Professor David Peimer
The Remarkable Life and Poetry of John Donne

Professor David Peimer - The Remarkable Life and Poetry of John Donne

- So welcome everybody and hope everybody is well. And today, at the request of Trudy, ‘cause I know she’s been dealing with the history of the 15 and 1600s in England, I’m going to look specifically today at the poetry of this really fascinatingly weird, strange, but quite remarkable poet and and individual, John Donne. I have to be honest, when I first read John Donne many, many moons ago, when I, at school, I guess. I don’t think I really got it and understood it. And it took me quite a while through university and after that to really kind of get it, what this guy’s aiming at. And you know, a little bit about his life and what he was trying to achieve with his poetry.

• [Wendy] Didn’t we do it together, David? Weren’t we working in a seminar together, John Donne, second year English?

• Maybe.

• [Wendy] Yeah.

• It could well have been.

• [Wendy] Although, I remember-

• I know, it could well have been. I didn’t really get it then. Took me quite a while after university to kind of get this guy. So, okay, great. So I’m going to focus on, thanks, Wendy. John Donne and a bit about his life because it is really interesting and I think it captures some of the main themes that I know Trudy and others have been discussing in the history of this era. And it does resonate with us today because of a couple of these aspects of the history, I think, not specifically in terms of Judaism, but in terms of religious conflict and tensions and demonising of the other in a different way in England. So a bit about his life first. Is 1572 to 1631, which is the amazing period, as everyone knows of the Elizabethan era, Shakespeare’s era, Marlowe and the other great, Ben Johnson and the other great playwrights, poets and so on. Remarkable period, England is going out conquering, trading, you know, beginnings of empire, discoveries of new lands. And what’s happening in England itself. Spanish Armada, threats of invasion and Elizabeth’s reign and after Elizabeth’s reign, of course, as well. So all of this is kind of, in my imagination, is a kind of explosion of literature, writing, of commerce, trade, a sense of looking outward to the world. You know, obviously to conquer, trade and you know, bring the gold and the goodies back home. But a sense of vibrancy, I suppose a kind of buccaneering spirit, which I find in Shakespeare, Marlowe, John Donne, and some of the others of the writers of the era.

So for me, he combines a kind of buccaneering, getting out there, trying, lifting himself up from nothing spirit, together with a huge religious conflict between Roman Catholicism and Protestantism, which is encapsulated in his life and in his poetry. And at the same time, a tough life, until much later when he’s older, then things become easier. So, and I think in the way that it resonates, is obviously religious tensions, religious-based conflicts of the times, but in this open looking out at the globe era. A kind of rough, tough life, a rough, tough world, which I feel, my instinct is that we are a part of absolutely this, if you like, a sense of the zeitgeist in some way. So John Donne and you know, we have some evidence that he knew Shakespeare or at least met the guy and some of the other playwrights and the poets and certainly was influenced, 'cause you can see some direct influences from good old William towards him, as I’m going to allude to a little bit later. The last part of his career, he’s the dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral, and that’s when financially, it’s the only real time that he’s secure in his life, which is the last 10 years of his life. 1621 to 31. So in this era also, I think what’s important is that the distinction between poetry and theatre is that, and this is generalising, but I think it’s accurate, that theatre is kind of pretty close to the bottom of the rung. It’s not really at the top of the, if you like, the artistic, literary ladder, but poetry is. So to write poetry is, in a sense, a quick way up the ladder if you’re trying to get into better job or get into the ruling elite or the upper classes of society. But the problem is, is Roman Catholicism in the era of Protestantism in England and the enormous clash between the two. And his life, capturing that, which to me, in a sense, obviously resonates so powerfully today. And how does he deal with it? Where does he belong? Where does he assimilate? Does he? Does he resist it? What happens?

And there’s two other aspects about his life. The one is that he was regarded, and this is quoting some of his colleagues and friends at the time, in the early stages of his life, more of a ladies’ man, in their words, trying to get into the court, trying to find a patron, trying to write his poetry. You know, really trying to knock on the door and get into the clubs or, what we would call the club today. But, you know, get into the elite and belonging. And then the second part of his life is the religious John Donne. But he not only fits the conflict of being Roman Catholic in a Protestant world and how he’s ostracised, marginalised and imprisoned for that, but also how he’s trying to, because of that, decide can he fit in? Can he assimilate? Can he belong? Should he convert, shouldn’t he? All these questions, which he goes through in his life, this is a picture of the guy obviously. But these influences and these questions, which is obviously for everybody today. The influence of Shakespeare and others. And he was an avid theater-goer, so he would’ve seen the plays of Johnson, Shakespeare in particular, and so on. A kind of rough, tough world. Rough, tough life of messy, dirty, smelly, filthy London. But trying to get up the ladder, but also, you know, for an adventurous, buccaneering, pirate-y spirit, I guess, going out there. In the language, for me, I mean this phrase of the “metaphysical poets.”

And I think that’s the thing when Wendy, when you were talking earlier, that’s the thing that used to turn me off as a student, I think about reading his stuff because, you know, to really get to grips with that bent, without being cliché, but when I read his poetry again and again over the years and put that label aside, which comes in to his . I just try to look at the poetry itself. Forget, you know, one critic’s label of that, what he’s doing with language. I get a whole different sense, which I want to share today. The love poetry, the satire, the wit, the grittiness, the down to earth language, the combination of ridiculously absurd images, quite cerebral writing, but always with wit and challenge and provocative and sort of an, it’s almost got like an urban, gritty language in it. I keep being thinking of David Mamet in theatre. It’s that kind of world that he is capturing for me, you know, I only managed to access it by looking at the language and his actual poetry and putting that word “metaphysical poet” aside, and I’m not going to look at that phrase today. So he’s born of Roman Catholic parents. At 12, he goes to Oxford University for a couple of years and then to Cambridge University, although he doesn’t finish any of the degrees from either university because as a Roman Catholic, to finish a degree, he would have to swear the required oath of allegiance to the Protestant Queen Elizabeth.

