I decided to expand upon the idea of Time in the Sonnets in the form of visual art and a sonnet I wrote. The sonnet was definitely challenging to write, I definitely have more respect for Shakespeare’s work now in regards to his poetry skills. Having the iambic pentameter stay consistent throughout the lines was not easy.
In the Sonnets, Shakespeare speaks of personified Time. I really liked this idea so I decided to do something similar but use imagery seen in my visual art. In the picture, I wanted the puppet master’s hand to symbolize Time and its control over people who are constrained by this entity, as well as how Time “feeds” people through an hourglass slowly but surely until their eventual demise which I tried to show through the figure becoming bloody sand at the tiny opening. This opening, if you will, is sort of like the transition point between the upper and lower hourglass chambers and similarly, can be compared to Death who is the facilitator of the transition from this world to the next. I know Death isn’t emphasized in my visual art, but I wanted to keep the focus on Time and its “slave”.
In my sonnet, I wanted to emphasize the grandeur of Time and how it can be portrayed as cruel and merciless, which is why the hand is referred to as dark. However, I wanted the volta of the sonnet to show how Time alone cannot be blamed, since Death is the one who ultimately wins by letting Time do all the work up until the last few moments of a person’s life.
I know, lots of ideas compacted into these two representations. I was sitting on this idea for a while but had to experiment a lot.
Thanks for reading!
Slaves to Time
A constant, everlasting dimension
Thou art an unequalled phenomenon
O Time! Wherefore a cruel postulation
Art thou that pulls puppet strings as slaves age on?
The suff’ring slaves of you, sent straight down through
A most inescapable hourglass.
The wise once innocent, the old once new
Nothing is free once your clutches are cast.
Have you no mercy in your puppetry?
Poor souls doth twist and turn by your dark hand
Little grace is shown in your artistry
Tick tock, tick tock, no rest for slipping sand.
But even you are enslaved to fair Death
Who uses you to collect their last breaths.
Fathima) Sadiya Nazir (10138034)