| Title | : | Collected Sonnets |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 0060910917 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9780060910914 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 187 |
| Publication | : | First published January 1, 1917 |
Collected Sonnets Reviews
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It takes time to read these sonnets aloud enjoying their beautiful cadence and flow. It also takes a while to understand which flow over me like a babbling brook, crash unto me like waves at high tide or bury me like lava flowing from a volcano.
I readily admit that I'm not an expert at poetry, but I do know what I like and these sonnets by Edna St. Vincent Millay are it! Apart from the text itself, you may wish to study a little of the author's life which is fascinating. She wanted to be called Vincent from a young age and was romantically and sexually attracted to both genders. Her lifestyle was highly unusual for the time period.
Within the poems, some of my favorite themes are that of impending death and lost love. Many refer to the passing of time as causing us to become cold and unable to participate in the rigors of youth. Carpe diem, people! Here is one of my favorites as an example of how adept she is with this theme:
When we are old and these rejoicing veins
Are frosty channels to a muted stream,
And out of all our burning there remains
No feeblest spark to fire us, even in dream,
This be our solace: that it was not said
When we were young and warm and in our prime,
Upon our couch we lay as lie the dead,
Sleeping away the unreturning time.
O sweet, O heavy-lidded, O my love,
When morning strikes her spear upon the land,
And we must rise and arm us and reprove
The insolent daylight with a steady hand,
Be not discountenanced if the knowing know
We rose from rapture but an hour ago. -
I’ve had some dark days here and there in my life, more there than here anymore and some admittedly of my own making. Days where I allowed such hopelessness and grief to deaden my interest in everything around me. No book or tv program or even the most gorgeous day outside could hold my thoughts for more than a moment. Strangely what did hold my interest would be these sonnets. I’d read them aloud to myself. I’d highlight my favorite lines. I’d announce to the nobody that was listening, “Time does not bring relief! You all have lied who told me it would ease me of my pain!” and it wasn’t time that brought relief so much as a poet who had been there.
Even though these days I don’t dwell on my losses, I still keep the comforting Sonnets of Edna St. Vincent Millay an arms-reach from my bed. -
There is nothing I love more than the sonnets of Edna St. Vincent Millay.
"Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide,
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go, - so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, 'There is no memory of him here!'
And so stand stricken, so remembering him."
"I shall forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year,
Ere i forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said,but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favourite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And oaths were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far -,
Where or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking." -
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more. -
If you like Edna St. Vincent Millay, you're fine by me.
Now, I don't dispute the critics who say that Millay was a limited poet; I don't entirely disagree with those who say that Millay's "Look at what a bad girl I am! Look, look: I'm naughty, I love sex and I love talking about sex (as well as nature and, occasionally, world affairs), and I don't care what people say about me!" posturing has a limiting effect on her poetry, such that many of her poems end up saying virtually the same thing as one another. It's similar to how Ashbery's poetry is able to say more than O'Hara's, because Ashbery relies on an autobiographical persona less than O'Hara did. I don't dispute that all this is true; nonetheless, I think Millay is redeemed by her technical proficiency and her clever condensations of big meanings into elegant little turns-of-phrase. Not only is her message sympathetic and compelling, but she speaks it with impeccable eloquence. She is the sort of person who would have taken top marks in the sort of rhetoric classes they used to teach at British boys' schools, the ones that required a solid grounding in Greek and Latin.
Millay's most memorable poems are, I think, the very early love sonnets ("I shall forget you presently, my dear," "I, being born a woman and distressed," etc.), but some of the more mature and polished "Fatal Interview" sonnets are also lovable; even the political sonnets, despite the plenitude of abstract nouns they contain ("mercy," "honor," "allegiance," etc.), manage to save themselves from badness through their rhetorical strength and picturesque wordings ("The barking of a fox has bought us all....Peter warms him in the servants' hall"). -
I don't think I can give a fair review of this because I really didn't understand the vast majority of these sonnets and that's more my lack of understanding than the fault of this collection.
I can appreciate Millay has a knack for words, it was beautifully constructed too, however I just didn't understand a lot of them.
The ones I did understand are the ones I liked, so I feel it's only fair to give it a 2 star rating.
If you like sonnets then this is probably more for you. I thought I'd give it a try because it was recommended to me.
x -
She had kept that kettle boiling all night long, for company.