And he refuses. So immediately the tension set up in this guy as a young, I suppose late teenager, 18, 19, finishing these universities but can’t because of that. So immediately he’s part of the, he gets into the ruling elite, the educational elite, absolutely, through the university, but he’s not accepted because he will not swear allegiance to the Queen because of religious difference. Then he travels to Spain, Italy, he studies law and becomes a qualified lawyer. In 1506, he’s enlisted as a gentleman with the Earl of Essex and he goes on a ship, privateering expedition against the Spanish in Cadiz. And the following year, he sailed with Sir Walter Raleigh in the almost disastrous island expedition, hunting for Spanish treasure ships in the Azores, I mean, this guy’s getting out, you know, he is taking the ships of the time with the rough wood and the hew and the sea and the smell and the waves. You can imagine scurvy, everything. He’s going with Walter Raleigh, he’s going out there, he’s highly educated, but he’s pretty, you know, he stood up for his religion against the Queen, in getting his degrees. That’s quite something, I think, in this age. So I get this rough, tough sense of life and to grab life and live it, which you don’t get when you’re obsessed with the word, as my lecturer was, “metaphysical” poet. Then he returns to London in 1597 and he becomes a secretary to a certain Sir Thomas Egerton. Now this appointment makes it probable that he might have converted to become an Anglican, but not sure, there isn’t hard evidence yet.

And some of it, one contemporary of his, a friend of his wrote that he wasn’t really, he wasn’t dissolute, but he was neat. He was a “great visitor of ladies, a great frequenter of the theatre, a great writer of conceited verses.” So he’s acknowledged and recognised by fellow writers, poets, and playwrights of the time, but he doesn’t yet have real access into the upper echelons of the society. He falls in love. Lady Anne More, who’s the daughter of a Sir George More, who was Chancellor of the Garter. So very high up in aristocratic ruling circles, but he knew, ‘cause he’s not up there and he’s still Roman Catholic, he knew there’s no chance of getting Sir George More’s blessing for their marriage. So the two married secretly, she’s 17, he’s quite a bit older. They’re married secretly. Then of course the father, Sir George, finds out and he has Donne imprisoned and dismissed from all kind of work, all kind of jobs in the ruling elites, in education, in literary circles, all politics and law. You know, he’s basically dismissed, he can’t. 'Cause he’s married the daughter and he’s still, you know, he hasn’t changed his religious belief, according to the research. So because of this, but he stays married and she stays married to him. So he’s also denied Anne’s dowry. The father refuses dowry, cuts Anne off completely, and all possibilities of a career in public service are trashed.

And he finds himself, John Donne finds himself, at 30 years old, no prospects for a job, for a decent job to earn anything, family, et cetera. He’s got a 17 year old wife now and so on, even though all his education, travelling with Walter Raleigh and others, no, no, no go. So how’s he going to get the money to to fund a household, family, a life? For the next 10 years he lived in poverty and humiliating dependence, primarily off the charity of his wife Anne’s cousin. He didn’t get secure employment, he’s moving from job to job. In the meantime, his family’s growing. Anne had 12 children, five of whom died before really reaching teenage-hood, but he’s writing all the time. He’s writing on canon law, on theology, poetry. He’s writing religious polemics and starts to write some anti-Catholic polemic. And of course he’s writing his love poems, endlessly. And then religious poetry, capturing all these aspects of his life, influenced by these guys and this world that I’ve been trying to portray. He continues to look for secular employment. He gets so desperate, he goes off to France 1611, 1612, no success. He finally agrees to take holy orders and is finally ordained as a deacon in 1615, then he’s made a royal chaplain, received at the King’s command, finally gets the degree from Cambridge University. He is now Anglican. He’s made that decision, that religious switch into becoming Anglican, accepting, converting to get into society, get a job, get employment, and to move up the ladder of the social, political life and economic life of England at the time. Finally, in 1621, he gets the job of his dreams. He’s the Dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral for the last 10 years.

And just when he has the money, just when he has the secure employment, his wife Anne dies. She’s 33. After giving birth to the last child, the baby was stillborn. Grief-stricken, he then starts to become a preacher. And he’s become very famous in England, in London of the times, for giving and writing remarkable sermons and preaching in the court of King James I and later Charles I. So for me, it’s quite an extraordinary life in what, less than 60 years, that it traverses, and for me, the life captures so much of the era of historical change of England and London at the time. Of massive religious change and upheaval, personal questions of sticking to religious principle, of Catholicism versus Anglican and Protestantism, to convert or not, to belong, assimilate, fit in or not. All these questions are thrown up. How to get a job, how to get into public service, how to get, you know, a life. You know, it’s really only the last 10 years. And then of course, the ironic twist of fate with his wife and family. And the sense of England and the sense of globalising, going out into the world and coming back, and yet trying to write all the time. And, you know, even with that education from these top universities, he cannot go up because of his religion. And it says it, and I get the sense of this, when you understand that, you understand the way of writing his poetry, he’s constantly arguing and debating and cross, and really and furious, kind of pissed off, and angry and debating, and getting kind of like, you know, getting passionate and strong about it. And I only get that when I put together his life, with actually looking at closely at the words of the poetry.

