There are a few tedious passages and Milton didn’t succeed in portraying God as both perfect and compelling. It’s hard not to sympathise with him, although Milton never quite allows his readers to forget that Satan’s only real pleasure is the pleasure of destroying the happiness of others. But the hell within him burns and “the more he sees / Of pleasure not for him ordained: then soon/ Fierce hate he recollects.” Satan is so human, determined to succeed, but thwarted by forces and emotions beyond his control. Seeing her almost leads him to forget his mission to corrupt humankind and disarms him of evil.
The excerpt from Book IX describes him, as a serpent, spying on Eve. Satan is tortured, passionate, filled with self-doubt, proud, bitter, courageous, and painfully deluded. Milton’s portrayal of Satan is unforgettable. The poem is rich in ideas, from the fascinating arcane theories on cosmology that existed in Milton’s day to a psychology of human desire that often feels entirely contemporary.
PARADISE LOST POEM HOW TO
The poem is a free instruction manual on how to write in metre, not by slavishly learning ‘rules’, but by learning how to listen. It’s written in blank verse (unrhymed five-beat lines) but, within that tight constraint, Milton brilliantly varies the rhythm from line to line by placing greater weight on certain sounds and syllables. Once you settle into the 17th century language and syntax, it’s surprisingly easy to read. Paradise Lost is a terrific story, well told, and it contains some of the best poetry ever written. I found the annotations by Alastair Fowler in the Longman edition very useful. I read it over a month from beginning to end, about 350 lines a day, and would recommend that as a strategy. Reading the whole of Paradise Lost might seem a daunting task, but it’s worth doing. Introduced by a variety of writers, artists and other guests, the Scottish Poetry Library’s classic poem selections are a reminder of wonderful poems to rediscover.
Of pleasure, but all pleasure to destroy, What hither brought us, hate, not love, nor hope Thoughts, whither have ye led me, with what sweet Of pleasure not for him ordained: then soonįierce hate he recollects, and all his thoughts Though in mid heaven, soon ended his delight,Īnd tortures him now more, the more he sees His fierceness of the fierce intent it brought:įrom his own evil, and for the time remainedīut the hot hell that always in him burns, His malice, and with rapine sweet bereaved This flowery plat, the sweet recess of Eve
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