web02.fireside.fm Sat, 25 Apr 2026 18:52:18 -0500 Fireside (https://fireside.fm) Poetry For All - Episodes Tagged with “16th Century” https://poetryforall.fireside.fm/tags/16th%20century Thu, 14 Nov 2024 18:00:00 -0500 This podcast is for those who already love poetry and for those who know very little about it. In this podcast, we read a poem, discuss it, see what makes it tick, learn how it works, grow from it, and then read it one more time. Introducing our brand new Poetry For All website: https://poetryforallpod.com! Please visit the new website to learn more about our guests, search for thematic episodes (ranging from Black History Month to the season of autumn), and subscribe to our newsletter. en-us episodic Finding Our Way Into Great Poems Joanne Diaz and Abram Van Engen This podcast is for those who already love poetry and for those who know very little about it. In this podcast, we read a poem, discuss it, see what makes it tick, learn how it works, grow from it, and then read it one more time. Introducing our brand new Poetry For All website: https://poetryforallpod.com! Please visit the new website to learn more about our guests, search for thematic episodes (ranging from Black History Month to the season of autumn), and subscribe to our newsletter. no poetry, poems, literature, teaching, education Joanne Diaz and Abram Van Engen vanengen@wustl.edu Episode 82: Sidney, Translation of Psalm 52 https://poetryforall.fireside.fm/82 860191b2-28db-4a51-bfde-c3c0fe4565f1 Thu, 14 Nov 2024 18:00:00 -0500 Joanne Diaz and Abram Van Engen full 6 Joanne Diaz and Abram Van Engen Psalm 52 concerns a lying tyrant and God's impending judgment. Mary Sidney, who lived 1561-1621, was an extraordinary writer, editor, and literary patron. Like many talented writers of her time, she translated all the psalms. Here we talk about translation, early modern women's writing, religious engagements with politics, and the power of Psalm 52. 26:33 no Psalm 52 concerns a lying tyrant and God's impending judgment. Mary Sidney, who lived 1561-1621, was an extraordinary writer, editor, and literary patron. Like many talented writers of her time, she translated all the psalms. Here we talk about translation, early modern women's writing, religious engagements with politics, and the power of Psalm 52. For more on Mary Sidney, see The Poetry Foundation page: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/mary-sidney-herbert For the Geneva translation of Psalm 52, which Mary Sidney would have known, see here: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm%2052&version=GNV For a new collection of English translations of the psalms in the early modern era, see The Psalms in English 1530-1633 (Tudor and Stuart Translations) (https://a.co/d/6lKqKPS), edited by Hannibal Hamlin. Psalm 52 translated by Mary Sidney Tyrant, why swell’st thou thus,  Of mischief vaunting? Since help from God to us  Is never wanting. Lewd lies thy tongue contrives,  Loud lies it soundeth; Sharper than sharpest knives  With lies it woundeth. Falsehood thy wit approves,  All truth rejected: Thy will all vices loves,  Virtue neglected. Not words from cursed thee,  But gulfs are poured; Gulfs wherein daily be  Good men devoured. Think’st thou to bear it so?  God shall displace thee; God shall thee overthrow,  Crush thee, deface thee. The just shall fearing see  These fearful chances, And laughing shoot at thee  With scornful glances. Lo, lo, the wretched wight,  Who God disdaining, His mischief made his might,  His guard his gaining. I as an olive tree  Still green shall flourish: God’s house the soil shall be  My roots to nourish. My trust in his true love  Truly attending, Shall never thence remove,  Never see ending. Thee will I honour still,  Lord, for this justice; There fix my hopes I will  Where thy saints’ trust is. Thy saints trust in thy name,  Therein they joy them: Protected by the same,  Naught can annoy them. 16th century, poetry in translation, women's history month, Christianity, rhymed verse, social justice and advocacy, hope, anger Psalm 52 concerns a lying tyrant and God's impending judgment. Mary Sidney, who lived 1561-1621, was an extraordinary writer, editor, and literary patron. Like many talented writers of her time, she translated all the psalms. Here we talk about translation, early modern women's writing, religious engagements with politics, and the power of Psalm 52.

For more on Mary Sidney, see The Poetry Foundation page: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/mary-sidney-herbert

For the Geneva translation of Psalm 52, which Mary Sidney would have known, see here:
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm%2052&version=GNV

For a new collection of English translations of the psalms in the early modern era, see The Psalms in English 1530-1633 (Tudor and Stuart Translations), edited by Hannibal Hamlin.

Psalm 52
translated by Mary Sidney

Tyrant, why swell’st thou thus,
 Of mischief vaunting?
Since help from God to us
 Is never wanting.

Lewd lies thy tongue contrives,
 Loud lies it soundeth;
Sharper than sharpest knives
 With lies it woundeth.

Falsehood thy wit approves,
 All truth rejected:
Thy will all vices loves,
 Virtue neglected.

Not words from cursed thee,
 But gulfs are poured;
Gulfs wherein daily be
 Good men devoured.