The sense of inner, you know, passion and turmoil and fighting and inner conflict. You know, which way should he choose, how should he live? You know, should he conform or not? And so on. Finally he got typhus, he fell very ill. And then later, he died of stomach cancer. And he wrote a final sermon, which he actually went to court and delivered it in the court. And it was called “Death’s Duel”. And I think it’s interesting that, the title was “Death’s Duel,” it was a final sermon, and he died a short while later. But it’s a duel. D-U-E-L. So it’s a duel, it’s a quarrel, it’s a conflict with God, with religion, with society, with what is love, with the way that, you know, one is pigeonholed and stereotyped, categorised by society on the outside. You know, Sartre’s great phrase, “the Jew is only a Jew because the anti-Semite exists.” Without the anti-Semite, there is no Jew. So it’s all about the external definition of the individual. You know, what the ruling society or the ruling mores of a society may decide, or the fashionable propaganda, in another way, may decide, you know, who gets labelled as what. And I think he’s rubbing up against the grain all the time. And that’s what I really like about this guy, his life and his poetry. And that to me is what rings true. I’m going to look at some of the poems. Very little of his poetry was published in his life. But what’s different to Spenser and some of the others from before, his poetry and his sermons, they’re not full of these long descriptive phrases.

They don’t have the smooth, sort of flowery language of predecessors or the Romantics afterwards, or the Wordsworth and all the other poets later. Neither the predecessors or the later. The mellifluous lines and all that. No, it’s a gritty, tough duelling, quarrelling, fighting voice inside the poetry. It’s an emotional intensity, confrontation. And he trained as a lawyer at university, the sense of argument, debate, almost with a legalese mind inside it, you know, which is arguing with God and others about faith and reason and love and so on. And so I’m going to come to the great poem, love poem, “The Flea.” You know, totally ironic, witty, and satirical. So the reader, when we read his poetry, we have an encounter between a speaker and a listener, speaking to God or speaking to someone, “Hey, listen to me, what’s going on here?” And it’s a voice of a speaker in the poetry. It’s not a voice of a kind of very detached, reflective, flowery poet. There’s crazy metaphors, which are ridiculous, but somehow seem to work. Metaphors which seem to not fit, “The Flea” about love. You know, you can only laugh and see it as satire and irony. And yet, there’s reasoned argument inside it. It’s obviously done with light ironic wit. You know, Jonathan Swift, interestingly, you know, wrote a lot of positive stuff about Donne. Samuel Johnson said that he had “ideas which were yoked together with violence.” And there is something in there, there’s a sense of an emotional violence in this guy, in the poetry. And the presence of the listener is very important. It’s almost, it reminds one of some of David’s, you know, some of those poems, those songs if you like.

It’s constantly in conflict. But even more of a tougher fighter spirit in a way. There’s a dissection of feeling. And he speaks directly. And in that way, I think he’s so contemporary because we feel he’s speaking directly to us today. And in the, in the perm, “The Flea,” which I’ll come to, you know, it’s built as an argument around flea and love. And he talks about lust and love and denouncing it. You know, fiction, his love of fiction, isn’t it, is it a joke? Is it ridiculous? Is it unrequited? Do they seek revenge? What, you know, all these things going on inside the poetry. And then of course there’s the holy or the religious, devotional poems. I’m going to look at one or two of them as well today, where we have all these questions, the spirit coming on. And this question of allegiance and swearing to the King. Having been born Roman Catholic, I think haunted him or tormented him, at least, all his life. And it feeds that restless, provocative, quarrelsome spirit inside him. And of course he had terrible physical health problems as well. So he, he is obsessed with the decaying of the body, you know, and this whole thing, which I’m going to look at, you know, hang on God, you made us in your image and yet, look what you do to our body and make us decay and all this. Well, what kind of creature have you created? You know, I mean, what do you want?

You know, you do this, you make us in your image, but then you make us with a decaying body. Well, you know what what kind of god are you, buddy? Okay, so he had 156 poems, which were finally published by his son after his death. He also talks, he wrote about outbreaks of plague to obviously resonate today. He wrote about love stories, about why women wore certain clothes. Why men? I mean he took on topics of the ordinary, everyday life. Yes, upper class, but also working class. We’d call it today, in the language. Much later, then he’s forgotten about for quite a while. But then the TS Eliots and critics of the early 20th century bring about a remarkable revival of his poetry, WB Yeats and many others start to celebrate him as a reaction to the Romantic tradition and their own reaction to the 19th century poetry in England. Okay, we’re going to look at how, and he becomes a kind of idol of English-speaking poets in the early to mid, and even now, late 20th century poets and university departments of literature. And there’s a, finally, I would like to say, a kind of daring quality to his poetry.

Okay? And if I may, in the spirit of John Donne, I’ve tried to mention the satire, the joke, the humour, the wit. And what I would like to do is I want to share one piece of humour, of contemporary satire. Mediaeval, the peasant servant, the contemporary man. It’s Stephen Fry, which is based on a John Cleese, Monty Python sketch, which they’ve updated to contemporary, more contemporary, recent-ish times. But it’s the sense of the mediaeval man and the contemporary, and the going snakes and ladders, up and down, trying to get into the ruling class, but being down, who’s positioned where? It’s a little bit of satire, for a little bit of a moment, if you will indulge me. And then we’re going to come onto the poems themselves. I thought it time to have a little bit of fun in these tough times and hard times, that we all know we’re part of. But there is a little bit of sense of history in what Stephen Fry and the others are trying to satirise here. Coming up right now, the reunion of two men who made the nation laugh more than any other two men with the name of Ronnie. Welcome please, accompanied by Stephen Fry, the Two Ronnies.

CLIP BEGINS

• I’m modern man. I look down on them, because I’m from a more advanced society.

• I’m Renaissance man, I look up to him because he is, on average, four inches taller than I am. But I look down on him, because he is a smelly, ignorant serf.

