To His Coy Mistress

“To His Coy Mistress” by Andrew Marvell


Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love’s day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges’ side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
A hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate. Continue reading “To His Coy Mistress”

What is Poetry?

What Is Poetry?

I thought this would be a simple question to answer. But to my demise, I am even more lost than when I embarked on this journey. This journey being about a dozen Wikipedia pages starting at “poetry” and leapfrogging to literature, language, alliterations, rhymes, rhetoric, famous poets, etc., and somehow all the way to Kevin Bacon (see Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon) in the course of about an hour.

I’ve always hated poetry. All the rules, difficult rhyming, counting syllables. Sonnet, shi, and haiku? No, thank you.  Why do I have to know the difference between a simile and a metaphor, anyway?!

Yet when I stepped back at looked it all, I realized it wasn’t about the literary devices or counting lines or even rhyming. It’s about the art. Poetry turns words into an art form. And that’s all poetry really is, right? Words (or so I thought, more on that later). But basically, poetry is putting words together to evoke a meaning and make something beautiful. Or not, poetry can be ugly too. Heck! I guess I’m still not quite sure what is poetry.

What I do know is that I would like to find out. So I’m jumping into the prose (and cons) of poetry, along with the verses and symbolisms and assonances and all those other fancy words you hear English majors throwing around to discover the art of poetry using words, words, words. I might even write a few poems of my own.