Think’st thou to bear it so?
 God shall displace thee;
God shall thee overthrow,
 Crush thee, deface thee.

The just shall fearing see
 These fearful chances,
And laughing shoot at thee
 With scornful glances.

Lo, lo, the wretched wight,
 Who God disdaining,
His mischief made his might,
 His guard his gaining.

I as an olive tree
 Still green shall flourish:
God’s house the soil shall be
 My roots to nourish.

My trust in his true love
 Truly attending,
Shall never thence remove,
 Never see ending.

Thee will I honour still,
 Lord, for this justice;
There fix my hopes I will
 Where thy saints’ trust is.

Thy saints trust in thy name,
 Therein they joy them:
Protected by the same,
 Naught can annoy them.

]]> Psalm 52 concerns a lying tyrant and God's impending judgment. Mary Sidney, who lived 1561-1621, was an extraordinary writer, editor, and literary patron. Like many talented writers of her time, she translated all the psalms. Here we talk about translation, early modern women's writing, religious engagements with politics, and the power of Psalm 52.

For more on Mary Sidney, see The Poetry Foundation page: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/mary-sidney-herbert

For the Geneva translation of Psalm 52, which Mary Sidney would have known, see here:
https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm%2052&version=GNV

For a new collection of English translations of the psalms in the early modern era, see The Psalms in English 1530-1633 (Tudor and Stuart Translations), edited by Hannibal Hamlin.

Psalm 52
translated by Mary Sidney

Tyrant, why swell’st thou thus,
 Of mischief vaunting?
Since help from God to us
 Is never wanting.

Lewd lies thy tongue contrives,
 Loud lies it soundeth;
Sharper than sharpest knives
 With lies it woundeth.

Falsehood thy wit approves,
 All truth rejected:
Thy will all vices loves,
 Virtue neglected.

Not words from cursed thee,
 But gulfs are poured;
Gulfs wherein daily be
 Good men devoured.

Think’st thou to bear it so?
 God shall displace thee;
God shall thee overthrow,
 Crush thee, deface thee.

The just shall fearing see
 These fearful chances,
And laughing shoot at thee
 With scornful glances.

Lo, lo, the wretched wight,
 Who God disdaining,
His mischief made his might,
 His guard his gaining.

I as an olive tree
 Still green shall flourish:
God’s house the soil shall be
 My roots to nourish.

My trust in his true love
 Truly attending,
Shall never thence remove,
 Never see ending.

Thee will I honour still,
 Lord, for this justice;
There fix my hopes I will
 Where thy saints’ trust is.

Thy saints trust in thy name,
 Therein they joy them:
Protected by the same,
 Naught can annoy them.

]]> Episode 59: Tichborne's Elegy https://poetryforall.fireside.fm/59 442654c6-7489-4c2f-b4a4-5f5935bd04f2 Fri, 07 Apr 2023 12:00:00 -0400 Joanne Diaz and Abram Van Engen full 5 Joanne Diaz and Abram Van Engen In this episode, we read the elegy of Chidiock Tichborne, written the night before his execution, and contemplate the power of repetitions, the balanced precision of a man facing his end, and the drumbeat of monosyllables that takes his imagination beyond the moment of his death. 21:25 no In this episode, we read the elegy of Chidiock Tichborne, written the night before his execution, and contemplate the power of repetitions, the balanced precision of a man facing his end, and the drumbeat of monosyllables that takes his imagination beyond the moment of his death. Tichborne's Elegy My feast of joy is but a dish of pain, My crop of corn is but a field of tares, And all my good is but vain hope of gain: The day is past, and yet I saw no sun, And now I live, and now my life is done. The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung, My fruit is fallen, and yet my leaves are green, The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung, I saw the world, and yet I was not seen: My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun, And now I live, and now my life is done. I sought my death, and found it in my womb, I looked for life, and saw it was a shade, I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb, And now I die, and now I was but made; The glass is full, and now the glass is run, And now I live, and now my life is done. For more on Tichborne, see The Poetry Foundation: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/chidiock-tichborne See also all the related content at The Poetry Foundation 16th century, christianity, elegy, grief and loss, repetition or refrain, rhymed verse In this episode, we read the elegy of Chidiock Tichborne, written the night before his execution, and contemplate the power of repetitions, the balanced precision of a man facing his end, and the drumbeat of monosyllables that takes his imagination beyond the moment of his death.

Tichborne's Elegy

My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain:
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
My fruit is fallen, and yet my leaves are green,
The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seen:
My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

I sought my death, and found it in my womb,
I looked for life, and saw it was a shade,
I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I was but made;
The glass is full, and now the glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

For more on Tichborne, see The Poetry Foundation: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/chidiock-tichborne

See also all the related content at The Poetry Foundation

]]> In this episode, we read the elegy of Chidiock Tichborne, written the night before his execution, and contemplate the power of repetitions, the balanced precision of a man facing his end, and the drumbeat of monosyllables that takes his imagination beyond the moment of his death.

