"I will put Chaos into fourteen lines" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Today, after a long period of silence, I bring you a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay that embodies not only what I love about Millay herself, but also one of the essential things I love about poetic forms.

I will put Chaos into fourteen lines
And keep him there; and let him thence escape
If he be lucky; let him twist, and ape
Flood, fire, and demon --- his adroit designs
Will strain to nothing in the strict confines
Of this sweet order, where, in pious rape,
I hold his essence and amorphous shape,
Till he with Order mingles and combines.
Past are the hours, the years of our duress,
His arrogance, our awful servitude:
I have him. He is nothing more nor less
Than something simple not yet understood;
I shall not even force him to confess;
Or answer. I will only make him good.

In my own, less artful way, I would say, “I will take disorder/confused ideas and force them into a discernible shape by writing them into sonnets. Let the idea, no matter how clever it is, try to escape if it can, but it will never elude my ability to bring order to chaos (by writing poetry). I will hold the concept down until it submits. Never again will we submit to the confusion—I’ve caught it. It’s merely something we don’t understand yet. I won’t even force the confusion to a conclusion. I will only force it to follow the rules and be obedient.”

“I will put Chaos into fourteen lines” is a sonnet about the power of the sonnet form in the hands of a master. Through personifying chaos as a malevolent force that she has the power to pin down and force into a more definite shape, Millay sheds light (in a super fun, clever way) on the great power of the poet: the ability to take a human experience and condense it into a set of emotionally charged words, using the tools of the trade: poetic forms.

This poem, written in Millay’s characteristically confident and swaggering tone, evokes the feeling of watching a skilled professional sit down to work. We see (especially in lines 4, 5, 11, and 12) the speaker of this poem as a master of their field who relies on their trusty tools to assist them in doing good, just as an experienced surgeon relies on his scalpel. But at the same time, with lines like, “I hold his essence and amorphous shape,/ Till he with Order mingles and combines,” there is a distinctly feminine, seductive strength that calls to mind the confidence of a woman who knows how to get what she wants. (If you are familiar with Edna St. Vincent Millay’s other works, then you know how that particular strength pervades her poetry.)

This sonnet is also a reminder of the importance of form. Poetic forms are tools which enable a willing artist to convey a complex, multi-faceted experience through the medium of poetry. It requires great talent to harness an experience like that and tame it into a form such as a sonnet. In these dark days dominated by free verse poetry, I especially appreciate reminders of the value and importance of form.

I love this clever, brazen sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay, which is also completely traditional in its form. It is a playful example of what makes her an excellent poet, as well as what makes the sonnet an excellent poetic form.