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John Donne’s Holy Sonnet XIV: “Death be not proud . . .”
And Holy Sonnet X: “I / Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. “
“Death, be not proud,” that holy poet sung.
“Death, thou shalt die.” How stupid could he be?
He switched from Catholic to Anglican
Where patrons dwelt in safe theology.
Like Augustine, he spent a ribald youth,
Did politics, and then became a priest;
Married, pumped out a dozen kids, sought sooth—
Gave up his sinful past for blesséd yeast.
Baked twenty holy sonnets in a row
Revealing metaphysicals quite odd—
Insisting death was not a quid pro quo,
And chastity means being fucked by god.
His quivering piety, his late life’s fad,
Would be quite comical if not so sad.
Perhaps without divinities to whip us,
We’d shed the foolish myths that simply gyp us,
Discover that we had ability
To think, and generate civility,
Stop slaughtering each other in god’s name,
And, finally, excise religion’s shame.
(7/24/13)