunes
like woolen sweaters in the air or gloves
for children’s fingers. Wrinkles line his face.
They sing of age and cold, as Grandma’s did.
Her chair had armrests polished smooth and dull,
as his chair’s arms must be. She hunched with age
and pain and concentration, as does he.
She would have liked this man, this song, these strands.

About this poem

I don’t know why I felt that I needed to write a poem about this photograph.  Maybe it has something to do with the colors in the photo or the age visible in the guitar player’s face.  I do know that I’m only half-satisfied with the poem as it now stands; I’ll have to revisit it at some point and see what I can do with it.  I’m not sure if iambic pentameter was really the way to go, but it was a fun challenge.

I hope you enjoyed it… as always, comments (especially suggestions for improvement) are more than welcome!

The violin and guitar play well by the grace of the player but cannot feel anything themselves. — Thakur Anukulchandra

(Photo Credit and License)

Shakespeare, busted.

I recently saw a show where a group of inner-city kids from Harlesden banded together to do a production of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.  The show was both entertaining and inspirational, especially after the play’s successful opening night.

“I’m going to read his sonnets,” exclaimed one enthusiastic young rapper, “and study them until I can understand the genius of the man.”

Well… here I am, on the other side of the Atlantic, teaching Shakespeare’s drama to gifted teenagers, and despite my college education I still have the same attitude toward The Sonnets that I had when I was in high school:  the poems are difficult and intimidating and not what I’m interested in reading.

Meanwhile, an underprivileged inner-city “gangsta” is studying them voluntarily.  I am ashamed.

So without further ado (about nothing, cough-cough), I begin my study of The Sonnets.  I hope to average one or two per week.

Sonnet 1

From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty’s rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory;
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed’st thy light’s flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou, that art now the world’s fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content
And, tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding.
    Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
    To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee. 

What I get out of it

We like good things.  Good things are good.  So when we find a beautiful person or a beautiful creature, we want it to “increase” or multiply so that there will be more beauty on the Earth and “beauty’s rose might never die.”  This is either Shakespeare’s Eugenics Manifesto or, more likely, his keen observation of human nature… don’t deny that you have, at some point in your life, looked at a person and thought, “gee, I hope he never has kids!”  …Anyway, “as the riper” or older beautiful person ages and dies, “his tender heir” should preserve his parents’ beauty.

Vanitas

“But thou,” Shakespeare continues, who are so wrapped up in your own beauty that you can’t see fit to share it with anyone, you are feeding the “flame” of your beauty “with self-substantial fuel”… becoming so consumed by your own vanity that you waste away, “making a famine where abundance lies, / Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.”  By being so self-absorbed, you “mak’st waste” in trying to hoard your beauty for your own benefit (“niggarding” means “being extremely stingy”).

“Pity the world,” Shakespeare says, have mercy on us and share your beauty, which is “the world’s due.”  If you don’t, then go ahead, be a “glutton” and allow your beauty to be consumed not just “by the grave,” but by your own narcissistic attitude.

The tone of these remarks is personal, perhaps intimate… Shakespeare (or his persona in the sonnet) is expressing frustration and bitterness at, apparently, the rejection of his romantic advances.  In an emotional ultimatum, the poet argues that the poem’s object owes the world her “abundance” of beauty, else that beauty will be wasted in death.

Is it relevant?

One of the most common praises afforded the writings of Shakespeare is that this four-century-old language contains ideas and concepts that are as fresh and relevant today as they were then.  How, then, does this sonnet apply to our modern life?

Have you ever known anyone who was told they were being “selfish” because they had chosen not to have children?  Perhaps you’ve even heard someone accused of being “conceited” because they expressed little interest in romantic relationships with others.  Unfortunately, these judgemental attitudes are all too common… and Shakespeare, if this sonnet is any indication, agreed with such sentiments.

I could rant for a while about how no one has any right to criticize another person’s decisions regarding the size of their family (or lack of the same), and how the true selfishness lies within the heart of the person making the demands (in this case, the poet).  ”From fairest creatures we desire increase,” but if the fairest creatures do not wish to increase, we should leave them be.  I could rant about it, but… not today.

Thine heart was lifted up because of thy beauty, thou hast corrupted thy wisdom by reason of thy brightness: I will cast thee to the ground, I will lay thee before kings, that they may behold thee. — Ezekiel 28:17

(Photo Credit and License)