You Enthrall Me

On Spirituality, Wonder, and John Donne

I fell in love when I was 20. I had just finished up at a community college and started classes at the university where I'd go on to earn my English degree. I was a focused student who was unfairly hard on myself, so my studies were everything to me at the time. Because of my scholastic devotion, I wasn't looking for love, but alas, it found me. Or rather, he found me.

When we met, I was thrilled to be in a class entirely devoted to poetry. My university required it for my degree, but I would have taken it for fun. We got to read and analyze classic and contemporary poems, and each class expanded my horizons more and more. One day, my professor started a unit on John Donne, a name I didn't recognize. That didn't matter, though. It was love at first sight. I mean, look at him. He's precious. That hat? That style? Yes, please. I quickly fell in love with this 17th-century metaphysical poet.

My beloved

My professor started reading Donne's poems aloud, and I had no idea what they meant. I'd never read anything like them before. The metaphors were mainly meaningless to me, the references went over my head, and the language of the time confused me. But I knew these poems were beautiful. Even though I couldn't explain why, I was captivated. I knew something incredible was happening in Donne's work and wanted to understand it.

One of the first Donne poems I read was "The Flea:"

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,   
How little that which thou deniest me is;   
It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;   
Thou know’st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,
   Yet this enjoys before it woo,
   And pampered swells with one blood made of two,
   And this, alas, is more than we would do.

Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, nay more than married are.   
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;   
Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met,   
And cloistered in these living walls of jet.
   Though use make you apt to kill me,
   Let not to that, self-murder added be,
   And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?   
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?   
Yet thou triumph’st, and say'st that thou   
Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;
   ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:
   Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,
   Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.

This playful poem about love and sex astounded me. At that point, I'd read a lot of poetry I liked, but I had yet to encounter a poet doing what Donne was doing. I didn't fully get what Donne was saying in this poem until my professor explained it to the class, but I knew the wordplay was unlike anything else I'd read up to that point.

I was soon introduced to other Donne poems, such as "The Sun Rising" and "The Apparition," but it was Donne's Holy Sonnets that sealed my love for him.

Here’s one of my favorites:

Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you 
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend; 
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend 
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. 
I, like an usurp'd town to another due, 
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end; 
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend, 
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue. 
Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain, 
But am betroth'd unto your enemy; 
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, 
Take me to you, imprison me, for I, 
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free, 
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

The language Donne uses here blew my 20-year-old mind. As a Jesus-follower raised in church my entire life, I primarily used soft, gentle language when talking to or about God. I was taught that God was loving and kind with a tender heart. I wouldn't have dreamed of addressing God with the words Donne is using, like "batter," "o'erthrow," "divorce," "imprison," or "ravish." I didn't know it was possible to consider a relationship with the Almighty in these terribly human terms, but when I encountered it, I knew it was profound.

My favorite Donne poem is one I wrote about for class and have returned to time and time again called "Good Friday, 1613. Riding Westward." It's a long poem, so I won't share the whole thing, but these lines are significant to me:

Hence is't, that I am carried towards the west 
This day, when my Soul's form bends toward the east. 
There I should see a sun by rising set, 
And by that setting endless day beget.
But that Christ on this cross did rise and fall, 
Sin had eternally benighted all. 
Yet dare I'almost be glad, I do not see 
That spectacle of too much weight for me. 
Who sees God's face, that is self life, must die; 
What a death were it then to see God die? 

Reading Donne's sonnets and exploring "Good Friday, 1613. . ." allowed me to feel seen in a way I hadn't before. I'd heard people talk about the push and pull between the human and the divine, but I'd never heard that tension expressed as beautifully as Donne wrestled with it. I knew what he meant when he wrote about "that spectacle of too much weight for me." I felt that spiritual tension between east and west. Donne explained the complex nature of the spiritual life in a way that filled me with awe and wonder.

Look at his little face.

I often think about wonder when I consider Donne's work and why it means so much to me. I like to know things. I tend to be a black-and-white thinker, but thankfully, I've noticed this binary way of seeing the world lessen as I get older. My college self was still deeply entrenched in right vs. wrong, yes vs. no, or good vs. evil thinking. A poem was either beautiful or it wasn't. It was saying something profound or it wasn't. When Donne came along, those binaries shattered. I saw an artist who could write about love, sex, and physical desire with the same seriousness he gave to poems about faith. I read lines I didn't understand and then read a line or two in the next stanza that felt like an avalanche of truth.

Donne taught me that the human and the divine are always in conversation. He taught me that romantic and spiritual love are far more complicated and entwined than I realized at 20. I learned that it's okay not to know or understand; even in those situations, I can still experience beauty. I might not always comprehend everything about a piece of art, but I can know it's meaningful. And when the time is right, I might read a poem that shows me what it means to be human. That’s the power of art, and that’s what Donne continues to do for me.

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Is there a poet or artist who blew open your world like Donne did mine? I’d love to hear your thoughts!