How can your heart not break, with that image in your mind? -
4.5
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Millay's sonnets are witty, simple, elaborate, clever, morbid, gorgeous, grandiose, detailed...I could go on and on.
She will make you smirk with lines like "I drink - and live - what has destroyed some men."
She'll make you ache with:
"Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide."
You'll sigh with:
"Between the awful spears of birth and death
I run a grassy gauntlet in the sun;
And curdled in me is my central pith,
Remembering there is dying to be done."
And you'll almost think she's talking directly to you with:
"Oh, friend, forget not, when you fain would note
In me a beauty that was never mine,
How first you knew me in a book I wrote,
How first you loved me for a written line."
I do feel like I know you Edna, and I definitely love you. -
c
When we that wore the myrtle wear the dust,
And years of darkness cover up our eyes,
And all our arrogant laughter and sweet lust
Keep counsel with the scruples of the wise;
When boys and girls that now are in the loins
Of croaking lads, dip oar into the sea,--
And who are these that dive for copper coins?
No longer we, my love, no longer we--
Then let the fortunate breathers of the air,
When we lie speechless in the muffling mould,
Tease not our ghosts with slander, pause not there
To say that love is false and soon grows cold,
But pass in silence the mute grave of two
Who lived and died believing love was true. -
Would reread, would recommend.
There are so many poems in here that strike a cord with me - I feel a kinship with Millay just from her writing. I've earmarked so many to reread and contemplate.
There's a series in the middle titled "Fatal Interview" that I just couldn't get into... perhaps it was something I couldn't identify with; perhaps I didn't understand some of the references. But it felt a little like purple prose. -
I fell desperately in love with Millay after reading "First Fig" in my history textbook. Some years later, I chose my college partly based upon the fact that she had gone there. Funny, irreverant, passionate and smart, Millay's work has incredible rhythm, rhyme, and impact.
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I'm not usually one who is drawn in by poetry, but something about Edna St. Vincent Millay's sonnets just cuts straight through to my soul. Not only did I thoroughly enjoy reading these, but it inspired me to want to learn more about this fascinating woman's life.
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A master of the sonnet form sings of love and loss, life and death with casual eloquence, as if word were the inhalation and form the exhalation of the poet’s aspiration.
Favorite Poems:
“Dirge without Music”
“[Love Is Not All]” -
To read nearly 200 pages of iambic pentameter is something everyone should probably do. Wow. Millay is a genius, and this witty collection of sonnets reveals a striking grace as well as feminism through her almost obsessive reflections on death, mythology, and love. Here are two (of many) which I dog-eared.
*
I shall go back again to the bleak shore
And build a little shanty on the sand,
In such a way that the extremest band
Of brittle seaweed will escape my door
But by a yard or two; and nevermore
Shall I return to take you by the hand;
I shall be gone to what I understand,
And happier than I ever was before.
The love that stood a moment in your eyes,
The words that lay a moment on your tongue,
Are one with all that in a moment dies,
A little under-said and over-sung.
But I shall find the sullen rocks and skies
Unchanged from what they were when I was young.
*
Say what you will, and scratch my heart to find
The roots of last year’s roses in my breast;
I am as surely riper in my mind
As if the fruit stood in the stalls confessed.
Laugh at the unshed leaf, say what you will,
Call me in all things what I was before,
A flutterer in the wind, a woman still;
I tell you I am what I was and more.
My branches weigh me down, frost cleans the air,
My sky is black with small birds bearing south;
Say what you will, confuse me with fine care,
Put by my word as but an April truth —
Autumn is no less on me, that a rose
Hugs the brown bough and sighs before it goes. -
First read: 4/17/2013
Favorite Sonnets:
Time does not bring relief
Bluebeard
Love, though for this you riddle me with darts
Once more into my arid days like dew
When I too long have looked upon your face
Let you not say of me when I am old
Oh, my beloved, have you thought of this:
As to some lovely temple, tenantless
When you, that at this moment are to me
Love is not blind. I see with single eye
I know I am but summer to your heart
Pity me not because the light of day
Oh, oh, you will be worry for that word!
I shall go back again to the bleak shore
I, being born a woman and distressed
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
She had forgotten who the August night
Gazing upon him now, severe and dead
Upon this marble bust that is not I
Sweet sounds, oh, beautiful music, do not cease!