• I’m mediaeval man. I look up to them 'cause I’m a smelly, ignorant serf. I live in a one-room hovel, made of straw and manure.

• I live in a new Barrett’s Estate, so I envy him. However, I do have hot and cold running water, a car, a Yamaha organ, a TV, and a new video. Although, I don’t know how to work it.

• I have cold running water, a map of the world which includes the Americas, a telescope and the collected works of Homer, in 39 weekly parts.

• I have a pig. Although I don’t know how to work it. I’m so ignorant I think the sun goes to bed at night.

• I think the sun revolves around the earth.

• I think the sun shines out of my trousers.

• I work as a weaver. For that reason, I’m called Mr. Weaver.

• I’m a miller, so I’m called Mr. Miller.

• My name’s Ramsbottom. So I’m called Sir.

• I have a hard life. I’m 23. I have one day off a year where we get drunk and hit each other with pigs’ bladders on sticks.

• I have two days off a week when I watch TV and go to Homebase.

• I have one day off a week, when I go to church. But I must admit, the pig’s bladder thing sounds a lot more fun.

• I’m feudal. I believe in doing what His Lordship tells me.

• I’m an optimist, I believe in progress.

• I’m New Labour, so I don’t believe in anything.

• I encourage education, I teach my children to read.

• My children don’t have a school, so they can’t read.

• My children go to comprehensive school, so they can’t read either.

• Throughout the history of Britain, some things never change.

• I blame the Normans. I hate the French ‘cause they beat us in 1066.

• I hate the French 'cause they beat us in 1998.

• I just hate the French, I don’t need a reason.

• All in all, I think my life is better than theirs.

• I think my life is not as good as his, but better than his.

• I’m a smelly, ignorant serf. But at least I don’t have to put up with pollution, global warming, nuclear war, GM foods, stress, and Carol Vorderman. Whoever he is.

• Well, sod this. Anybody fancy a pint?

• What about the Watering Dove, that’s a nice pub?

CLIP ENDS

• Okay, just to give a little bit of humour, and I think John Donne would’ve appreciated, because I see all of his works filled with this kind of direct speaking, direct talking, but with satire and ironic wit, as well, but cut to the chase kind of thing. In ordinary language. And putting together the classes, the images. I don’t know, we’re dealing with these periods in history. And, of course, because I love theatre and performance, just a little moment to show us in satire of how we can also see the same things from history in another way. Okay, I’m going to move on to one of the great poems, which I’m sure everybody knows only too well, but is always worth, I think, reading again. And listening to.

• [Reader] “No man is an island, entire of itself. Every man is a piece of the continent. A part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less. As well as if a promontory were as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were. Any man’s death diminishes me. Because I am involved in mankind. And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.”

• This was obviously written when he’s not well, later in his life, John Donne. I just want to look at it a little bit again. The language is not complicated. The words. But the way of putting it together, and as I said, direct address, as if he’s speaking to us. It’s not so reflective, he’s speaking to us. Direct language, it’s got a hint of a legal argument structure. “No man is an island, entire of itself.” Agree or not. Debate me or not. I’m telling you what I think. “Every man is a piece of the continent. A part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less.” Well I don’t have to give the obvious links to Brexit and many other things around the world. But that phrase, if we cut ourselves from other parts of the world, or other peoples in our own culture, what are we? You know, if we do believe, we or our group, only is an island, well, what are the consequences? What are the choices? You have to reach out. I think this goes back to his life. The religious conflict of his life. Standing up against his father-in-law with his wife. You know, I still have to reach out to somebody. “Any man’s death diminishes me because I am involved in mankind.” I mean, how resonant is that? Obviously.

I mean, I guess I have to mention, but the holocaust, you know, so many things, migrants or people dying or refugees, wherever in the world, “because I am involved in mankind.” William Faulkner, I think it was, who said, you know, “Can we not do a bit better?” I think it was Faulkner, if I’m right, in “As I Lay Dying” or one of the other novels. You know, can we not do a bit better? Just that simple question. “Any man’s death diminishes me.” So because of that, “I’m involved in mankind.” It’s such a simple, yet unforgettable way of putting it. We have a choice. We can be involved in mankind or we can think we are an island and to hell with the rest. Don’t give a damn. but “never send to know for whom the bell tolls.” It’s all going to come, obviously, obviously for every one of us. And we never know when or how. So, you know, it’s this twisting of the language of debate, of almost legal argument, but in such deceptive, simple language. But it’s a rhythm of of a poetic and of a driven writer, for me. The emotion is inside the cerebral. It’s not purely cerebral. Okay? I want to go into the great love poem of John Donne’s, “The Flea” And again, here, a flea. If we have to imagine a man and a woman, and the man is trying to seduce the woman, and he sees a flea in her hair, that’s the flea in the poem. So that’s the ridiculously, completely ludicrous image for a poem about seduction, infatuation, lust. You know, he’s amongst the first to do this. It’s not, “shall I compare the to a summers?”

You know, it’s not all the beautiful, lovely poetry, which I love as well, but it’s, you know, it’s pretty gritty, urban and very, very satirical and witty. Again, like a debate. “Mark but this flea, and mark in this, how little that which thou deniest me is.” It’s speaking directly, cut to the chase, move on. “Mark but this flea” And there’s debate whether he’s influenced by Shakespeare, who often introduces a scene, which is a direct address. “Hark, news,” “what news” or, you know, “mark, who comes there,” or, you know, and suddenly somebody arrives and the whole plot changes in the play. You know, we cut to the chase immediately. There’s no, you know, waffling around trying to fill in the bits of time on stage. It’s interesting, Emily Dickinson, I don’t have time to go into it, but she’s very influenced by, her fantastic poetry, which is a bit similar to John Donne. This is one of the craziest love poems I’ve ever read or ever written, I think. Completely odd. It’s a cunning strategy of seduction because John Donne is satirising, for me, his own sexual need, desperation and love desperation, around the image of a flea in his woman’s hair. The abrupt opening, just spoken about. The use of vernacular. “It sucked me first, and now sucks thee.” That’s quite, except for the thees and the thous, that’s pretty contemporary, Cut to the chase, it’s sucking and “it sucks thee.” “Hey, my darling, it’s sucking your head.” “And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.” It has to be seen as witty, ironic, and playful and flirty and seductive. “Thou know'st that this cannot be said a sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead.”

