A Genuine Petrarchan Note on William
Wordsworth’s Ecclesiastical Sonnets
How did it end, then, for Romantic Bill?
He labored long on Church-of-England lines—
Which had to be, fans thought, of all designs
The most surprising. He pursued it still.
Octave and sestet he worked hard to fill
With pious thoughts to please serene divines
While, after supper, they enjoyed port wines
As Englishmen in their own climate will.
It wasn’t “Tintern Abbey”—for the force
Of transcendental winds just wasn’t there.
Those former gusts, perhaps, had drained the source.
Now only quiet breezes touched the air.
What result followed on this altered course?
A rhymed gloss on The Book of Common Prayer.
Tom Riley was born in 1958 and grew up in Western New York. He was educated at Hartwick College and at the University of Notre Dame. He has been a teacher but now earns a living as a copywriter in Napa, California.
Succinct and comprehensive. Well done, Mr. Riley.
Thanks.
A fine satiric sonnet, Tom, competently employing the most Petrarchan of rhyme schemes. I can’t recall any of Wordsworth’s Ecclesiastical Sonnets, but when I looked for titles, it appears he starts with the Druids. That could offer promising material for Romantic treatment. But I do like your critique of “transcendental winds” breezily blown away because of “port wines” poured by “serene divines.”
Glad you appreciated the fine points. I have to confess here a certain weakness for port wines on my own part.
Wordsworth’s Ecclesiastical Sonnets were never taken quite as seriously by the critics as were his youthful earlier works, and much of that indifference (and sometimes disdain) was due to political bias. When the poet ceased to be a wholehearted radical and revolutionary, and began to take a solidly sensible and conservative view of reality, many of his contemporaries felt betrayed. Many critics of his time (and some contemporary critics of ours) were not immune to this feeling.
But the poem (which went through several editions and expansions) is surely more than just “a rhymed gloss on the Book of Common Prayer.” It is a detailed historical account (in verse) of the re-establishment of the Church in Britain after the barbarian invasions, and a record of its development right up to the time of the poem’s composition. Wordsworth spent years in doing the requisite research, and his condensing it into more than 100 sonnets was a truly herculean labor. There were so many persons and events to consider that he necessarily had to omit some material, and focus on transitions in the narrative flow.
Is it pietistic? Sure, to some extent. But how else would a religious believer write on such a subject? Is it skewed towards Anglicanism? Yes, of course — it was written by an Anglican. I wouldn’t depend on it solely for historical analysis, but after all, it is an extended poem. And we judge poems not on truth and accuracy, but on their aesthetic success and architecture.
Wordsworth is not my favorite poet — he can go on for excessive length and detail, he has a sentimental streak a mile wide, and he caused a major disaster with that Preface to the Lyrical Ballads. But the man did have major talent, and his work on the Ecclesiastical Sonnets was ably done in terms of craftsmanship, and were by no means a scholarly embarrassment.
I don’t think the Left has ever forgiven Wordsworth for changing his mind about the French Revolution, and becoming a Tory. His Ecclesiastical Sonnets may be somewhat heavy and overly “curious” (in the older sense of minutely detailed), but they are a work of tremendous skill and study.
By the way, Tom Riley’s Petrarchan sonnet is absolutely perfect, and a model for exquisite composition, no matter how we may disagree about the value of Wordsworth’s book.
Well, you know me, Dr. Salemi. I am nothing if not oblique. I’m not really reviewing the “Ecclesiastical Sonnets” as a whole, and don’t really disagree with you about their value. The key is in the phrase “genuine Petrarchan.” Wordsworth, in my view, frequently cheats: abbaacca… etc., abandoning the original shape of the octave. Incidentally, I prefer but do not demand the Sicilian sestet. Sadly, I am a sonnet snob. That’s what my little piece is really about. On the side, I’m commenting on the strengths and weaknesses of Anglicanism. And not just the weaknesses. I happen to regard The Book of Common Prayer as a work of liturgical genius — as did my fellow Papist Hilaire Belloc.
I’ve been reading Riley’s works for what seems like decades, often in what I might call the Yankevich/Salemi stream. Lately I’ve found him disturbing the placid pages of The Lyric, and I couldn’t be happier. If nothing else, Tom Riley has a knack for riling a reader, and I hope he now regards this venue as his new vacation home. His grin is crooked, but his talk is straight.
That means a lot, C.B. Anderson, coming from you.