Sonnets of Love and Death

by Jean de Sponde, David R. Slavitt (Translation)

This bilingual edition introduces readers to the sixteenth century poet Jean de Sponde, considered one of the most important poets of the Renaissance period and a precursor to Donne, in his poetry Sponde reflects the tensions–both stylistic and philosophical-of his time. This collection of sonnets, abounding in metaphor, paradox, antithesis, and hyperbole, is a restless personal exploration of the body and the spirit, of the concrete and the abstract, of passion and anguish.

Genres: Poetry, French Literature, Renaissance

83 pages, Paperback

First published January 31, 1979

About the author

Jean de Sponde (Joanes Ezponda, en basque) (1557-1595) est un poète baroque basque français.

Jean de Sponde (Joanes Ezponda in Basque) (1557-1595) was a Baroque French poet.

Reviews

[Sam · Rating 3 out of 5]

“Before, my protestations of love, though fervent,
were mere displays of generic desire. Now
that your eyes have met my gaze and you allow
my devotion, I speak differently, your servant,

in love no more with love itself but you,
and yet I must acknowledge that ideal
mistress whom I have deserted for the real
woman and sing those praises that are her due.

Her cavaliers consume themselves and burn
brightly for a time until they turn
to wisps of smoke and piles of ashes. But I,

nourished by your changing moods, can find refreshment every moment and am refined
in a fire that will rage until I die.”
—
“The winds howled and a mountain range of cloud
loomed overhead to darken the daylight sky
as black as a night in hell, and the sea ran high,
driven to madness by that keening, loud

and endless, but then I saw a small bird flutter
into that maelstrom, in her beak a straw
for her floating nest, and I observed in awe
as the storm abated suddenly to utter

halcyon calm. So my love died in me
to happiness and the peace of a glassy sea
on which my spirit has settled. My mind is clear;

my faith has been rewarded; for all my pain
there is a joy that I know shall obtain
forever, though at sea it is one day a year.”
—
“Here in this air, I breathe a rarer air
as my soul ignites with another finer fire.
In this ebb tide, I ride a flood of desire
but the earth will not release me from its snare.

I raise my eyes as I, myself, would rise
to float upon that ether for which I yearn,
but sensual pleasures beckon and I burn
in martyrdom (except that a martyr dies).

It is a war in which both sides must lose,
and I am ruined because I cannot choose
this world or that wholeheartedly. Instead,

I temporize, uncertain and afraid,
condemned to exist in a limbo I have made,
a mortal, neither truly alive nor dead.”