Tichborne's Elegy

My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain:
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
My fruit is fallen, and yet my leaves are green,
The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seen:
My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

I sought my death, and found it in my womb,
I looked for life, and saw it was a shade,
I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb,
And now I die, and now I was but made;
The glass is full, and now the glass is run,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

For more on Tichborne, see The Poetry Foundation: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/chidiock-tichborne

See also all the related content at The Poetry Foundation

]]> Episode 56: Queen Elizabeth, On Monsieur's Departure https://poetryforall.fireside.fm/56 efb6ae5e-f65e-4d7c-82d0-0ed427eceb06 Tue, 31 Jan 2023 12:00:00 -0500 Joanne Diaz and Abram Van Engen full 5 Joanne Diaz and Abram Van Engen Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603) was one of the longest-reigning monarchs in all of British history, but she was also a gifted poet. In this episode, we discuss "On Monsieur's Departure," a poem that is inspired by Petrarchan conventions and gives insight into the public and private selves of a powerful queen. 18:46 no Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603) was one of the longest-reigning monarchs in all of British history, but she was also a gifted poet. In this episode, we discuss "On Monsieur's Departure," a poem that is inspired by Petrarchan conventions and gives insight into the public and private selves of a powerful queen. (For the text of the poem, scroll to the bottom.) In this episode, we attempt to describe the magnificence of some of Queen Elizabeth's portraiture. To learn more, visit the National Portrait Gallery of London (https://www.npg.org.uk/collections/research/programmes/making-art-in-tudor-britain/case-studies/the-queens-likeness-portraits-of-elizabeth-i): To learn more about Petrarch and his poems that were such an enormous influence on English poets of the sixteenth century, please read this book (https://www.hup.harvard.edu/catalog.php?isbn=9780674663480&content=toc), which provides Petrarch's original poems in Italian and Robert Durling's stunning translations into English. To learn more about what it meant to "fashion a self" in the Renaissance, see Stephen Greenblatt's foundational work on this idea (https://press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/chicago/R/bo3680145.html) . On Monsieur’s Departure BY QUEEN ELIZABETH I I grieve and dare not show my discontent, I love and yet am forced to seem to hate, I do, yet dare not say I ever meant, I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate. I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned, Since from myself another self I turned. My care is like my shadow in the sun, Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it, Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done. His too familiar care doth make me rue it. No means I find to rid him from my breast, Till by the end of things it be supprest. Some gentler passion slide into my mind, For I am soft and made of melting snow; Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind. Let me or float or sink, be high or low. Or let me live with some more sweet content, Or die and so forget what love ere meant. 16th century, eros and desire, love, rhymed verse, women's history month Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603) was one of the longest-reigning monarchs in all of British history, but she was also a gifted poet. In this episode, we discuss "On Monsieur's Departure," a poem that is inspired by Petrarchan conventions and gives insight into the public and private selves of a powerful queen.

(For the text of the poem, scroll to the bottom.)

In this episode, we attempt to describe the magnificence of some of Queen Elizabeth's portraiture. To learn more, visit the National Portrait Gallery of London:

To learn more about Petrarch and his poems that were such an enormous influence on English poets of the sixteenth century, please read this book, which provides Petrarch's original poems in Italian and Robert Durling's stunning translations into English.

To learn more about what it meant to "fashion a self" in the Renaissance, see Stephen Greenblatt's foundational work on this idea .

On Monsieur’s Departure
BY QUEEN ELIZABETH I

I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate.
I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned,
Since from myself another self I turned.

My care is like my shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,
Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.
His too familiar care doth make me rue it.
No means I find to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be supprest.

Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.
Let me or float or sink, be high or low.
Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die and so forget what love ere meant.

]]> Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603) was one of the longest-reigning monarchs in all of British history, but she was also a gifted poet. In this episode, we discuss "On Monsieur's Departure," a poem that is inspired by Petrarchan conventions and gives insight into the public and private selves of a powerful queen.

(For the text of the poem, scroll to the bottom.)

In this episode, we attempt to describe the magnificence of some of Queen Elizabeth's portraiture. To learn more, visit the National Portrait Gallery of London:

To learn more about Petrarch and his poems that were such an enormous influence on English poets of the sixteenth century, please read this book, which provides Petrarch's original poems in Italian and Robert Durling's stunning translations into English.

To learn more about what it meant to "fashion a self" in the Renaissance, see Stephen Greenblatt's foundational work on this idea .

On Monsieur’s Departure
BY QUEEN ELIZABETH I

I grieve and dare not show my discontent,
I love and yet am forced to seem to hate,
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute but inwardly do prate.
I am and not, I freeze and yet am burned,
Since from myself another self I turned.

My care is like my shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it,
Stands and lies by me, doth what I have done.
His too familiar care doth make me rue it.
No means I find to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be supprest.

Some gentler passion slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, love, and so be kind.
Let me or float or sink, be high or low.
Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die and so forget what love ere meant.

]]>