Reflections on Paradise Lost, Part 3

My decision to read Paradise Lost has led me to an unpleasant observation: I am–for the moment–obsessed with John Milton. I want to know everything about his life, his times, his family…everything! It’s weird. I am displeased. I have read all the footnotes in two different editions, I’ve read all the prefatory notes in two editions. I have even read by Harold Bloom. (I am not a huge, huge fan of Harold Bloom; I think he’s a little pompous).

So Milton spends most of Books 5-8 relating Raphael’s visit to Eden and his story about how he and the rest of God’s Angels smote Satan’s Angels (not the ones in “Wild Rebels”, that blasphemy on biker movies). Then we come to the weird section of Book 8–possibly the weirdest section of the book, actually: the discussion Adam has with Raphael re: sex–sex between animals, sex between him and Eve (ergo, all humans), and (believe it or not) sex between angels. Who wanted that mental picture? I can’t say that was a thought that I had ever even considered. Ever. Ew. (Turns out, since Angels are comparatively incorporeal, they can “combine bodies” over vast distances. Wow. Tell me that doesn’t blow your mind. It seems Milton is all about “the sex”. Egad.)

Also, in these books, we read about Abdiel whom Satan courted, but who remained steadfast in his obedience to God despite ceaseless temptation and threat. The most logical explanation that I can figure: Milton identified himself with this character, as he himself felt threatened by all the religio-political fervor surrounding him. He was disillusioned by the state religion during the Reformation and subsequently heartbroken during the Restoration (of the monarchy in the person of Charles II). Other than the sex talk craziness, the angels and God also spend a lot of time warning the inhabitants of the Garden of Eden against the ever-present threat that Satan poses. (Lucifer is heart-broken and humiliated, so he had begun stalking Eve. Ick.)

At the end of Book 8, Adam gets a Peace Out from the heavenly host–perhaps Raphael was becoming highly embarrassed by Adam’s questions regarding how angels “mingle”–with Raphael reminding him to love God (lines 633-643). Adam promises to be good and remain steadfast. Much foreshadowing of the Fall-to-come.

(To be continued…)


Reflections on Paradise Lost, Part 2

I have never had a book defeat me! Never. I have read many books where I just wanted to write the authors angry/disgruntled notes, and I have read books that I have wanted to throw out the window in disgust (poor grammar, no plot, crap-tastic charaters, totally insipid, etc), but I have never read a book that was entirely inscrutable.

Paradise Lost comes close.

But you will not defeat me, Mr. Milton! You will NOT!

One hundred lines of random activities undertaken by random groupings of demons (including one who–that?–sings beautifully, apparently) really slow down the narrative in Book II. That frustrates me. But then I came to lines 630-635:

Satan with thoughts inflamed of highest design

Puts on swift wings, and towards the gate of Hell

Explores his solitary flight; sometimes

He scours the right hand coast, sometimes the left,

Now shaves with level wing the deep, then soars

Up to the fiery concave, tow’ring high.

That’s beauty. That’s power.

The more that Milton waxed lyrical about Satan/Lucifer/the Adversary (used interchangeably in Paradise Lost, but cordoned off individually in certain mythologies–seemingly due to inexact translations), the more his biographers and critics believed that he saw Satan as a misunderstood protagonist. In fact, this seems to have been Milton’s main (tricky) idea: convince the reader to empathize with Satan–Satan wished for respect and individuality alongside a sense of belonging–and then slam said reader with condemnation. In Milton’s worldview, our desire for individuality is only a product of the Fall–Original Sin. We think that individualism is an asset–but Milton’s theory was we only think that because we are flawed. Our whole view is askew, as it were.

In Heaven, all “good” creation wishes to be part of the hegemony–the harmonious whole–under God. …Which then leads to the question: Why is God above the rest? “Because He is God” does not seem to be a complete answer as “to be good”, one has to cease being “one”; one must lose his/her individuality and contribute the whole self-ness to the greater heavenly whole.  (But then, what is this “self”?) Then, if harmony and hegemony are the ultimate goal, Why did God create Himself differently? Or is it just that Satan/Lucifer sees it that way? And how can there be individual angels (Michael, Uriel, Abdiel, etc)?

