Just about everybody is familiar with the opening lines of Shakespeares oeSonnet 18, which read, oeShall I compare thee to a summers day? / Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Pretty romantic stuff. Until you read the next 14 lines. Shakespeare goes on to describe the fleetingness of natural beauty in comparison to the subject of the poem, yadda yadda yadda, and ultimately decides that death could never claim his beloved oeWhen in eternal lines to time thou growst. Whaa?! Lines of what, exactly? Well, considering that this is poetry, its pretty safe to assume that the oeeternal lines to time in which the subject growst are referring to the lines of Shakespeares own poem. Roughly translated: oedeath cant touch you so long as youre in my poem, Sweetcheeks. Or something to that effect. In other words, theres nothing inherently wonderful or eternal about the beloved of this poem (whom weve learned absolutely nothing about, by the way); its merely the fact that (s)he happens to be in the poem that gives Shakespeares beloved any greatness.
In case he wasnt being clear enough, Shakespeare closes the poem with: oeSo long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, / So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. Kind of presumptuous to declare that your poetry will exist oeso long as men can breathe, but thats Shakespeare for you. If you still arent convinced, stop and think about the fact that oeSonnet 18 ends in the word oethee. The significance? Sonnets are written in iambic pentameter with alternating stresses (shall I comPARE thee TO a SUMmers DAY / thou ART more LOVEly AND more TEMperATE), meaning certain syllables are given importance while others are not. You might have noticed that, already in the first two lines, oeI is stressed while oethee and oethou are not. Whos the subject of this poem again? In fact, oethee and oethou appear in the sonnet a total four times, but only one of these ” the final oethee ” falls on a stressed syllable. Long story short, the person to whom oeSonnet 18 is addressed only receives any special importance at the very culmination of the poem ” i.e., when Shakespeares mad poetry skills have had a chance to work their transformative magic. Throw all this on top of the fact that Shakespeare is writing a supposedly intimate love poem but fully expects it to be read the whole world over for, you know, the rest of eternity, and youve got yourself one hell of a power trip.
Moral of the story? Skip the beret and write yourself some poetry. Ya arrogant jerk.



