To the memory of our beloved, Mr. William Shakespeare, and what he hath left us.

~ duane ~ Leave a comment
This article on Shakespeare’s Eulogies is obviously intended as a defense in the Authorship debates, opening with the argument that the Oxfordians claim no eulogies were forthcoming with William Shakespeare died in Stratford.  However, I like it as well as a good collection of what people had to say about Shakespeare when he died.  Let’s remember, after all, that today’s not only Shakespeare’s birth day, but it’s the day he died, too.

Ivdicio Pylivm, genio Socratem, arte Maronem,

Terra tegit, popvlvs maeret, Olympvs habet

(In judgement a Nestor, in wit a Socrates, in art a Virgil;

the earth buries [him], the people mourn [him], Olympus possesses
[him])

Free Stuff, Last Chance!

~ duane ~ Leave a comment
Reminder that today, April 22 2010, is the last day to enter our Shakespeare in Bits Contest for a chance to win 1 of 10 copies of their multimedia Romeo and Juliet application!  More details, including an independent review by Mad Shakespeare, available here.

To enter, here’s what you need to do:

* “Like” ShakespeareGeek on Facebook.
* Do the same for Shakespeare in Bits.
* Now go post something on one or both of our walls.

The original rules say that the comments with the most “likes” wins, but we’ve got 10 copies to give away so just posting something gives you a good shot at winning.  What are you waiting for?

Adonis? Helen? Uggos!

~ duane ~ 1 Comment
Another sonnet I bookmarked as potential wedding fodder is #53:

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can every shadow lend:
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen’s cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new;
Speak of the spring and foison of the year,
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear,
And you in every blessed shape we know.
In all external grace you have some part,
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

The bit in the beginning about shades and shadows might be a little over the head of many casual listeners (in really quick summary it seems to be saying “Everybody only gets one image, and yet somehow everybody else’s image seems to be just a reflection of you, so how come you get so many?”)

The middle part is a bit more clear and direct — describe Adonis (you know, a handsome dude) and you’ll find that you’re really describing the subject of the sonnet.  Likewise with Helen (also famous for being hot, you see) – paint a picture of her, and you’ll end up with a picture of Shakespeare’s beloved. If you want to get more symbolic let’s talk about springtime and bountiful harvests…but yet somehow we see an image of you there, too.  What’s up with that?  Everywhere we look, there you are.

It’s not until the last line that we get that little flip — everything *else* is just a shadow of *you*, but when it comes to your “constant heart”, you are unique.  Nobody ..ahem…holds a candle to you.    (Get it?  Candle? Shadow? :))

I can’t really see anything negative about this one, unless that last line is straight up sarcasm. 

Stupid Sonnet 91

~ duane ~ 7 Comments
It’s been awhile since we’ve done a sonnet analysis, and given my hunt for wedding content I was cruising through potential candidates this weekend and bookmarked #91 for further investigation.  Looks like a good one, until stupid Shakespeare goes and messes it up for me at the end.  Note that, as in previous efforts, this is all off the top of my head.  I know that I’ve got experts in the audience who will correct me if I go too far astray.

Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their body’s force,
Some in their garments, though new-fangled ill,
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humor hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest,
But these particulars are not my measure,
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments’ cost,
Of more delight than hawks or horses be;
And having thee, of all men’s pride I boast:
Wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take
All this away, and me most wretched make.

At first glance this looks like it would make a fine reading.  The repetition, in particular, makes it easy to follow.  Some people’s pride comes from their family name (their birth), some from what they can do (skill), some in their wealth, some their strength…and so on.  And then comes the nice turn, “I can do one better than none of you can beat — the fact that she loves me is worth more to me than all those things.”

If he’d stopped right there I’d say, “Cut! Print it!” and move on to the cake.  But dear Shakespeare with his insecurities doesn’t let me off easy by sticking in the last bit – “What makes me most miserable is the fear that she might take that away.”  Curse you, Shakespeare!  Currrrrssssse yooooooouuuu!

I leave it to Carl and anyone else who wants to join to fill us in on where 91 fits in the story and why it ends on what, as far as I can tell, is an absolute bummer note.  I mean, is it supposed to be a compliment? Like, “The worst thing in the world would be if I didn’t have you?” sort of thing? I suppose in a different context that might sound nicer, but here it just seems like he shoots down his whole argument.  It’s one thing to have something better than everybody else has, but to then freely admit that your biggest fear is losing it? The dude with a hawk and a horse can always go buy more hawks and horses, or make more money to buy new clothes. But poor Shakespeare’s admittedly screwed.