Death Be Not Proud
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those whom you think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
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.
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?
One short sleep past, we take eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
John Donne (1572-1631)
I am, some how suposed to be able to explain this poem. Not simply go throug it giving the meaning of each line and complicated word. But more. What more? Diction? Not important to the assingment, not entirely at all. Maby a fraction, a small one that is. Confused, you ought to be, if you are not, do enlighten me. I havn't the slightest clue really.
Death of Logic
An attempt. I sit afront of my desk, wars in my head. A clue upon this battlefield one simply can not find. Is there one? I think not. It would be a fools game if such were so, not a man's war. Carnage bread from the flesh of a much wiser fool. Yes, a wise fool, one who knows man. He hast' done this of his own dooing, no mistake. The blood that is spilt upon this day does not run red from a gash in my flesh. But it runs, from my mind, colour and destination we know not. Mortal injury, nay, it is simply a hack at thoughts. One silver bullet imbedded in my logic. A destination? No, it would be all to simple to repair if it were to stop. It teases the man! Yes, it grasps at him and makes the fool coward. ME? A fool? Perhaps it is so. This battle is not ment to be imortal, it was a battle given to mortals from a mortal man. This man finds pleasure in these wounds, more in the mending of the mind. It is fair yes, do not fret for the young soldiers. They know their purpose and their war, not marching blindly.
Travis Hobbs (1988-____)
Im sure you know that is not the answer to the question. I simply felt inspired to write, and so I wrote. But still I am plagued with the answer to the puzelle so well written by John Donne.
Later Troop,
Rabbit
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1 comment:
you write really weird blogs by the way, I'm like, is this Greek maybe, possibly, or maybe Italian. Well I did this poem last semester. Ahh Donne, quite the complicated creature. He has some issues I think, a guilt complex.
I will get my notes out and e-mail you some stuff. But I'll tell you what I remember first.
Donne likes Paradoxes. Like death dying. It's a paradox. So death has no power b/c when we die, I guess as Christians, we're going to a better place, it's not horrible. Just like Jesus overcame the grave, death has no victory any longer.adn it talks about all the different things that we die by, fate, kings, war, desperate men, and so on. does that make any sense at all?? the important thing it the paradox. that is one of this literary techniques. ciao, and have a good sleep
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