Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That she (dear She) might take some pleasure of my pain:
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain; </p>
<p>I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain:
Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burn'd brain. </p>
<p>But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay,
Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows,
And others' feet still seem'd but strangers in my way. </p>
<p>Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,
Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite--
"Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write." </p>
<p>Mr. Sidney. Let's see... I remember it took me a moment to put down creative impasse. The most difficult question, for me, was related to the personfication of Invention and Study. I believe I ended up putting down originality and imitation.</p>
I
Clear water in a brilliant bowl,
Pink and white carnations. The light
In the room more like a snowy air,
Reflecting snow. A newly-fallen snow
At the end of winter when afternoons return.
Pink and white carnations - one desires
So much more than that. The day itself
Is simplified: a bowl of white,
Cold, a cold porcelain, low and round,
With nothing more than the carnations there.</p>
<p>II
Say even that this complete simplicity
Stripped one of all one's torments, concealed
The evilly compounded, vital I
And made it fresh in a world of white,
A world of clear water, brilliant-edged,
Still one would want more, one would need more,
More than a world of white and snowy scents.</p>
<p>III
There would still remain the never-resting mind,
So that one would want to escape, come back
To what had been so long composed.
The imperfect is our paradise.
Note that, in this bitterness, delight,
Since the imperfect is so hot in us,
Lies in flawed words and stubborn sounds.
<p>yeah i got the same answers as you for creative impasse and orginality/imitation. I had trouble with Knowledge ==> knowledge of his misery?? and what "Muse" referred to-- whether his muse was his Invention, the girl, or his woe</p>
<p>Knowledge of his misery is correct. Muse is referring to Invention (the most obvious) I believe. I didn't think there was much of a direct refernce to either his girl or his woe as being the actual muse. Furthermore, the line with Invention was written in the past tense and should suggest that something might change by the turn of the sonnet.</p>
<p>Thanks for the poems, I actually enjoyed reading them in the test.
1) Yay, that's what I got, too.
2) Muse=Invention; I really don't have a good justification for this, and therefore it might also be the girl; muse has a traditional association with artistic innovation; the speaker's problem also seems to be finding a way to express himself, not finding a way to court the girl so it would make sense that the final line is from personified invention</p>
<p>The bowl of water/carnation poem was easier, I thought. I was uncertain as to what the "bitterness" referred to, though. Was it imperfection, or I forget the exact answer choices</p>
<p>The choice ReJoyce and i picked was "knowledge of his misery" or something, and the others were about wisdom and intellect or something, and about knowing if he is really in love</p>
<p>anyways, what are the choices for the knowledge question? plz and ty
second, bitterness refers to (i'm so going to get axed for posting answers to the sat)...okay, let's present some premises and then you can lead yourself to the answer...this is childish, but it can only refer to:
1) imperfection sucks
2) perfection sucks
which one does stanza two spend focusing on?
screw this, i think it's the second choice since he arrives at the conclusion that imperfection isn't that bad...perfection is bitter because he arrives at the image of perfection but finds it isn't enough</p>
<p>It means I misspelled your name and was referring to your statement on Joyce ("The greatest writer in the English since Milton" quod T.S. Eliot). I was referring to my inspiration for the name--it was a hateful book by Anthony Burgess also entitled ReJoyce. Nevertheless, he is a good Joyce scholar. I quite liked Blooms of Dublin. I'm very happy that I just got the 1967 version of Ulysses through interlibrary loan (it makes a great substitute for Netflix).</p>