There have been plenty of studies that look at how Shakespeare effects your brain. Here’s another one. They try to determine if the brain is “hardwired” to appreciate the rhyme and rhythm of poetry, such as (but not only) Shakespeare.

I like the test. They read a specific kind of Welsh poetry to people who did not know the “rules” of that poetry (I suppose it would be a little something like trying to read Haiku to someone without explaining it?) If your poem follows the rules, even when the audience doesn’t know the rules, they rate it more highly than if you break them.

I can totally buy that. It’s not really a big stretch to think of the brain as a giant pattern matching machine, and what is rhythm but “this line follows the same pattern that the last line did?”  You can’t really explain it, you just kind of feel it.  I’m reminded of Dead Poet’s Society where Robin Williams’ students march in a circle, walking in step. They spontaneously begin clapping in rhythm as well.  But Williams never told them to do that.  It just felt more natural to do so. It takes more effort to go against the rhythm than to just go with it.

Can we make the leap that iambic pentameter mimics the beating of the human heart (thump THUMP, thump THUMP)? I’m not sure I’m quite willing to go that far. For starters, that would imply that poetry that is not iambic would feel worse, and that’s not true. I love me some Dr. Seuss and his meter is entirely different.

Learn something new every day.  Perhaps you’ve heard of Ernest Shackleton, the Antarctic explorer?  Fine.  But did you know that one of his lead sled dogs was named Shakespeare? I don’t know why I would have known that, but I’m happy that I learned it.  Like a moon of Uranus, just something to bust out during games of trivia.

They had 69 dogs apparently, but for some reason the linked page only lists names for 66 of them.  I’m not exactly sure who was in charge of naming them. Shakespeare’s the only name from literature, except perhaps Hercules and maybe Mercury. Everything else is stuff like “Surly” or “Rufus” or “Fluff.”

Unfortunately the story does not end well for Shakespeare and the King’s Dogs.  They were running out of food and it was taking more to feed the dogs than to feed the men, so the necessary decision was made to put many of the dogs – including Shakespeare’s team – down, that the explorers wouldn’t starve.

Today I learned that a friend’s dad passed away.  I can’t say I knew much about his dad, or that he was sick, it never really came up in our somewhat frequent conversations.  We know each other long distance, one of those “professional colleagues who only really know each other online” sort of thing.  So while I can say, “I am so very sorry for your loss,” that doesn’t really feel like enough.  “If there’s anything I can do” doesn’t really seem to mean much from a thousand miles away.  My wife and I can’t even bring over some hot dish so they don’t have to cook dinner.

What’s left, then, is Shakespeare. This wouldn’t be the first time I said that Shakespeare contains within it the entirety of human emotion.  Whatever you feel, Shakespeare gave us the words to express it, that we may … what’s the word I’m looking for here, empathize? Commiserate? Share. To remind us that others have been there too, that we are not alone.

Not being the religious sort, I’m not a big “my thoughts and prayers are with you” kind of guy. But it’s cool, my friend knows that.  I think he also knows what I’m going to say next, because I certainly know that he’s reading this.  I have my own personal thing that I say when someone important leaves us. Maybe it’s a bit cliche, but I don’t care, because it means something to me.

Rest in peace, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

Thinking about you, my friend.

Which of Shakespeare’s words get you through grief, or offer comfort?  Share them in the comments.