And “yet this enjoys before it woo, and pampered swells with one blood made of two.” So it, it’s like you’re not going to lose your virginity, you know? It’s playing with a flea sucking a bit of blood out of her hair, all the images of virginity, lust, love, blood. Two bloods coming to one, you know, two souls and all the rest of it. But he ain’t just saying souls. He’s saying two bloods, mingled. You know, it’s this gritty, visceral stuff that really gets to me and abrupt and direct. And it’s an appeal to a kind of love image, but not the romantic emotion. It’s written with a kind of ironic logic in a way. And yet with simple vernacular. And a flea, which completely mundane, but if we think of his own times, a flea would’ve been infesting the bedding, the clothing, the hair, the body of everybody. Rich or poor, it doesn’t matter. Fleas were obviously totally part of everyone’s life. I recently watched a fascinating piece on fleas with soldiers in the First World War. And soldiers in the Second World War in the Sahara, in in the North African campaigns. And the role of fleas, just without have access to wash, clean, anything like that and going completely crazy. So it would fit his times. And for us, it’s a different kind of image, I think, but we can imagine it. And this poor little flea is going to end up being like almost a holy martyr to love. And the transformation begins because the flea is a theft of human blood, of the poet and the lady in question. “Swells with… blood made of two,” “one blood made of two,” “and pampered swells with blood made of two.” You know, that’s a flea he’s talking about. That’s going to swell with the blood made of two. It’s almost a surrealist image of two seemingly unrelated objects put together to create a new meaning. And in this way, is through the absurdity of a flea, one can only get the satire.

Then “Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare.” “Oh, stay,” you know, he’s saying to her, don’t kill the flea. You know, chill out, take a chill pill for a bit, you know, it’s “three lives,” obviously religious connotations there. “Where we almost, nay more than married are. The flea is you and I, and this our marriage bed and marriage temple is; though parents’ grudge.” And we know that have links to his own, you know, what happened with his father-in-law. So he’s saying, don’t kill it, you know, maybe leave it. You know, try not to kill it. So the flea is linked to the holy trinity of religion, it’s linked to martyrdom, because she’s about to pluck it out of her hair and kill it. You know, and “cloistered in,” so on, sort of sacrilege. “Three sins in killing.” It’s ironic. And it’s also a savage satire on religion, you know, because it’s a flea. It’s being mocked through marriage, through the image of a union of man and woman and sexuality, but in a religious way. “Cruel and sudden.” Well, that cuts direct. It is so contemporary that, “Cruel and sudden”. “Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence.” She’s pulled it out, killed it. Tee. That’s it. Done. Well, we wouldn’t think twice of taking a flea, doing it. Wouldn’t think ever again. And how often have parents, we’ve all parents done it with our kids, you know, without. So he’s making a whole matzo pudding, if you like, out of that one image, amazingly. And sacrilege, in a religious context. And her fingernail, with a purple darnell, you know, it’s in her fingernail, the blood of innocence. It’s a mockery of the Christ image, of all of that.

And yet done by this religious guy, who’s purporting to, you know, there’s not any religious conflict in himself, but believe, stick so much at Catholicism and then change to Protestantism. But look how he’s doing it. Satire and satire yet again. And then finally, it shows that the writer, you know, at the end here, “‘Tis true; then learn how false… Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,” when you yield to me, finally, “will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.” Took a bit of blood from you. So he then equates, you know, getting the girl with the death of the flea. It’s a way of mocking the society, controlling sexual energy, sexual liberation, emotional infatuations and all of that as well. And playing with it. And there’s a fantastic, Camille Paglia, who is for me, a fantastic American literary scholar and writer in many things, feminism and other. She talks about the link between this and Salvador Dali’s images of the ants. Here’s the ants. You know, these are the Salvador Dali images, the ants full of lust and desire crawling onto the human body. And in a sense, if I were to imagine John Donne’s poem, I would do like Paglia, link it to this image of Dali’s. you know, this to me gives a visceral picture of a contemporary sense of the poem written, you know, centuries ago.

Okay, I want to go on to, let’s talk a little bit about this, two sonnets. And this one, the first one. So here we move away from his passions with sexuality and the body, and man and woman, and onto the religious sonnets that he wrote. “Thou hast made-” And now he’s talking to God. Hey, God, “Thou hast made me and shall thy work decay?” Well “repair me now, for now mine end doth haste, I run to death, and death meets me as fast.” He’s cross. He’s angry, he’s pissed off You know? “Thou hast made me and shall thy work work decay?” What? You made me, in your image. You made me, you set me up. It’s a setup, God. So I’m going to decay. What kind of God are you? So repair me. “Repair me now.” You know, it’s almost demanding. You know, God, you’re not just just a carpenter, Christ, you’re a craftsman. Fix me up. You know, come on, fix me. I run to death, and death meets me as fast.“ Yeah. "And all my pleasures are like yesterday.” Well, what am I going to do now? You know, complaining, angry, if not angry, I mean, ironically angry. Whimsically or satirically, you know, or in conflict at least. You know, is this a setup, this belief in God? Is it a setup? The religion, the belief, everything. Or not? This is so close, if you read Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 29,” and I’m convinced he was influenced by Shakespeare’s “Sonnet 29,” the rhythms and the pattern of language, I don’t want to cut, I don’t have time to go into it now, but it’s very similar.

