On the Sonnet | poetry, deconstructed | John Keats

If, by dull rhymes, our English must be chained, and, like Andromeda, the sonnet sweet-fettered in spite of pained loveliness, let us find out if we must be constrained, sandals more interwoven and complete, to fit the naked foot of poesy. Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress of every chord, and see what may be gained by ear-industrious and attention-meet. Misers of sound and syllable, no less than Midas of his coinage, let us be jealous of dead leaves and the bare wreath-crown. So if we may not let the muse be free, she will be bound with garlands of her own. The poem is written as a sonnet of fourteen lines, but it lacks the traditional rhyme scheme which one supposes is reasonable given the idea behind the poem. Rhyme scheme is A-B-C-A, B-D-C-A, B-C-D-E-D-E. The whole poem is written in iambic pentameter, which means each line is of five iambs, an iamb being an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable. It is a common belief that Keats's poetry never received the kind of glowing praise that was showered on some of his peers and predecessors. Part of that could be plausibly attributed to his willingness to break down the defined boundaries of what poetry must be and be a unique creator. There is no denying that the fixation of critiques has continued to be an issue well into the times of contemporary and modern poetry. On the sonnet, written as sonnet itself, Chalders predetermined notions, making a case for the freedom to throw the art open and play around with it. The poet wonders why the English language must be restricted by the need to have rigid rhyme schemes, which is interesting because the sonnet itself has a very different rhyme scheme from the traditional, and why the sonnet must be fettered. Poets must not be constrained, they must venture to find interwoven and complete sandals to fit the foot of poesy, which is possibly also the poetic foot. If we were to inspect the lyre and its notes, a musical instrument typically used for oral poetry, the attentive listener would find ways to make it better than what it already is. Poets must be misers of sound and syllable, and no less than King Midas, a Greek mythology reference again, a person who could touch anything he turned to gold, but which prevented him from ever eating or drinking. The implication of the last few lines of the poem is this, again this is open to interpretation, but while poets may be jealous of the dead poet laureates, which was the highest recognition one could hope for in Britain, they will never do the art form any justice by merely emulating. In the end, if we do not let poetry be a free expression, she will become constrained in another sense. The irony runs deep, a critique of the sonnet is written as a sonnet, the divergence goes only so far as the rhyme scheme. The whole poem and the conflict within it raises a long unresolved question, is a prominent rhythm only what makes a piece of writing a poem? If we respond on the affirmative, then are we not stagnating the art in an effort to ensure conformity? And if a rhythm was the only parameter, then are all songwriters poets? With the advent of free verse and blank verse, it is obvious that these are no longer pressing questions, but for the purest, they remain unanswered. The contradiction within the Greek references and the enjambment in the sestet make the interpretation less straightforward, but again one supposes that is the whole point.