Welcome to early English sonnets. Wyatt writes in the Petrarchan form (octave/sestet) and brings to his otherwise clunky poetry some of the vernacular language's (as if that word duo isn't clunky enough in itself) first lyrical and dramatic voices in poetry.
a few transcendent lines/sections here & there but i don't know what he's really *about*, or maybe i just don't care about court poets idk. it was henry viii and this dude boned anne boleyn, you'd think he'd have interesting subjects to write about
The poems of Thomas Wyatt (I've read several but not all, probably many in this book) say a lot about his life and the lives of the English people of his time. While it is subtle, knowing his history really helps give his poems meaning. At times he gives off the impression that he is a "Debbie Downer" but the pictures he paints with his poetry are absolutely lovely. And that's saying a lot because I'm not a huge fan of poetry. ; )
Alice Oswald, the compiler of this book of poetry, said that Wyatt was easier to read in Ye olde English, where his voice was young and fresh and vibrant, than in 'translation' to modern English, where he sounded dull and old-man-like. All I can say is, she's right. Read in the original, he sounds powerful and heartbroken. Read in modern English, I can't even tell you what he's talking about. I guess it's because you don't have to concentrate hard when the language is familiar.
My library seems to buy really terrible versions of books. A few years ago, I discovered that their copy of Ezra Pound's Cantos isn't translated and doesn't have footnotes, rendering it incomprehensible. This book is printed in the original Early Modern English, again without footnotes. I live in a country where English is not the first language. I'm sure these poems are great. But I spent so much time concentrating on trying to figure out each line that I had no mental energy left to contemplate the meaning.
Please help me and make me like these poems. Wyatt writes in the Petrarchan form and that is all I know. I dont even know why I wrote this in English but ok.
They flee from me, that somtime did me seke With naked fote stalkyng within my chamber. Once have I seen them gentle, tame, and meke, That now are wild, and do not once remember That sometyme they have put them selves in danger, To take bread at my hand, and now they range, Busily sekyng in continuall change.