Poetry

My study of Shakespeare’s sonnets continues.  Read the first post if you’re not sure what “study” I’m talking about.  The short version is that I’m going through The Sonnets one by one, reading, reflecting, dissecting, and discussing them here.  The interpretations are my own; I’m not seeking input from other sources before posting my thoughts.  Ideally, as Shreds of Truth gains readers, this will become a good source of discussion and civil debate… at least, that is my hope.

Sonnet 2

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,
Thy youth’s proud livery, so gaz’d on now,
Will be a tatter’d weed, of small worth held;
Then being ask’d where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv’d thy beauty’s use,
If thou couldst answer ‘This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,’
Proving his beauty by succession thine!
    This were to be new made when thou art old,
    And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.

What I get out of it

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Harri Stojka

Guitars and needles, strings and yarn… the past
returns with chords of music, wool, and wood.
The strands of music weave their way around
his strands of hair. Its hue is like the back
of his guitar, its acorn-chestnut glow
like Grandma’s polished floor, her polished chair.
She knitted in that chair, and he knits tunes
like woolen sweaters in the air or gloves
for children’s fingers. Wrinkles line his face.
They sing of age and cold, as Grandma’s did.
Her chair had armrests polished smooth and dull,
as his chair’s arms must be. She hunched with age
and pain and concentration, as does he.
She would have liked this man, this song, these strands.

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Shakespeare, busted.

I recently saw a show where a group of inner-city kids from Harlesden banded together to do a production of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.  The show was both entertaining and inspirational, especially after the play’s successful opening night.

“I’m going to read his sonnets,” exclaimed one enthusiastic young rapper, “and study them until I can understand the genius of the man.”

Well… here I am, on the other side of the Atlantic, teaching Shakespeare’s drama to gifted teenagers, and despite my college education I still have the same attitude toward The Sonnets that I had when I was in high school:  the poems are difficult and intimidating and not what I’m interested in reading.

Meanwhile, an underprivileged inner-city “gangsta” is studying them voluntarily.  I am ashamed.

So without further ado (about nothing, cough-cough), I begin my study of The Sonnets.  I hope to average one or two per week. (more…)