I have interpreted praise for poetry as an art form and most arts in general as pretentious drivel for a large portion of my childhood. Only recently have I begun to appreciate the function of art as a vehicle to communicate one’s unique interpretations and outlook on the world. Particularly, the writings of Shakespeare were a sticking point for me. The beauty of his use of language and the stories he told was lost on me. However, recently, I’ve grown to appreciate that Shakespeare’s writing is not pretentious in any way, but it is arguably the exact opposite.
Though his writing, in modern times, is most often viewed and appreciated in academic environments, his writing has a playfulness about it that can be appreciated by anyone. Part of the beauty is that the audience he wrote for stretched from the peaks of royalty to, as he referred to them, the groundlings. Sonnet 130 is an emblem of this fact and the universality of his work.
The sonnet is a love poem that satirizes the idea of a sonnet itself. He denies the stereotypical praises that one may typically proclaim. He denies that his love possesses eyes like the sun, lips red as coral, and cheeks like roses. Though on its surface these statements may seem insulting and humorous, the love within them is revealed at the end when he claims, “by heaven, I think my love as rare as any she belied with false compare.” He is acknowledging reality and the beauty of it rather than creating a fantastical depiction of the woman whom he loves so dearly. In my opinion, that is more flattering than any flattery can be.
