October 14, 2009
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Category Archives: From the Vault
From the Vault: Petrarchan Love
April 24, 2009
Petrarchan Love
One day in class my professor used a term to describe a type of love, “Petrarchan.”
Have you ever “fallen in love” with someone you can never have?
Maybe it was a crush on the popular boy or girl in your high school or maybe it’s an obsession with a celebrity that goes beyond fandom, in any case, we have all probably felt that kind of love before. An infatuation with a person that is more than perfect, they are every fantasy you have ever have personified and walking the earth.
I researched the term “Petrarchan” and discovered it is derived from a fourteenth century poet named Francesco Petrarch. This man is amazing
Petrarch
Petrarch lived in the early fourteenth century and had a passion for literature. His father wanted him to become a lawyer, but Petrarch felt that the legal profession was “selling justice” and refused to practice. Instead he became a priest in the catholic church and spent his days reading and writing literature. He was not allowed to marry and never fell in love during his time as a priest.
This is where the story gets good…
After leaving his profession as a priest he was in the church on Good Friday, it was a beautiful spring day and he was 23. In church, he saw a 17 year old girl named Laura; it was love at first sight. She was already married to an older man and refused Petrarch because of that, but did that stop his love? Absolutely not.
Laura became the inspiration for one of Petrarch’s greatest works, a collection of 366 poems called Il Canzoniere. Here is an exceprt about the day he first laid eyes on her…
It was on that day when the sun’s ray
was darkened in pity for its Maker,
that I was captured, and did not defend myself,
because your lovely eyes had bound me, Lady.
It did not seem to me to be a time to guard myself
against Love’s blows: so I went on
confident, unsuspecting; from that, my troubles
started, amongst the public sorrows.
Love discovered me all weaponless,
and opened the way to the heart through the eyes,
which are made the passageways and doors of tears:
so that it seems to me it does him little honour
to wound me with his arrow, in that state,
he not showing his bow at all to you who are armed.
Imagine a love so intense and real that the idea of that person alone inspires hundreds of poems. Petrarch’s love for Laura was unceasing and although it brought great inspiration, it caused him even greater agony. He had contempt for men who persused women and wrote poems exclaiming Laura’s beauty and magnificence rather than love poems to woo her to him. Petrarch put Laura on a pedestal and glorified her name with his writing. He loved her unconditionally and that love was real, even though he was never able to have her.
Petrarch loved Laura until the day she died. She died at the age of 38, meaning Petrarch loved her for 21 years. Upon her death he experienced extreme grief and never loved again.
That is Petrarchan love.
Petrarch wasn’t and isn’t alone. My professor used “petrarchan” love to describe the feelings of many modernist writers, Matthew Arnold being my favorite. The poor guy fell in love with a girl that didn’t love him back…
We were apart; yet, day by day,
I bade my heart more constant be.
I bade it keep the world away,
And grow a home for only thee;
Nor fear’d but thy love likewise grew,
Like mine, each day, more tried, more true.
The fault was grave! I might have known,
What far too soon, alas! I learn’d–
The heart can bind itself alone,
And faith may oft be unreturn’d.
Self-sway’d our feelings ebb and swell–
Thou lov’st no more;–Farewell! Farewell!
Arnold struggled with isolation and quite naturally a woman occupied his thoughts. Unlike Petrarch however, many of the modernist authors did not embrace their unrequited love, but bemoaned their loneliness and complained about their circumstances.
In our day we are no different than Petrarch or Arnold. Whether we like to admit it or not we all fall in love. We have to fall in love. In many ways Arnold mirrored the attitude of John Donne’s idea that, “no man is an island entire of itself.” As hard as we try to tell ourselves otherwise, we can’t, and don’t want to be alone. It helps to know that through the ages, people have felt just like we do.
So the next time you fall in love with a cute boy or girl you always see in the library, don’t feel so bad facebook stalking them, Petrarch or Arnold would do the same.
Posted in From the Vault
From the Vault: Wizard Dreams
Okay, because I am lazy and because most of you (my many readers) probably have not ever seen my old blog, I am going to start a new post category called “From the Vault” where I resurrect some of the best blog posts of the past. I do so, first of all, because it will be fun to revisit some old writing, and secondly, it will give me and you, dear reader, an opportunity to bond together as we flip through the metaphorical picture book of my past; to see how I used to be as a writer, and how I have grown (if indeed I have grown at all). With out further ado, here is the first post From the Vault:
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Wizard Dreams
I’m pretty sure the corndogs I bought at the creamery and ate for dinner poisoned me. I had a terrible stomach ache, the kind where you just lay there on your side hugging yourself.
I tried to read for awhile, Sophie’s World, a book about philosophy and a little girl who is learning all about it from an older man mentor figure. It’s really good actually and I’m currently learning all about philosophy during the renaissance. Anyways, between the stomach pain and lack of sleep last night I ended up falling asleep for awhile. I dreamed that I was in some intense situation in which I need to solve some kind of puzzle and there was this wizard helping me do it; by like giving me clues and stuff. He was a philosopher wizard, a very religious one wearing a large gold crucifix; he kept making me question reality and such. He was even wearing a pointy blue wizard hat (sad my subconscious is so cliché).
That’s about all I can remember from the dream, I just remember waking up with a feeling of urgency, that there was something pressing I had to figure out, and now.
Still lying down, I noticed a few pieces of paper on a chair a few feet away. Right before I had fallen asleep I grabbed a blanket off of that chair and must have uncovered the paper without noticing it. I investigated and found the weirdest things drawn in blue ink on three pieces of lined notebook paper.
One sheet had words mixed in with other shapes that I couldn’t really make out. I did find the words “HELLO” and “SKY” however.
Another sheet had a sketch of a man with no face, but I got the impression it was Jesus.
The third sheet had scribbling in the center with the word “Disorder” written above it and other bubble letters on the bottom I couldn’t make out.
I’m pretty sure that right after I had woken up, for the 5 minutes I was investigating those sheets of paper, I was convinced the wizard from my dream had left them for me; pieces to the puzzle! Two minutes later it dawned on me that my brother who had stayed with me for the weekend must have left them, and after asking him, I learned he had. I had to laugh, I had really thought someone (my wizard, see right) had snuck in my room and left them on the chair while I was sleeping. If only!
This experience reminded me of being a kid and having that ability to sincerely believe the completely untrue things people tell you or the things you make up in your mind. Like santa clause, imaginary friends, or the bridge to terabithia.
My stomach still pained so I filled up the bath tub and turned on In Rainbows, by Radiohead. I took like an hour in the bath, listening to the entire album.
In Rainbows is one of my favorite albums, it’s beautiful. Every time I listen to it, it’s like I’m somehow rehearing it for the first time. There is always something new to discover. What a masterpiece. 4 minute warning, the last song, just amazed me. I think when the album ended I must have replayed that song three or four times. His voice is so pure; it carries the music, like a lullaby. Sing me to sleep Thom.
