Т.В. Артеменко, Е.В. Кривощекова, Е.В. Кравченко, Н.Е. Николаева - Reader in Language and Culture (1098538), страница 14
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His secret marriage in 1601 to Egerton's niece, Anne More, resulted in hisdismissal from this position and in a brief imprisonment. During the next few yearsDonne made a meager living as a lawyer.Donne's principal literary accomplishments during this period were DivinePoems (1607) and the prose work Biathanatos (c. 1608, posthumously published1644), a half-serious extenuation of suicides, in which he argued that suicide is notintrinsically sinful. Donne became a priest of the Anglican Church in 1615 and wasappointed royal chaplain later that year.
In 1621 he was named dean of St. Paul'sCathedral. He attained eminence as a preacher, delivering sermons that areregarded as the most brilliant and eloquent of his time.Donne's poetry embraces a wide range of secular and religious subjects. Hewrote cynical verse about inconstancy, poems about true love, Neoplatonic lyricson the mystical union of lovers' souls and bodies and brilliant satires and hymnsdepicting his own spiritual struggles. The two "Anniversaries" - "An Anatomy ofthe World" (1611) and "Of the Progress of the Soul" (1612)--are elegies for 15year-old Elizabeth Drury.Whatever the subject, Donne's poems reveal the same characteristics thattypified the work of the metaphysical poets: dazzling wordplay, often explicitlysexual; paradox; subtle argumentation; surprising contrasts; intricate psychologicalanalysis; and striking imagery selected from nontraditional areas such as law,physiology, scholastic philosophy, and mathematics.Donne's prose, almost equally metaphysical, ranks at least as high as hispoetry.
The Sermons, some 160 in all, are especially memorable for theirimaginative explications of biblical passages and for their intense explorations ofthe themes of divine love and of the decay and resurrection of the body. Devotionsupon Emergent Occasions (1624) is a powerful series of meditations,93expostulations, and prayers in which Donne's serious sickness at the time becomesa microcosm wherein can be observed the stages of the world's spiritual disease.Obsessed with the idea of death, Donne preached what was called his ownfuneral sermon, "Death's Duel" just a few weeks before he died in London onMarch 31, 1631.The Sun RisingBusy old fool, unruly Sun,Why dost thou thus,Through windows, and through curtains, call on us?Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?Saucy pedantic wretch, go chideLate schoolboys, and sour prentices,Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,Call country ants to harvest offices,Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime,Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.Thy beams, so reverend and strongWhy shouldst thou think?I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,But that I would not lose her sight so long:If her eyes have not blinded thine,Look, and tomorrow late, tell meWhether both the'Indias of spice and mineBe where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,And thou shalt hear: "All here in one bed lay."94She'is all states, and all princes I,Nothing else is.Princes do but play us; compar'd to this,All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.Thou, sun, art half as happy'as we,In that the world's contracted thus;Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties beTo warm the world, that's done in warming us.Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;This bed thy centre is, these walls, thy sphere.Another is the SameTIS true, 'tis day ; what though it be?O, wilt thou therefore rise from me?Why should we rise because 'tis light?Did we lie down because 'twas night?Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither,Should in despite of light keep us together.Light hath no tongue, but is all eye ;If it could speak as well as spy,This were the worst that it could say,That being well I fain would stay,And that I loved my heart and honour soThat I would not from him, that had them, go.Must business thee from hence remove?O ! that's the worst disease of love,The poor, the foul, the false, love can95Admit, but not the busied man.He which hath business, and makes love, doth doSuch wrong, as when a married man doth woo.The DreamDear love, for nothing less than theeWould I have broke this happy dream ;It was a themeFor reason, much too strong for fantasy.Therefore thou waked'st me wisely ; yetMy dream thou brokest not, but continued'st it.Thou art so true that thoughts of thee sufficeTo make dreams truths, and fables histories ;Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best,Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.As lightning, or a taper's light,Thine eyes, and not thy noise waked me ;Yet I thought thee—For thou lovest truth—an angel, at first sight ;But when I saw thou saw'st my heart,And knew'st my thoughts beyond an angel's art,When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st whenExcess of joy would wake me, and camest then,I must confess, it could not choose but beProfane, to think thee any thing but thee.Coming and staying show'd thee, thee,But rising makes me doubt, that now96Thou art not thou.That love is weak where fear's as strong as he ;'Tis not all spirit, pure and brave,If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have ;Perchance as torches, which must ready be,Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me ;Thou camest to kindle, go'st to come ; then IWill dream that hope again, but else would die.Sir Walter RaleighLifeWhat is our life? A play of passion,Our mirth the music of division,Our mother's wombs the tiring-houses be,Where we are dressed for this short comedy.Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is,That sits and marks still who doth act amiss.Our graves that hide us from the setting sunAre like drawn curtains when the play is done.Thus march we, playing, to our latest rest,Only we die in earnest, that's no jest.A Vision upon the Fairy QueenMethought I saw the grave where Laura lay,97Within that temple where the vestal flameWas wont to burn; and, passing by that way,To see that buried dust of living fame,Whose tomb fair Love, and fairer Virtue kept:All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen;At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept,And, from thenceforth, those Graces were not seen:For they this queen attended; in whose steadOblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse:Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce:Where Homer's spright did tremble all for grief,And cursed the access of that celestial thief!Scott FitzgeraldScott Fitzgerald (1896-1940) is best known for his novels and short storieswhich chronicle the excesses of America's 'Jazz Age' during the 1920s.Born into a fairly well-to-do family in St Paul, Minnesota in 1896 Fitzgeraldattended, but never graduated from Princeton University.