He clearly believes in a personal God, but he has a long wrangling and rancorous relationship with his God. And that for me is a rancorous relationship and a quarrelsome relationship with everything in society. And that is so contemporary, to our sceptical, if not cynical times that we live in today. You know, the struggles in religion, “Thou hast made me and shall thy work work decay?” I’m demanding your attention and I’m rebuking you for your negligence, God. 'Cause the scripture says how we’re made, well, repair me. No, there’s no gesture of deference to God. You know, God is, I think actually not so much across him, that’s more like a Christ, but God is almost like a superintendent, responsible for my maintenance and upkeep. You know, fix me up. “I dare not move my dim eyes any way. Despair behind, and death before doth cast. such terror and my feebled flesh doth waste.” What have you made, something to waste away? “By sin is it, which it towards hell death weigh.” “Only the art above and when towards thee by thy leave can I look,” can I look again? “I rise again,” like the Christ, “but your old subtle foe so tempteth me.” Well that’s Satan, but it’s also age. “That not one hour can myself sustain,” you know, it’s age and the regrets and the feeling of youth and passion and the pleasures of youth and love and passion and the heat. And “thy grace,” I can’t sustain it, you know? I mean, I’m trying to, but I can’t sustain what you’ve set me up to live.

And it’s almost like, I have this image that, you know, “I run to death.” It’s like John Donne’s image of life being like in an hourglass. You know, that the sand is ticking through, never stops ticking all the time. Well God, is that what you wanted, when you set us up? So “I rise again.” Of course it’s a model, you know, a play on the Christ image here. But it’s a staggering, you know, the “old subtle foe,” which is youth, which is past, which is childhood, which is passion. All the stuff of that, you know, of the years gone and the decay, et cetera. In the end, I think this poem is like a chase scene in a movie. It’s a chase scene. And it’s almost like the soul of the poet is trying to elude the clutches of a demon predator. And that is not far from the quarrel with God, not just Satan, who’s really the demon predator in this chasing. I’m trying to run, you know, I can’t help but run to death and “death meets me as fast,” but also I want to run away. It’s a double all the time. Okay? And then this is one of my favourite of John Donne’s, the “Holy Sonnet,” Number 14. “Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you as yet, but knock, breathe, shine and seek to mend; that I may rise and stand, overthrow me and bend your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.” He’s demanding God, “batter my heart.”

Come on God, “three-personed”. God, the Holy Spirit and the Christians, you know, father, son, and holy spirit. Three-personed, that’s almost religious sacrilege, even today, it might be set up as that. You know, in these very PC times. “Batter my heart, three-personed God,” Come on, “batter” and “it knock.” Okay, the door is a very old image in poetry. But “seek to mend.” So fix me up, yet again, like the previous poem, demanding of God. I’m not deferring to God, I’m demanding, I’m quarrelling, I’m arguing with the guy. “Come on, you made me, so take responsibility, buddy.” “That I can rise,” “overthrow”. “Your force to break, blow, burn.” So many contemporary poets of the 20th, 21st century refer to that line, “to break, blow, burn, and make me new.” To me, it is such a contemporary phrase. Those words. Simple verbs put together, there it is. Powerful, gritty, urban. Coming from, you know, the tough times, the rough parts of life. Not the sweet gentle beauties and all that. So it’s a bit of like a war-like call on God, you know? And I’m going to batter you God until you help me. You know, this is not a tender lamb of God. “Come on God, I want you to do a real job now, that you promised to do.” And then, of course, we have the door metaphor and to fix it up and fix up the heart. And I think he needs, almost like, it’s like the human heart has to be hacked down.

You know, you are forced to break, blow, burn, and make me new, almost break down my heart, melt it over heat, and purge and then fix it. You know? And I’m purposely using his very evocative, visceral, almost religious language here. But I think it’s what he does. You know, got to wreck the old identity and make something new. And then we come to the second part of the poem, but “to no end.” “Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend. But is captived, proves weak or untrue. Yet dearly, I love you, and would be loved fain.” Now it’s reason is “your viceroy in me,” but it’s weak. You gave me reason, but it’s weak. You know, it is not going to help make me something better to go back to, you know, I’m involved in all mankind. Reason is not good enough. “But am betrothed to your enemy.” Well it’s not only Satan, it’s to the decay of the body. “Divorce me.” “Well, come on God.” “Untie or break that know again.” “Take me to you, imprison me.” “God, imprison me.” It’s quite a powerful image. And I, “for I except you enthral me, shall never be free, nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.” Whoa. And that line is referred to so many times, by not only scholars but writers and poets, “nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.” “I can’t do it on my own, unless you ravish me with faith.” That to me is what he’s really saying here. You give me reason. You give me faith, you give me passions, you give me desires, you give me a body which decays. “Well come on buddy, this is what you’ve given. I’m in your image.” And it still stuns me. That brutal paradox at the end.