The beast that rends me in the sight of all,
Night is my sister, and how deep in love,
Not in a silver casket cool with pearls
I dreamed I moved among the Elysian fields,
Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart
Women have loved before as I love now;
Moon, that against the lintel of the west
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
When we that wore the myrtle wear the dust
If to be left were to be left alone,
Well, I have lost you; and I lost you fairly;
Now by the path I climbed, I journey back
Time, that renews the tissues of this frame,
Thou famished grave, I will not fill thee yet,
Oh, she was beautiful in every part!-
Be sure my coming was a sharp offense
O Earth, unhappy planet born to die,
Favorite Isolated Quotes: -
As the title indicates, this book contains the sonnets of poet Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950). Millay is an excellent poet and these are excellent sonnets. Yet, whenever I read more than a few in succession, the sonnet form began to lose its appeal for me. In retrospect, I wish I had picked a collection of Millay's poetry that contained a variety of forms.
A few other notes:
1. The collection includes several extended sequences, including Fatal Interview, a 52-sonnet sequence.
2. Certain subjects, particularly love and grief, recur frequently.
3. I liked the references to the natural world: animals, insects, constellations, et al.
4. Taken as a whole my favorite of the sonnets are the ones beginning "Your face is like a chamber where a king," and "What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why" and "Now forth to meadow as the farmer goes" (which is a lovely sonnet about a farmer and an ant).
5. Even if a sonnet didn't appeal to me in its entirety, very often there were sections that I loved. My copy of the book is strewn with highlighter.
About my reviews: I try to review every book I read, including those that I don't end up enjoying. The reviews are not scholarly, but just indicate my reaction as a reader, reading being my addiction. I am miserly with 5-star reviews; 4 stars means I liked a book very much; 3 stars means I liked it; 2 stars means I didn't like it (though often the 2-star books are very popular with other readers and/or are by authors whose other work I've loved). In the case of poetry books, for various reasons, I often omit a rating altogether. -
I love Millay's early sonnets, but after the first 45 I find them stale, flat, and unprofitable until her final sonnet sequence near the end of this book. Two of those are outstanding and the rest are OK, but not worth sharing. The lesson I take away is to find her books RENASCENCE, A FEW FIGS FROM THISTLES, SECOND APRIL, and THE HEART-WEAVER, which contain her great sonnets, in the hope that the other poems in these collections are on that level. Please keep the rest.
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While I enjoy some of Edna St. Vincent Millay's poetry, this was a rather sparse and old, even falling apart little volume that wasn't particularly well curated, but rather felt like a highly random collection of her sonnets. It did have an index of first lines in the back, but no other indicators of order or separation between the poems.
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The collection started out strong, even impressive, but it lost steam partway through and became a little more mannered, a little more tortured, and quite a bit less grounded. It's nice enough, better to dip into than read through.
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that was awesome. Definitely adding Edna to my list of favorite poets. I can't wait to go back and really analyze some of these sonnets
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Absolutely beautiful.
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If Shakespeare be the king of the sonnet, Edna St. Vincent Millay is clearly the queen. Classically structures but incredibly modern. Sexy, depressing, beautiful.
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Every poem has something that arrests your attention and a good number of them have substantially more than that. I really admire her sense of rhythm, her metaphors, and her willingness to play with form (there's a few written in tetrameter and her end rhyme patterns aren't always predictable). I inevitably read this collections years ago. I'll inevitably read it again. I actually find Millay's poems comforting despite the content not always being so.
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Where Shakespeare writes " and this gives life to thee," referring to the poem itself, for Millay it is love's memory itself that sustains:
"If in the years to come you should recall,/[...] Me long ago before the frosts had laid--/[.. ] Indeed I think this memory, even then,/ Must raise you high among the ranks of men."
Ostensibly, love, lovers, seizing the moment, replace art as the central obsession. "Take up the song; forget the epitaph."
And yet, we have these poems... -
Beautiful collection - my favourite sonnet about ‘pity me not’ which is written with such bitterness and fire (saying they only reason you should pity her is because she keeps making the same mistake and expecting men’s live to last - getting let down all the time) is passionate and wonderfully vivid.
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Nobody does it like Millay.
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I hated clicking "I'm finished" because I will never be finished with this book. I will return to it often and gladly.
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Poetry is not my forte, though I'm becoming more comfortable in the medium. These sonnets are lovely, and I was able to lose myself in the language easily. Simply wonderful.
