Circumcising Donne: The 1633 Poems and Readerly Desire

This essay reconsiders the haphazard arrangement of Donne's first printed collection of poems in relation to an elegy written for Donne by one Thomas Browne, published for the first and only time in that same volume. The earliest recorded response we have to Donne's verse considered as a complete body of work, Browne's elegy thematizes the readerly tendency to interpret this textual body in the light of "subjective" notions of "proper" desire. Through a close reading of Browne's poem, in which I contextualize his key image of the bad reader as a "circumciser" within the theological and medical discourses of the period, I argue that Browne's response to Donne's text is at once instructively prescient--providing a useful allegory of reading for the contemporary critic--and also helpful in situating Donne at the cusp of a historical transformation between "medieval" and "early modern" conceptions of the sexual and the spiritual.

I

The structural organization of John Donne's first printed book of poetry makes no obvious sense. ¹ Published posthumously in 1633, the collection eschews even the basic generic distinctions so familiar to Donne's modern audience: "Songs and Sonnets," "Satires," "Verse Letters," and "Divine Poems" (these groupings actually emerge with the second printed edition of Donne's works from 1635). Several readers over the years have commented upon the disorderly configuration of Donne's 1633 text; and most recently, Leah Marcus has provided a detailed analysis of the collection in Unediting The Renaissance, itself an ambitious attempt to combine the traditional skills of textual bibliography with the insights of poststructuralist theory. Among other things, Marcus asserts that the very layout and internal composition of Donne's first collection constitute (ortho)graphic evidence for the ultimate impossibility of "fixing" him within any reductively binary scheme. Indeed, for Marcus, the version of Donne projected by the 1633 Poems confirms not only her deconstructivist principles but also her aesthetic taste more generally. In her words, the collection is

a striking melange of sacred and secular that refuses to separate John Donne from Jack. Verse epistles . . . jostle up against scurrilous amatory verses and evocations of human decay in a rough gallimaufry of mingled passions that projects a John Donne very like the Donne most of us value, a Donne for whom the sacred and secular are so closely entwined as to be inseparable. ²

This reading would probably not be considered controversial in most quarters, and I too am in agreement with the main points of Marcus's argument, insofar as they go. However, I want to pause for a moment over one of the more undeveloped aspects of Marcus's interpretation, encoded in her use of the phrase "most of us." As the context makes clear, by "most of us" Marcus means a rather small band of nonreligious or liberal, professionalized, twentieth-century readers. Of course, Marcus is perfectly justified in assuming that her audience will be drawn from exactly this narrow demographic (and I obviously include myself within its bounds), but at the same time it must also be admitted that "most of us" therefore only refers to the tiniest portion of Donne's actual historical readership. Given that Marcus is performing an analysis of Donne's 1633 Poems, then, one obvious question emerges from her account: How might readers in 1633 have responded to the collection's juxtaposition of the religious with the secular? What might its disorganization have signified for them?

One possible answer to this question has been suggested by Arthur F. Marotti, perhaps the most influential of Donne's textualist critics. In Manuscript, Print, and the English Renaissance Lyric, Marotti suggests, against Marcus, that Donne's first editors deliberately delay the readerly encounter with Donne's more earthly lyrics by burying them toward the back of the book. In other words, according to Marotti, the appearance of random disorganization that Marcus values is...