And in Camille Paglia’s words, what she understands by that last line, and I’m quoting her, “We will never be pure. What John Donne means here is we will never be pure until we are abducted and raped by God.” That’s Paglia’s words, not mine. But I think she gets it, in terms of really trying to understand how evocative and visceral and radical this guy is, actually. That the only way you’re going to succeed is if you almost abduct me, God with your faith. It requires beyond reason. Because I can’t achieve being the human you want me to be. You know, and “What you’ve set up is so full of contradictions. I don’t know how to resolve it without your help, unless you break, blow, burn and make me new.” So I see him as pretty radical for today’s times and for his own times. And probably only because he converted that he was actually allowed to probably write this kind of stuff and get into, you know, the upper class of society. The last thing I want to mention here is the last final poem, very briefly, which everybody knows and I’m not going to speak about it very much, but “Death, be not proud.” Again, it’s an argument, it’s a quarrel. It’s an ongoing battle he has with himself, from the religious conflicts I mentioned, his own inner conflict with his father-in-law, his own life, you know, his restless quarrelling with himself and God. “Death be not proud, though some have called thee mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so” “For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow die not, et cetera, et cetera. "Well death, don’t be proud of yourself.”

And then at the very end, “and death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.” I mean these are lines which I think cause us to pause, to reflect, to think so many different possible connotations. And how he’s trying to wrestle with this idea of being made in the image of something else. Call it a god, call it a society, call it a religion. I think he’s quarrelling all the time with how the outside world, including the image of a God, have always defined him. And it’s his battle to break, blow, burn, to be reborn, to be purged, to fight and find his own identity, which mirrors the life story that I mentioned of his marriage and not getting his degree until much later 'cause of religious belief, et cetera. And I think that resonates for me of so much of our lives today. You know, how much are we going to conform, fit in, try to belong? Can we, can’t we, you know? Whether it’s Jewish or as other religions or classes or races, we are compelled to try. But can we? And in this very gritty contemporary, rough, rough-hewn way, that I think this language invites us into a debate, an argument, never losing that sense of satirical wit and irony that’s underneath it. Okay, I’m going to hold it there and hope that we can have shared just a little bit of perhaps a slightly different perception of John Donne and some of his poetry together. Okay, thank you.

• [Colleague] And, do you have time for questions?

Q&A and Comments:

• Yep, sure. Suzanne, thank you. And then from Galaxy, thank you. And from Yvonne.

Q: Romaine, “How do you think his rebellious spirit was expressed in his work?”

A: That’s what I think, I hope I’ve tried to show some of that today.

Q: Justin. “On what charges was he arrested in prison by his father-in-law?

A: Well it was on the religious, as far as I know, but I think it was probably used as a cover for the fact that he’d, you know, gone with his daughter, with his father-in-law’s daughter, who was totally against it for religious reasons.

Virginia: "It’s outrageously erotic, busy old sun.” Exactly. And yet it’s so old, it’s hundreds and hundreds of years old and yet it’s so erotic for us in this way today. But together with the cerebral and I think and this sort of legal argument structure almost. And that’s what I think makes it quite unique and quite powerful. It’s not erotic in a purely emotional, sensual way.

Virginia: “Clearly known by TS Eliot, "Journey to the Magi’ is inspired by the Advent Sermon or of Meditation.” Thanks Virginia. Absolutely spot on.

Heather, “Let’s hear some of the poetry and talk about them in the midst of reading.” I hope I’ve done that with some of what we looked at afterwards.

Q: Donny, what is the link for the hilarious video, please?

A: I wanted to just show, I know we’ve been looking at history, mediaeval feudalism, the end of feudalism, capitalism. End of the 1500s, early 1600s, of Shakespeare’s time, Marlowe and the history of it, that I know Trudy’s been looking at, in relation to not only the Jew but what was happening in England at the time. And that little satirical clip is just showing your little moment of three fantastic contemporary comics, comedians looking at some of that.

• And also I think, David, also the spirit in which he’s writing.

• Yeah.

• It tells you a little bit about him as well and his spirit.

• You mean in in that, in that clip? Yeah.

• [Wendy] Yes.

• Yes. Exactly. And that satirical ironic spirit, you know, of being-

• [Wendy] It captures him, it captures the man.

• Exactly. You know, I think, John Donne could have written that kind of-

• Exactly.

• That little clip. Exactly. Thanks, Wendy. Valerie. “I don’t think he meant that England was part of Europe, but Europe was the world he knew.” Yep, I don’t think he was anticipating Brexit, I don’t think at all, Valerie, I agree. But it was part of the world that he knew, absolutely.

• But that feeling of France, just absolutely sums it up.

• I know. And that links to France in that funny clip of the two Ronnies and Stephen Fry, you know, and the French and it’s going today.

• [Wendy] Of course. Age-old.

• Great. Carol. “John Donne. One of my favourite poets. Influenced so many. Strangely, I would add original. And Hopkins.” Absolutely. All influenced by Donne. Thanks. Ron. “Right on, Thank you. Let flea-dom win.” When in doubt, use the image of a flea. Sandy, “Love ‘Doctor Atomic. But the only bit I remember is "Batter my heart, Three-personed God.” Great.

Yolandi, “'Death, be not proud.’ I just wanted to mention at the end. I didn’t want to go into too much, Yolandi because I think people know it so well. Ian, with mentioning that it’s also amazing he became an MP. Yes, you’re right. Thank you. I forgot, spot on.

• [Wendy] Maybe people don’t know him so well.

• Sorry?

• [Wendy] Maybe they don’t know him so well and we can do him in more depth. I think we should, ‘cause he’s so great.

• Yeah, I mean, the others as well. There’s so many from this era. Yep. Absolutely, Wendy.

Sheila, thanks. "I don’t see 'three-personed God’ as sacrilegious.” No, but I think it might have been in his time to have the three as three ‘person’ instead of, you know, Father, Son and the Holy Spirit.“` Maybe.

Q: Alan. "Is Donne saying that he has to accept a contradictory God? Was he on the verge of extricating himself from a contradictory philosophy?”

