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Body, Soul, Dust

When the speaker of this poem asks her soul to return to her in line 22, it raises the question: what, or who, is the speaker? The body corresponding to the soul? Something or someone else? This curation gathers materials that situate Pulter and the questions of this poem among the metaphysical poets, in order to contextualize the curious relationship between soul, body, and dust in the first part of “The Perfection of Patience and Knowledge.”

Poems that staged encounters between soul and body can be found throughout the Middle Ages and Renaissance; one classic example is Andrew Marvell’s “Dialogue between the Soul and Body,” excerpts of which are given below:

Andrew Marvell, “Dialogue between the Soul and Body”
  • Soul. O, Who shall from this dungeon raise
  • A soul enslaved so many ways?
  • With bolts of bones, that fettered stands
  • In feet, and manacled in hands;
  • […]
  • Body. O, who shall me deliver whole,
  • From bonds of this tyrannic soul?
Andrew Marvell, “A Dialogue between the Soul and Body,” ll. 1–4, 11–12. Luminarium.org.

But is the opposite or “other” of the soul always the body? While Marvell’s poem imagines an antagonistic relationship between soul and body, John Donne’s poem “The Ecstasy” imagines an encounter between two lovers in which their two souls escape their bodies—the souls “[w]ere gone out” (l. 16)—in order to more truly encounter, and then merge, with one another. In this excerpt from Donne’s poem, he explores the strange things that can happen to pronouns when soul and body separate:

John Donne, “The Ecstasy”
  • If any, so by love refined,
  • That he soul's language understood,
  • And by good love were grown all mind,
  • Within convenient distance stood,
  • He—though he knew not which soul spake,
  • Because both meant, both spake the same—
  • Might thence a new concoction take,
  • And part far purer than he came.
  • This ecstasy doth unperplex
  • (We said) and tell us what we love;
  • We see by this, it was not sex;
  • We see, we saw not, what did move:
  • But as all several souls contain
  • Mixture of things they know not what,
  • Love these mix’d souls doth mix again,
  • And makes both one, each this, and that.
  • A single violet transplant,
  • The strength, the colour, and the size—
  • All which before was poor and scant—
  • Redoubles still, and multiplies.
  • When love with one another so
  • Interanimates two souls,
  • That abler soul, which thence doth flow,
  • Defects of loneliness controls.
  • We then, who are this new soul, know,
  • Of what we are composed, and made,
  • For th’atomies of which we grow
  • Are souls, whom no change can invade.
  • But, O alas! so long, so far,
  • Our bodies why do we forbear?
  • They are ours, though not we; we are
  • Th’intelligences, they the spheres.
John Donne, “The Ecstasy,” ll. 21–52. Luminarium.org.

The remainder of Donne’s poem discusses the necessity that their souls, however intermingled, return to their bodies, just as Pulter’s “enfranchised” or set-free soul, having taken her flight “above the spheres of night,” is asked to eventually return “And call [her] in [her] silent urn” (The Perfection of Patience and Knowledge39, ll. 16, 18, 23). The contrast between Pulter and Donne’s poems is striking: while for Donne their bodies “are ours, though not we”—they belong to us, though they are not the same as us, the soul(s)—for Pulter the “me” is clearly not the soul itself.

Perhaps the speaker of Pulter’s poem is in fact the body of the soul addressed, but if so, the poem runs counter to many other visions of the fate of the body after death. Compare, for example, the images of resurrection in the first part of this poem with those in Pulter’s The Hope65 (Amplified Edition) where the whole poem seems to relish the fantasy of the complete destruction of the body only to imagine that somehow God might nevertheless resurrect it.

Hester Pulter, "The Hope"
  • Dear Death, dissolve these mortal charms
  • And then I’ll throw myself into Thy arms.
  • Then Thou may’st use my carcass as Thou lust
  • Until my bones (and little luz) be dust.
  • Nay, when that handful is blown all about
  • Yet still the vital salt will be found out;
  • And when the vapour is breathed out in thunder
  • Unto poor mortals’ loss, or pain, or wonder,
  • And all that is in Thee to atoms turned
  • And even those atoms in this orb is burned,
  • Yet still that God that can annihilate
  • This all, and it of nothing recreate,
  • Even He that hath supported me till now,
  • To whom my soul doth pray and humbly bow,
  • Will raise me unto life. I know not how.
Hester Pulter, The Hope65 (Amplified Edition), ed. Elizabeth Scott-Baumann, The Pulter Project: Poet in the Making.

