impossibilities, with a
major model in the Book of Revelation; the topos of “the world turned upside down,”
alluding to the degeneracy of empire, Church, and monasticism; the satirical use of
the
feria sexta aprilis
(Petrarch’s fateful day of poems 3 and 211), mentioned by Archilochus in reporting
the eclipse of the sun on 6 April 648 B.C . as an example of Zeus turning off light because of the evil rampant at the time;
and finally the use of the laurel itself, not only for its self-mastering and triumphal
symbolism but also for the challenge it carries to the temporal gods (going back to
Hesiod’s poet stepping forth in the
Theogony
brandishing the laurel wand).
Because Petrarch borrowed so extensively from the learning of the past, assuming so
many familiar poses, does not mean that he was plagiarizing in the sense that we know
it, or even that he was being disingenuous. Unlike any poet before him, he had searched
through the libraries of Europe for writings of the ancients which he hoped to bring
to renown for the enrichment of all. According to his own literary ethic, he was discovering
and giving new life to a continuous tradition that could be perpetuated only by being
recast in a valid new form. As a young candidate for the laureate at the peak of his
idealism, Petrarch defined this process with the analogy of the bee and honey, learning
being a gathering and digesting of history and literature and writing poetry the formation
of a new essence. In his youthful days of glory, however, he had not been stung by
disappointment. The mature artist seems to have begun to have second thoughts about
such a benign approach to the creative process, and the bee and honey image was amplified
in the
Canzoniere
by the cuckoo bird who settles in other birds’ nests (poem 165), the feeding bird
watched by a beast of prey, or the fattening lamb awaiting sacrifice (poem 207), the
lame ox chasing a breeze (poem 239), or the flashing fish mysteriously deep but contained
within green river banks (poem 257). As scholar and disseminator of classical ideas,
or as a humble Christian seeking his fortune in high places of intrigue, as a masquerader
in other poets’ cloaks, or poet-farmer turning the soil of language with the tip of
his pen, Petrarch did not so much select from others as play-act with them metaphorically,
especially in Part I of the work.
Although Petrarch’s unearthing of the past may seem like an archeological dig, even
necromancy to some, it is made coherent through a painful rethinking and reorganization
in and of the poetry of the
Canzoniere
in Part II, his logic forced by the death of Laura to conform to an order “which,
if we keep it in our lives, leads us to God,” as St. Augustine wrote in
De ordine.
Slowly, painfully he adjusts his style to a more moderate realism, in keeping with
expectations newly tempered by events (see table 2, p. xxxv). Unlike Dante’s conversion
in “Un solo punto” or Augustine’s sudden relinquishment of self in the
Confessiones,
Petrarch’s approach is gradual, following a long bumpy road over mixed terrain. In
terms of style, his rebirth through self-confrontation may best be described as a
kind of syncretism or reconciliation of opposing philosophical and religious principles—that
is, as discord in all its ramifications brought to order. A selection of these discordances
peculiarly applicable to the
Canzoniere
would be the manner in which Petrarch disconcerts, bedevils, confounds, tangles,
ravels, and dements in the poetry of Part I, remedied by his arranging, disentangling,
unweaving, disembroiling, and sieving in Part II. In this sense his mixed styles may
all have been to the same purpose, designed as an antidote for taking contradictions
too seriously, not only psychological but scriptural ones as well, such asthose pagan elements in Christian writings which the Church fathers had never
major model in the Book of Revelation; the topos of “the world turned upside down,”
alluding to the degeneracy of empire, Church, and monasticism; the satirical use of
the
feria sexta aprilis
(Petrarch’s fateful day of poems 3 and 211), mentioned by Archilochus in reporting
the eclipse of the sun on 6 April 648 B.C . as an example of Zeus turning off light because of the evil rampant at the time;
and finally the use of the laurel itself, not only for its self-mastering and triumphal
symbolism but also for the challenge it carries to the temporal gods (going back to
Hesiod’s poet stepping forth in the
Theogony
brandishing the laurel wand).
Because Petrarch borrowed so extensively from the learning of the past, assuming so
many familiar poses, does not mean that he was plagiarizing in the sense that we know
it, or even that he was being disingenuous. Unlike any poet before him, he had searched
through the libraries of Europe for writings of the ancients which he hoped to bring
to renown for the enrichment of all. According to his own literary ethic, he was discovering
and giving new life to a continuous tradition that could be perpetuated only by being
recast in a valid new form. As a young candidate for the laureate at the peak of his
idealism, Petrarch defined this process with the analogy of the bee and honey, learning
being a gathering and digesting of history and literature and writing poetry the formation
of a new essence. In his youthful days of glory, however, he had not been stung by
disappointment. The mature artist seems to have begun to have second thoughts about
such a benign approach to the creative process, and the bee and honey image was amplified
in the
Canzoniere
by the cuckoo bird who settles in other birds’ nests (poem 165), the feeding bird
watched by a beast of prey, or the fattening lamb awaiting sacrifice (poem 207), the
lame ox chasing a breeze (poem 239), or the flashing fish mysteriously deep but contained
within green river banks (poem 257). As scholar and disseminator of classical ideas,
or as a humble Christian seeking his fortune in high places of intrigue, as a masquerader
in other poets’ cloaks, or poet-farmer turning the soil of language with the tip of
his pen, Petrarch did not so much select from others as play-act with them metaphorically,
especially in Part I of the work.
Although Petrarch’s unearthing of the past may seem like an archeological dig, even
necromancy to some, it is made coherent through a painful rethinking and reorganization
in and of the poetry of the
Canzoniere
in Part II, his logic forced by the death of Laura to conform to an order “which,
if we keep it in our lives, leads us to God,” as St. Augustine wrote in
De ordine.
Slowly, painfully he adjusts his style to a more moderate realism, in keeping with
expectations newly tempered by events (see table 2, p. xxxv). Unlike Dante’s conversion
in “Un solo punto” or Augustine’s sudden relinquishment of self in the
Confessiones,
Petrarch’s approach is gradual, following a long bumpy road over mixed terrain. In
terms of style, his rebirth through self-confrontation may best be described as a
kind of syncretism or reconciliation of opposing philosophical and religious principles—that
is, as discord in all its ramifications brought to order. A selection of these discordances
peculiarly applicable to the
Canzoniere
would be the manner in which Petrarch disconcerts, bedevils, confounds, tangles,
ravels, and dements in the poetry of Part I, remedied by his arranging, disentangling,
unweaving, disembroiling, and sieving in Part II. In this sense his mixed styles may
all have been to the same purpose, designed as an antidote for taking contradictions
too seriously, not only psychological but scriptural ones as well, such asthose pagan elements in Christian writings which the Church fathers had never
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