Here he mingled with themonied classes from the Eastern Seaboard who so obsessed him for the rest of hislife. In 1917 he was drafted into the army, but he never saw active service abroad.Instead, he spent much of his time writing and re-writing his first novel This Sideof Paradise, which on its publication in 1920 became an instant success. In thesame year he married the beautiful Zelda Sayre and together they embarked on arich life of endless parties.Dividing their time between America and fashionable resorts in Europe, theFitzgeralds became as famous for their lifestyle as for the novels he wrote.Fitzgerald once said 'Sometimes I don't know whether Zelda and I are real orwhether we are characters in one of my novels'.
He followed his first success with98The Beautiful and the Damned (1922), and The Great Gatsby (1925) whichFitzgerald considered his masterpiece. It was also at this time that Fitzgerald wrotemany of his short stories which helped to pay for his extravagant lifestyle.The bubble burst in the 1930s when Zelda became increasingly troubled bymental illness. Tender is the Night (1934), the story of Dick Diver and hisschizophrenic wife Nicole, goes some way to show the pain that Fitzgerald felt.The book was not well received in America and he turned to script-writing inHollywood for the final three years of his life. It was at this time he wrote theautobiographical essays collected posthumously in The Crack-Up and hisunfinished novel, The Last Tycoon.
He died in 1940.Princeton -The Last DayThe last light wanes and drifts across the land,The low, long land, the sunny land of spires.The ghosts of evening tune again their lyresAnd wander singing, in a plaintive bandDown the long corridors of trees. Pale firesEcho the night from tower top to tower.Oh sleep that dreams and dream that never tires,Press from the petals of the lotus-flowerSomething of this to keep, the essence of an hour!No more to wait the twilight of the moonIn this sequestrated vale of star and spire;For one, eternal morning of desirePasses to time and earthy afternoon.Here, Heracletus, did you build of fireAnd changing stuffs your prophecy far hurled99Down the dead years; this midnight I aspireTo see, mirrored among the embers, curledIn flame, the splendor and the sadness of the world.Oscar WildeOscar Wilde (1854-1900), Irish poet and dramatist whose reputation rests onhis comic masterpieces Lady Windermere's Fan(1892) and The Importance ofBeing Earnest (1895).
Among Wilde's other best-known works are his only novelThe Picture of Dorian Gray(1891) and his fairy tales especially "The HappyPrince."Wilde was born on October 16, 1854 in Dublin to unconventional parents his mother Lady Jane Francesca Wilde (1820-96), was a poet and journalist. Hisfather was Sir William Wilde, an Irish antiquarian, gifted writer, and specialist indiseases of the eye and ear. Wilde studied at Portora Royal School, Enniskillen,County Fermanagh (1864-71), Trinity College, Dublin (1871-74) and MagdalenCollege, Oxford (1874-78).In 1878 Wilde received his B.A. and in the same year he moved to London.His lifestyle and humorous wit soon made him the spokesman for Aestheticism,the late 19th century movement in England that advocated art for art's sake.
Heworked as art reviewer (1881), lectured in the United States and Canada (1882),and lived in Paris (1883). Between the years 1883 and 1884 he lectured in Britain.From the mid-1880s he was a regular contributor for Pall Mall Gazette andDramatic View.
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