In “The Hope” (Poem 65), she imagines her body dissolved into dust (l. 5), to salt (l. 6), and to atoms (l. 9), and then annihilated entirely. The emphasis on the body as a temporary collection of dust that could be dissolved at any time is a common feature of seventeenth-century metaphysical poetry: compare, for example, George Herbert’s “Church Monuments”:

George Herbert, “Church Monuments”
  • While that my soul repairs to her devotion,
  • Here I intomb my flesh, that it betimes
  • May take acquaintance of this heap of dust;
  • To which the blast of death's incessant motion,
  • Fed with the exhalation of our crimes,
  • Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust
  • My body to this school, that it may learn
  • To spell his elements, and find his birth
  • Written in dusty heraldry and lines;
  • Which dissolution sure doth best discern,
  • Comparing dust with dust, and earth with earth.
  • These laugh at jet, and marble put for signs,
  • To sever the good fellowship of dust,
  • And spoil the meeting. What shall point out them,
  • When they shall bow, and kneel, and fall down flat
  • To kiss those heaps, which now they have in trust?
  • Dear flesh, while I do pray, learn here thy stem
  • And true descent: that when thou shalt grow fat,
  • And wanton in thy cravings, thou mayst know,
  • That flesh is but the glass, which holds the dust
  • That measures all our time; which also shall
  • Be crumbled into dust. Mark, here below,
  • How tame these ashes are, how free from lust,
  • That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall.
George Herbert, “Church Monuments.” Poetryfoundation.org.

While Herbert’s poem uses the repetition of “dust” to conjure the fragility of the body and its eventual dissolution, Pulter, as Eardley also notes (p. 372, s.v. “dust”), is interested in dust not only as ending but as beginning, as ending and origin.

Pulter’s remarkable poem Universal Dissolution6 is worth reading in its entirety, not only because it complicates the questions raised in this curation (about the relationship between the soul and body, about who is the “me” that speaks to the soul, about her unusual use of the keywords “dust” and “cause”), but also because it serves as a kind of sister-poem to “The Perfection of Patience and Knowledge.” The two poems have several verbal echoes: in “Perfection,” “the flower [doth] sleep in its cause” (l. 5), while in “Dissolution” the flowers “seem to hang their heads and weep / ’Cause in their causes they so soon must sleep” (l. 14), and man “Must taste of death and shrink into his cause” (l. 32). In all these instances, the “causes” are an ending that conjures at the same time a beginning (see A039, ed. Liza Blake, note on l. 5). While “Perfection” begins with an exhortation to her “struggling” or “straggling” soul, “Dissolution” addresses her soul as “impatient.” Excerpts from “Universal Dissolution” are given below, including its dramatic, apocalyptic ending; I invite readers to think about why, given that the two poems share so many concerns and so much vocabulary, “The Perfection of Patience and Knowledge” makes such a sudden swerve away from these questions with its move to scientific knowledge at line 30.

Hester Pulter, “Universal Dissolution”
  • Those gorgeous flowers which the valleys crown,
  • That by the impartial scytheman are mown down,
  • Trust me they seem to hang their heads and weep
  • ’Cause in their causes they so soon must sleep.
  • So man to his first principles must turn
  • And take a nap in black oblivion’s urn.
  • […]
  • So wretched man, whose structure is of dust,
  • After his period’s past, he moulder must,
  • And this our globe of earth ere long shall burn
  • And all her pomp and pride to ashes turn.
  • Then, my impatient soul, what canst thou say,
  • Seeing all sublunary things decay?
  • […]
  • But these and all the fixèd orbs of light
  • Shall be involved once more in horrid night.
  • Like robes, the elements shall folded lie
  • In the vast wardrobe of eternity.
  • Then my unsettled soul be more resolved,
  • Seeing all this universe must be dissolved.
Hester Pulter, Universal Dissolution6, ed. Sarah C.E. Ross, The Pulter Project: Poet in the Making, ll. 11–13, 103–108, 171–76.