What I Assume

Thomas Carew (1595 – 1640) is another favorite 17th century English poet of mine, and is particularly well-known for his bold, sexual imagery. Carew seemed to have problems fitting in during his early life, including being let go from jobs for “levity and slander”. Carew eventually found favor in the king’s court. This is exemplified in one incident wherein Carew was leading King Charles I into the Queen’s chamber when Carew caused to stumble, extinguishing the candle he held, and preventing the king from spotting Lord St Albans in the room with “his arm round her majesty’s neck”. Thanks to Carew’s quick thinking, “the king suspected nothing, and the queen heaped favours on the poet.”

Carew has been called representative of his time, and like many of his contemporaries sometimes showed in his verse a preoccupation with convincing women to succumb to the temptations of the flesh. It’s amazing to me how, after four hundred years, Carew’s lyrics are still ripe with sensuality and blush. I tried not to get carried away in these three audio recordings, but I admit that after listening to A Rapture I was a little self-conscious (what can I say? Carew is Saucy!).

1. Thomas Carew - Song: To My Mistress, I Burning in Love mp3
2. Thomas Carew - Song: To My Inconstant Mistress mp3
3. Thomas Carew - A Rapture mp3

Song - To My Mistress, I Burning In Love

I BURN ; and cruel you, in vain
Hope to quench me with disdain ;
If from your eyes those sparkles came
That have kindled all this flame,
What boots it me, though now you shroud
Those fierce comets in a cloud ?
Since all the flames that I have felt
Could your snow yet never melt ;
Nor can your snow, though you should take
Alps into your bosom, slake
The heat of my enamour'd heart.
But, with wonder, learn Love's art :
No seas of ice can cool desire,
Equal flames must quench Love's fire.
Then, think not that my heat can die,
Till you burn as well as I.

Song - To My Inconstant Mistress

WHEN thou, poor excommunicate
    From all the joys of love, shalt see
The full reward and glorious fate
    Which my strong faith shall purchase me,
    Then curse thine own inconstancy.

A fairer hand than thine shall cure
    That heart, which thy false oaths did wound ;
And to my soul a soul more pure
    Than thine shall by Love's hand be bound,
    And both with equal glory crown'd.

Then shalt thou weep, entreat, complain
    To Love, as I did once to thee ;
When all thy tears shall be as vain
    As mine were then, for thou shalt be
    Damned for thy false apostacy

