Murdering Beauty

[cinderbella]

Murdering Beauty, written by Thomas Carew about 1640:


I'll gaze no more at her bewitching face,

Since ruin harbours there in every place;

For my enchanted soul alike she drowns

with calms and tempests of her smiles and frowns.

I'll love no more those cruel eyes of hers,

For if she dart, like lightning through the air

Her beams of wrath, she kills me with despair:

If she behold me with a pleasing eye

I surfeit with excess of joy and die.





I think this may be an early attempt at perhaps calling a woman a
whore, or at least some insult to that effect. I'm sure if you
appreciate this beautiful rhyme as I do, reading it may bring to
mind someone you may know or have known who made you
feel this way. Just goes to show that there is nothing new under
the sun and life has a way of repeating itself. Hope you liked it!

[ElisabethWhispers]

At first glance, my interpretation of the poem isn't related to the use of the word "whore" or attempting to call someone else names.

But it's an interesting poem and worthy of discussion, of that I agree.

Have you read the poetry of Rumi? Or say, the poem (it's rather long) of Rimbauld's (I might not have that spelled correctly) "Seasons in Hell"?

It's been awhile for me, but some of the poems of Rumi are ones that lament love and/or relationships. Same with the craziness of Rimbauld's prose mentioned above.

I think that Pablo Neruda has a book of interesting poems that also deal with the human condition. I just cannot remember the name of the one that is on my shelf at this time.

Loss of love is always written as exasperated thoughts and feelings of the person who received the spurned emotions, generally speaking.

I'm not a huge reader of poetry but I try to appreciate it as it comes around.

And it's nice to see a topic that discusses poetry.

Thanks!
Elisabeth

[grayturner]

Yep, that's why I'm here

[James1588]

Originally Posted by cinderbella

Murdering Beauty, written by Thomas Carew about 1640:


[ ... ]

If she behold me with a pleasing eye

I surfeit with excess of joy and die.

On first reading, it was ambiguous to me. But "upon further review," as they say at the football games, that final couplet gives, I think, the bottom-line meaning: the poet is the lady's fan.

I think the poem expresses a duality about how men see women that even you professional ladies may not be aware of: you're not only delightful, but you're also a little bit scary. In the presence of a naked woman, we feel the desire, but we're also aware of the significance and potentiality. I mean: that's where new people come from. Wasn't it the Elizabethans who sometimes referred to sex as "the dance at the beginning of the world?" And orgasm as the "little death?" It's fun and games, for sure -- but it's more than that, too.

And yes, by the way: this is what I'm here for, thanks very much.