Shakespeare’s Sonnet 30: "When to the sessions of sweet silent thought"

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 30 (When to the sessions of sweet silent thought)

Ever fallen into a vat of toxic nostalgia? Ever let yourself stop being so damned busy that you could just sit and think pleasant thoughts only to have those thoughts quickly invaded by memories of past sorrows? Ever made the mistake of thinking that you could afford to dredge a few past grievances up thinking that you will just briefly inspect them and then send them back to their place in the basement of your forgetfulness - only to find that those few controlled grievances opened the dungeon door to a whole army of “nostalgia zombies?” How do you get them back in the basement after they start pillaging and plundering your original restful meditation? Shakespeare explores that question in these 14 lines of Sonnet 30 (three quatrains of four lines each followed by a two-line couplet).

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste

There is a suggestion that the author had intended to find enjoyment in a quiet moment away from the hustle and bustle of life’s demands … only to discover his mind getting mugged by the past. Only, it’s not exactly like he gets mugged because he literally “summons” these bad memories of loved things lost – like some court of law that sends the bailiff out to GET some sentenced criminal to retry. Rather than simply enjoy a moment of pleasurable enjoyment of present bounty in life, the author has, for some strange reason decided to order up a steaming plate of memory from the “Misery Bar & Grill.” He decides to literally resurrect some old wounds, losses, griefs, and heartaches to wallow in. And wallow he does.

Then can I drown an eye, unus'd to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight;

Shakespeare is used to dealing with the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” (to use Hamlet’s lines) with a stoic indifference. Perhaps he thought to test his stoicism with a few old memories, thinking that they would be anemic and bloodless and incapable of leaving a scratch, only to find that they were anything but emaciated and almost dead. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, the Stoic starts shedding salty tears. The poet creates an inventory of causes for them in these lines. He cries for lost friends who have died. He cries for the loss of love he thought he had gotten over. He cries for things once present, now forever gone. Maybe he thought he could play with things hidden away in cupboards of memory, forgetting what hand-grenade-carrying dragons they could be.

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,

And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er

The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,

Which I new pay as if not paid before.

Once that Pandora's box is opened, all sorts of goblins and goons crawl out demanding satisfaction. It is a full-scale invasion now. Not just grievances never grieved afflict him. Now it’s grief that he has already grieved. It’s not just things not processed demanding their pound of flesh. It’s things that have been already wept over, bemoaned, and put to rest. The author now starts paying “debts” already paid. He starts to “new pay as if not paid before.” Maybe things already forgiven. Or crimes we decided long ago to leave unprosecuted. The whole bloody Halloween parade of injury and bitterness erupts to beat his formally happy brain with a spiked stick. Almost against his will, he starts relitigating old “how-they-did-me-wrong” indictments.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor'd, and sorrows end

The magic elixir. The necessary antidote. The thing that reaches into the slime and pulls him out arrives. This is the sonnet’s volta. The pivot. The sonnet starts with “sweet silent thought” and then ends with it. The poet is brought back to equilibrium and tranquility by the thought of the present and the presence of abundant love found in the memories of a dear friend.

This poem is probably an excellent reminder why we need dear friends … and memories of good times with them. For it is such that rescues those of us who have experienced lack, injustice, heartache, loss, betrayal, insult, abuse, neglect, and grief.

Perhaps the poet would have been better off sticking to these thoughts from the very beginning.

Question for Comment: Does this ever happen to you? Why? Why not? What is your antidote?