A: This is a fantastic question, Alan. I wish I had time to really go into it. I think that he’s saying, reluctantly and quarrelsomely and argumentatively and probably furiously with a bit of satire and wit, saying, “Okay, I’ll accept you as a contradictory God, but I ain’t going to stop the quarrels.” ‘Cause I think the illusion is that the God doesn’t, can’t help solve the contradictions.

Margaret: “also found the metaphysical aspect overwhelming. Avoided delving into Donne.” Okay. Thank you. Okay. Alan, in London. Okay Yvonne. “Thanks.” Okay, thank you for that Uta. “Thank you” Sonny, Esther, “Thanks” Elaine.

“'Holy Sonnet,’ John was trying to deal with religious beliefs. Protestant, again Catholic.” Yes, I agree. He’s trying to always, I think underneath everything, is his own clash between Protestant and Catholic. ‘Cause it mirrors his life story completely. And to extend the metaphor would be, you know, the Jewish and the Christian and many others.

Q: Rebecca, “I think it was easier to convert under a male monarch. Did his conversion break Anne’s heart?”

A: Great question. I don’t know. I really don’t know. I think it might have been this, this was the rule of the times. Regardless. Set up, I think by Elizabeth’s, by Henry, right? Elizabeth’s father. So this would’ve been the dominant demand or rule of the time.

Q: Ace. “Why are Donne’s courses popular in English departments of Israeli universities?”

A: I didn’t know that Ace, that’s a fascinating question.

Q: “Why are John Donne’s courses popular in English departments of Israeli universities?”

A: That’d a really fascinating thing to explore, thanks. Monte.

Q: “John Donne lived in a white society addressing whites. "No man is an island.” What do the CRT crowd make of him?“

A: Okay, we’re going to get onto wokeism, I’m sure. And get into that in the big time. island. Yep.

Carol. Thanks. I was defeated by- "I was defeated by the teachers of Donne 50 years ago.” Yep.

Q: Herbert, “Has any composer put his works to music?”

A: Great question. Not that I know of.

I lost Patrick and Dennis. Gail, thank you.

Q: “Do you think Shakespeare borrowed 'Proud death’ in ‘Hamlet’?”

A: Yes I do. I think they were borrowing and stealing from each other all the time. And plagiarism was not really a phenomenon like we would regard it today, at all. You know, it was steal from wherever, it wasn’t even called steal, it was just, you know, let’s call it borrow or take from each other, all the time.

Q: Murray “Entire of itself a reflection, must we protect others in the COVID era?”

A: Yep. Great.

Lynn, “In the context of his life, his poetry assumed so much more depth.” Thank you.

Q: Tricia, “Was ‘The Flea’ about his wife or another woman?”

A: Great question. I think it’s about another woman from the research. I think it’s about another woman, “The Flea.” And that one is not about Anne, but about somebody before.

Mari, “We are not on our own.” Yep. Irene. Thank you.

Rita. Just a comment. “My thesis was on John Donne.” Oh. “At the university in the Ukraine.” Okay, great. Thanks Rita. That, that’s really interesting to know. Caroline. “Thank you.”

Anita. “‘Tyger Tyger, burning bright,’ his light side. That’s William Blake and definitely want to give a talk on William Blake. ‘Cause I love his poetry. It’s so powerful and there’s many others.

Michael, "Interesting to note the contrast, his bawdy poetry, with the great sadness of his wife’s death in 'A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day’” Yep.

Norma, “I’m thinking of Cohen’s ‘You Want it Darker.’ Yeah, which is powerful and I think also ironic of Leonard Cohen. Mickey.

Q: "Where can we learn a little about his Jewish education?”

A: Not anything Jewish education. Very Roman Catholic. And then going to the universities. Oxford and Cambridge in England.

Gloria, “My cousin Phillip,” okay, “is a poet.” Great.

Barbara. “Words to music. No man is an island.” Yep. “Thank you.” Mickey. Thanks.

Q: Miriam. “Doesn’t Tevye talk to God in the same way?”

A: Hey, that’s a great connection, Miriam. That’s fantastic. Yeah. Tevye’s arguing and it’s ironic and it’s playful, but he’s cross, he’s quarrelling and you know, that’s a great actually image. Never thought of that. To connect it to Tevye in “Fiddler” and his constant, you know, quarrelling and discussion and fighting and arguing with God.

Gail, “Thank you. Just finished teaching ‘Hamlet’ and one of my students asked about his borrowing of images.” Yep. They all did. Borrowed from each other.

Q: Tony, “What was the obstacle preventing John Donne from speaking more plainly in his texts?”

A: I don’t know. I think he’s also fitting a certain, I didn’t want to go into it, but a certain poetic structure of the sonnets and words and you know, putting it all together. I don’t want to go into too much of sort of poetic structure analysis here.

Q: Ron, “Any plan to do a session on Leonard Cohen?”

A: Yeah, I’ve done one Ron, but always happy to do Mr. Cohen. Mr. Dylan, any of them, again and again, ‘cause it’s endless stuff, rich stuff to mine. Okay, Thank you.

• We did that in the beginning. That was an early, that was a very early presentation. That was actually when we first started about 18 months ago.

• Yeah.

• So that’d be great to do it again. Maybe Barbara’s referring to the words “No man is an island.” That’s to music.

• Yes. I don’t know. I have to research it and find out and I will.

• [Wendy] Okay.

• Okay. Great.

• Well thanks. Thanks, David. Thanks for the excellent presentation. It’s good to catch up, about yeah, our good days.

• Absolutely. Thank you so much Wendy. Okay Lauren, everyone, thanks everybody and hope you, hope you’re all well and have a Saturday night.

• Yeah, enjoy the rest of the evening. And day.

• Thanks.

• Thank you, night-night. Thanks, Lauren

• Okay, ciao.

• Thanks, bye-bye.