Let’s talk about Milton’s Paradise Lost. Of course, it is not so much a book of poetry as it is a number of books of poetry, but I didn’t think I would be begrudged examining one of the sections for this assignment. Obviously, Milton’s tradition is that of Homer and Virgil, the great epic poets. I had read somewhere that what the two classical poets had began, that being the forms associated with the epic poem, Milton perfected. I had read poetry before I read Milton, sure. We had all glanced down the two roads that diverge and so on and so forth. But here we cross into the sublime. What is a more epic setting than the battlegrounds between heaven and hell? Please feel free to struggle at finding an answer. I have time. The poem itself is written in iambic pentameter, that classical form chosen to permeate all the great works that have come before our time. The elegance of his verse is unmatched, at least to this fledgling poet, and the incredible beauty of his language stays with you long after you finish reading. They say Milton cast himself in the Satan’s lot when he wrote the poem, and I must agree. He had to have sold his soul to produce something this good. Unlike in other poems, here we can find a rich narrative that leads you through a story populated with some of the most human characters in all of literature. I think what makes the poem so unique is its ability to take divinity and run it through the mud and still have you captivated the whole time.
Satan’s struggle in the text is decidedly human one. He struggles with his own humanity, his emotions and his weaknesses, as he attempts to throw his rebellion in the face of his creator. Ever the whining teenager, Satan is still shaped by Milton into a charismatic and interesting individual. I think the greatest strength of the work is its ability to turn us, the reader, against our more traditional notions of right and wrong. We do not ally ourselves with God or his son, but rather with the fallen who have given up their place in heaven to find something they could call their own. I know this is lacking in more traditional analysis, but I find myself unable to really dedicate any attention beyond my own personal experience. Milton’s verse is long, breathtakingly beautiful; a true demonstration of the sublime at work in art. There are so few examples left anymore. We cherish the brevity of art because we assume our schedules won’t allow for real appreciation of anything longer. It’s a damn tragedy.