A Rapture

I WILL enjoy thee now, my Celia, come,
And fly with me to Love's Elysium.
The giant, Honour, that keeps cowards out,
Is but a masquer, and the servile rout
Of baser subjects only bend in vain
To the vast idol ; whilst the nobler train
Of valiant lovers daily sail between
The huge Colossus' legs, and pass unseen
Unto the blissful shore.  Be bold and wise,
And we shall enter : the grim Swiss denies                          10
Only to tame fools a passage, that not know
He is but form and only frights in show
The duller eyes that look from far ; draw near
And thou shalt scorn what we were wont to fear.
We shall see how the stalking pageant goes                        15
With borrow'd legs, a heavy load to those
That made and bear him ; nor, as we once thought,
The seed of gods, but a weak model wrought
By greedy men, that seek to enclose the common,
And within private arms empale free woman.                      20
    Come, then, and mounted on the wings of Love
We'll cut the flitting air and soar above
The monster's head, and in the noblest seats
Of those blest shades quench and renew our heats.
There shall the queens of love and innocence,                     25
Beauty and Nature, banish all offence
From our close ivy-twines ; there I'll behold
Thy bared snow and thy unbraided gold ;
There my enfranchised hand on every side
Shall o'er thy naked polish'd ivory slide.                              30
No curtain there, though of transparent lawn,
Shall be before thy virgin-treasure drawn ;
But the rich mine, to the enquiring eye
Exposed, shall ready still for mintage lie,
And we will coin young Cupids.  There a bed                     35
Of roses and fresh myrtles shall be spread,
Under the cooler shade of cypress groves ;
Our pillows of the down of Venus' doves,
Whereon our panting limbs we'll gently lay,
In the faint respites of our active play :                                40
That so our slumbers may in dreams have leisure
To tell the nimble fancy our past pleasure,
And so our souls, that cannot be embraced,
Shall the embraces of our bodies taste.
Meanwhile the bubbling stream shall court the shore,           45
Th' enamour'd chirping wood-choir shall adore
In varied tunes the deity of love ;
The gentle blasts of western winds shall move
The trembling leaves, and through their close boughs breathe
Still music, whilst we rest ourselves beneath                        50
Their dancing shade ; till a soft murmur, sent
From souls entranced in amorous languishment,
Rouse us, and shoot into our veins fresh fire,
Till we in their sweet ecstasy expire.
    Then, as the empty bee that lately bore                           55
Into the common treasure all her store,
Flies 'bout the painted field with nimble wing,
Deflow'ring the fresh virgins of the spring,
So will I rifle all the sweets that dwell
In my delicious paradise, and swell                                     60
My bag with honey, drawn forth by the power
Of fervent kisses from each spicy flower.
I'll seize the rose-buds in their perfumed bed,
The violet knots, like curious mazes spread
O'er all the garden, taste the ripen'd cherry,                        65
The warm firm apple, tipp'd with coral berry :
Then will I visit with a wand'ring kiss
The vale of lilies and the bower of bliss ;
And where the beauteous region both divide
Into two milky ways, my lips shall slide                               70
Down those smooth alleys, wearing as they go
A tract for lovers on the printed snow ;
Thence climbing o'er the swelling Apennine,
Retire into thy grove of eglantine,
Where I will all those ravish'd sweets distil                          75
Through Love's alembic, and with chemic skill
From the mix'd mass one sovereign balm derive,
Then bring that great elixir to thy hive.
    Now in more subtle wreaths I will entwine
My sinewy thighs, my legs and arms with thine ;                  80
Thou like a sea of milk shalt lie display'd,
Whilst I the smooth calm ocean invade
With such a tempest, as when Jove of old
Fell down on Danaë in a storm of gold ;
Yet my tall pine shall in the Cyprian strait                            85
Ride safe at anchor and unlade her freight :
My rudder with thy bold hand, like a tried
And skilful pilot, thou shalt steer, and guide
My bark into love's channel, where it shall
Dance, as the bounding waves do rise or fall.                      90
Then shall thy circling arms embrace and clip
My willing body, and thy balmy lip
Bathe me in juice of kisses, whose perfume
Like a religious incense shall consume,
And send up holy vapours to those powers                         95
That bless our loves and crown our sportful hours,
That with such halcyon calmness fix our souls
In steadfast peace, as no affright controls.
There, no rude sounds shake us with sudden starts ;
No jealous ears, when we unrip our hearts,                       100
Suck our discourse in ; no observing spies
This blush, that glance traduce ; no envious eyes
Watch our close meetings ; nor are we betray'd
To rivals by the bribed chambermaid.
No wedlock bonds unwreathe our twisted loves,               105
We seek no midnight arbour, no dark groves
To hide our kisses : there, the hated name
Of husband, wife, lust, modest, chaste or shame,
Are vain and empty words, whose very sound
Was never heard in the Elysian ground.                             110
All things are lawful there, that may delight
Nature or unrestrained appetite ;
Like and enjoy, to will and act is one :
We only sin when Love's rites are not done.
    The Roman Lucrece there reads the divine                    115
Lectures of love's great master, Aretine,
And knows as well as Lais how to move
Her pliant body in the act of love ;
To quench the burning ravisher she hurls
Her limbs into a thousand winding curls,                            120
And studies artful postures, such as be
Carved on the bark of every neighbouring tree
By learned hands, that so adorn'd the rind
Of those fair plants, which, as they lay entwined,
Have fann'd their glowing fires.  The Grecian dame,           125
That in her endless web toil'd for a name
As fruitless as her work, doth there display
Herself before the youth of Ithaca,
And th' amorous sport of gamesome nights prefer
Before dull dreams of the lost traveller.                              130
Daphne hath broke her bark, and that swift foot
Which th' angry gods had fasten'd with a root
To the fix'd earth, doth now unfetter'd run
To meet th' embraces of the youthful Sun.
She hangs upon him like his Delphic lyre ;                          135
Her kisses blow the old, and breathe new fire ;
Full of her god, she sings inspired lays,
Sweet odes of love, such as deserve the bays,
Which she herself was.  Next her, Laura lies
In Petrarch's learned arms, drying those eyes                     140
That did in such sweet smooth-paced numbers flow,
As made the world enamour'd of his woe.
These, and ten thousand beauties more, that died
Slave to the tyrant, now enlarged deride
His cancell'd laws, and for their time mis-spent                  145
Pay into Love's exchequer double rent.
    Come then, my Celia, we'll no more forbear
To taste our joys, struck with a panic fear,
But will depose from his imperious sway
This proud usurper, and walk as free as they,                    150
With necks unyoked ; nor is it just that he
Should fetter your soft sex with chastity,
Whom Nature made unapt for abstinence ;
When yet this false impostor can dispense
With human justice and with sacred right,                          155
And, maugre both their laws, command me fight
With rivals or with emulous loves that dare
Equal with thine their mistress' eyes or hair.
If thou complain of wrong, and call my sword
To carve out thy revenge, upon that word                         160
He bids me fight and kill ; or else he brands
With marks of infamy my coward hands.
And yet religion bids from blood-shed fly,
And damns me for that act.  Then tell me why
    This goblin Honour, which the world adores,                 165
    Should make men atheists, and not women whores?