Out of the Metaphysical and Back to the Form…

Milton wrote all 11,000+ lines in blank verse–the type of poetry preferred by Marlowe and Shakespeare (in his plays, the sonnets are obviously an entirely different animal). Poetry in the later half of the 20th Century, and now into the beginning of the 21st, has taken a sharp turn away from closed forms and into Open Form. Blank verse is a type of closed form whose lines are written in iambic pentameter–with the occasional “feminine” line that has an extra, unstressed syllable at the end of the line–that was supposed to mimic speech patterns. Most people no longer speak this way on a regular basis, though I have been known to, on occasion. Open Form encompasses any poetry that refuses to follow fixed rules, thus making itself the fixed rule. [This train of thought can dizzy your brain, if you’re not careful. I shall avoid it for now.] Open Form also has encompassed the move toward more succinct phrasing and fewer digressions. [Obviously, I am no good at it.) Blank Verse encouraged the convolutions and digressions in speech, and most practitioners of this art took care not to make their poetry too round-about, with extensive, arguably extraneous clauses. They simply used artful words and were perhaps a bit liberal with adverbial phrases. Milton took the opposite tack–he seems to have made his own special art out of rearranging subjects, verbs, objects, and multiple adverbial phrases into literally incredible sentences. (Sometimes, I think it gave him perverse joy.)

Is that why Milton’s verse seems so leaden through some passages? Because–via our Puritan, adverb-loathing, literary ancestors–more recent to us than is Milton–we have developed disdain for hidden meaning, and we have lost much of the ability to discern where the subject of a sentence is going and how he is getting there? (It’s easier in Latin and other languages that use declensions to identify which word is which part of speech; English has lost much of that, sadly.) Or are we just slacking off? Are we missing something huge by ignoring Milton and writers like him?

We are missing a lot. In Book III, Milton begins with fifty of what may be some of the most beautiful, most haunting lines ever written. He seems to be writing as pseudo-Satan as Satan flies toward the realm of the newly-created Earth and addresses Light, asking why it has forsaken him. Using this invocation of celestial light, Milton addresses his blindness and the blindness of other great poets and prophets. He consoles himself by writing that he was blinded in order to let “celestial light” pervade his mind to better this story (hence, his earlier allusions to prophets). Later in Book III, when God addresses his angels and his Son (“My Word”), Milton lets it seem as though God has set humans up for failure. He watches Satan/Lucifer emerge from Hell, via Chaos, and head for Earth (our Universe), yet He does nothing to stop him. God knows that Satan will attempt to corrupt Eve and Adam out of jealousy, and He knows that Adam and Eve will succumb. Did He also know that only Jesus (variously referred to as “Messiah”, “My Word,” “the Son”) would step up and volunteer himself as a sacrifice to redeem the humans? (The angels were sure in no rush to say anything…) Who is Milton’s God, anyway? And why was Satan able to trick Uriel so easily?

To be continued later…

(Thanks for reading!)


The other night, my significant other and I were canoodling around with poetic forms. The one we picked up on was the triolet. The triolet is related to the French rondeau (round) poem. It is eight lines of 8-10 syllables each in this form:



a (rhyme with first line)

A (repeat first line)

a (rhyme with first line)

b (rhyme with second line)

A (repeat first)

B (repeat second)

I like the rhythm of this form. It sings in my head. It also forces me to make lines A and B make sense as both a beginning and an end, which I find to be good harmony. Here’s one example I wrote up the other day:

Standing outside, it’s warm, yet I’m still cold,

And icicles on snowbanks gleam in sun.

Cardinals chase the squirrels, feeling bold.

Standing outside, it’s warm, yet I’m still cold.

Trees bow, winds rush on, sun on snow gleams gold.

Wind bites through coats, shrills, leaving much undone.

Standing outside, it’s warm, yet I’m still cold,

And icicles on snowbanks gleam in the sun.

Maybe I will post more later…

Open Love Letter

Love him

Don’t pine

Love him with your whole heart

Don’t worry about what happens later

Feel blissfully

Don’t run away from your fear

Love him

Don’t give up when breakfast is runny

Be glad that you’re there

Don’t fear the pain

Embrace the joy of the moment, without proselytizing endlessly about it

Don’t weep when at an end

Grin with each new beginning



Love him

Because of who you are together