When I started my grad studies in English lit I very nearly chose to focus on 17th and 18th century English literature. Amongst my favorite minor poets was Thomas Campion, and so I’ve recorded three favorites here:

• Thomas Campion - There is a Garden in Her Face mp3
• Thomas Campion - Book of Ayres VI - When to her lute Corrina sings mp3
• Thomas Campion - Book of Ayres XX - When thou must home to shades of vnder ground, mp3

There is a Garden in Her Face

There is a Garden in her face,
Where Roses and white Lillies grow ;
A heau'nly paradice is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits doe flow.
There Cherries grow, which none may buy
Till Cherry ripe themselues doe cry.

Those Cherries fayrely doe enclose
Of Orient Pearle a double row ;
Which when her louely laughter showes,
They look like Rose-buds fill'd with snow.
Yet them nor Peere nor Prince can buy,
Till Cherry ripe themselues doe cry.

Her Eyes like Angels watch them still ;
Her Browes like bended bowes doe stand,7
Threatning with piercing frownes to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred Cherries to come nigh,
Till Cherry ripe themselues doe cry.

A Booke of Ayres - VI

When to her lute Corrina sings,
Her voice reuiues the leaden stringes,
And doth in highest noates appeare,
As any challeng'd eccho cleere ;
But when she doth of mourning speake,
Eu'n with her sighes the strings do breake.

And as her lute doth liue or die,
Led by her passion, so must I,
For when of pleasure she doth sing,
My thoughts enioy a sodaine spring,
But if she doth of sorrow speake,
Eu'n from my hart the strings doe breake.

A Booke of Ayres - XX.

When thou must home to shades of vnder ground,
And there ariu'd, a newe admired guest,
The beauteous spirits do ingirt thee round,
White Iope, blith Hellen, and the rest,
To heare the stories of thy finisht loue
From that smoothe toong whose musicke hell can moue ;

Then wilt thou speake of banqueting delights,
Of masks and reuels which sweete youth did make,
Of Turnies and great challenges of knights,
And all these triumphes for thy beauties sake :
When thou hast told these honours done to thee,
Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murther me.

Joseph K and the Empty Court. Anthony Perkins in Welles’ “The Trial” (1962)

Today I attempted a translation from a passage of Kafka’s Der Prozeß, aka, The Trial that has always fascinated and confused me:

Hier konnte niemand sonst Einlaß erhalten, denn dieser Eingang war nur für dich bestimmt. Ich gehe jetzt und schließe ihn.

My translation:

No one else could receive access here, because this entrance was intended only for you. I’m now going to shut it.

This is the closing line of the parable “Before the Law” that haunts any sense of optimism the reader may hold onto throughout a reading of The Trial.  I translated this on my own for my own comfort; though I’ve read The Trial in translation probably half-a-dozen times, I only ever tackled it in German once, and I must admit I didn’t get half-way throughout.  Yet this line, and this parable, has always struck me as a curiosity.  It is presented as both the solution to the mystery of The Trial, and as simply another weighty piece of confusing misinformation.

I thought it important to use “receive access” rather than the English convention “gain access”, because throughout The Trial Joseph K is unable to “gain” anything. He is at the mercy of the system, the justices, his lawyer, his neighbors, and it is clear that his efforts, though necessary, can guarantee nothing, are incapable of genuinely earning nothing, and thus the access to the Law that he would receive must be seen as a gift, the product of an indeterminable act of benevolence.  Joseph K’s lawyer describes in Chapter 7 (David Willey translation):

…dark moments, such as
everyone has, when you think you’ve achieved nothing at all,
when it seems that the only trials to come to a good end are those
that were determined to have a good end from the start and would do
so without any help, while all the others are lost despite all the
running to and fro, all the effort, all the little, apparent
successes that gave such joy.

I also used “entrance” rather than “gate” or “door” as I’ve seen in other translations because “entrance” is, to my understanding, more correct literally, and it carries with it a connotation of one-way passage: one may enter, but it does not necessarily follow that one may leave.  This resonates with the text of The Trial, wherein Joseph K sometimes must use a different doorway than that through which he entered. And often those doors lead to places unexpected. In the Painter’s studio, for instance, the “other way out” leads not to the street, but (where else) the court: “‘It’s better if you use the other way out,’ he
said, pointing to the door behind the bed.”

Joseph K (with Paintings). Anthony Perkins in Welles’ “The Trial” (1962)

This idea of one-way doors also plays into the idea that there is no authentic self-determination available to Joseph K–just as his efforts to “gain” may or may not be fruitless (completely independent of his own efforts), Joseph K is capable of locomotion, but his range of motion is restricted, and the simple act of moving through doorways may in the end be predetermined, or controlled–subject only to the will of the powers that be; certainly not subject to the desires of the actor. As I read The Trial again I am aware that this is the greatest trouble, the largest fear that the system incurs on it’s members: independence is impossible, and self-determination is pure fantasy.  And so when with uncontestable finality the Doorkeeper states, “I’m now going to shut it.” our hearts sink, for the last possibility has now been lost, and all the remains is inertness and death; the ultimate helplessness.

Film stills from Orson Welles’s 1962 film, The Trial. Watch it online at: liketelevision.com