Re: Shakespeare

Shakespeare writes music, if music be truth. And since music is Art then Art is also truth. And since I can see Art in everything then Shakespeare is everywhere.

My blog postings are regarding words and though I not be the Bard, by any stretch, I can value the power of words. So I propose that Shakespeare is more than a name but a word with meaning far beyond the person who was Shakespeare. For me and many, the name used as a word can itself conjure up words that cast spells on the imagination and bring clarity to one’s existence.

I was introduced to Shakespeare, the man, in high school history class. This writer lived and worked over 450 years ago. His work is still studied, re-imagined, reproduced and talked about today. To me he is Sir William, although he was never knighted. The fact that scholars have doubted some of his originality matters not to me, for his name stands as a brand upon the beauty of the English language. It was in grade ten that I came to know Shakespeare as a word beyond the name. We studied The Merchant of Venice in English class that year. We dissected the words in the play. We practised the poetry. We acted out parts. We became characters. We went to Stratford, Ontario to see the word made flesh on stage.

Henceforth, I saw Shakespearean things in other art forms. Just as music can move you without knowing from whence that feeling came, experiencing Shakespeare can bring understanding to my very existence. Like music, Shakespeare is a language that I don’t need to translate to fathom. When read, Shakespeare flows like poetry. When watching actors portray the parts transcribed, the audience moves with a rhythm palpable. It doesn’t have to be live theatre either. The film Shakespeare In Love captures well the play within the play. Who cannot feel as the audience does at this scene near the end of Romeo and Juliet?

I have visited some of the sites in England where William Shakespeare once walked. I have paddled on the Avon River. I visited his cottage in Stratford.
I discovered the spirit of Shakespeare is not of a place. When I feel the word Shakespeare my mind opens. Today I came across a piano installed on a sidewalk beside a beach and I thought, “My! How Shakespearean!” Last week I went to a production of the musical Mamma Mia. The songs were not so much sung as recited rhythmically, as in a play that Shakespeare might have written. Here through the inspiration of music by ABBA; love was asked for and not given, betrayal was evident, protagonists were aggrieved, antagonists were forgiven, lovers were reunited, souls were enlightened. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2OBneuoZaOw

The word Shakespeare comes to mind, whenever I see signs that someone is exploring humanity. In my community we often see Living Statues: People dressed as characters who mime. They are human, trying to reach other humans through Art: That’s Shakespeare! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=szeq1M0_7PQ

Re: Write

I am a writer. It took me a while to say that, to myself, before I could proclaim it to the world. I grew up with the notion you had to BE, before you could claim to be. There was something in my mother’s teaching that made me reluctant to attest to something about myself unless someone else, officially, had acknowledged it first. Even when I became an adult and wrote for my daily newspaper, my mother continued to think; ‘a Writer is someone who writes Books.’

I have mixed feelings about the drive to be a writer as my father spent almost every spare moment during my pre-teen years clacking on his Underwood. Having gone through my own mid-life crisis I can recognize now, what was going on with my dad. He was at a crossroads and he thought sending off manuscripts, with rejection slips inevitable, just might bring him the fame he was after. My mom kicked him out of the apartment for his ‘writing obsession’ and only let him back after he promised to write no more. These were very stressful days for me. The house was suddenly very quiet after he took his typewriter and left. To this day I will feel heartache whenever I see one of these antique word processing machines. The departure scene became forever connected to WRITING. To venture into the land of career writing became filled with the prospect of following in my father’s failed footsteps. Nothing pleasing to picture with that scenario; move along please.

What a negative space I occupied; Being unable to write because it didn’t feel right. Thankfully I recognized that this attitude was largely self-imposed. As my teaching career wound down I approached our local daily newspaper with an idea for a weekly column. It felt like a rite of passage when I got hired. The Daily Press even used me as a roving reporter covering the arts scene on the weekends. I tapped away on the keyboard of a new Bondi Blue iMac (much quieter than my dad’s machine). I discovered that the more I wrote the more I wanted to write. I had tapped into an artistic side of me that had been hungering for release. I wrote editorials. I wanted to be a righter of wrongs. I kept poetry diaries and trip journals. During my last few years of teaching everyone in my classroom wrote lots of stuff. We shared the results together with delight. We played with homonyms, synonyms and antonyms. We made up nonsense words and made them into cartoon characters. Sometimes it only takes one person to read your work to make you feel accomplished.

One year, to honour the passing into the new millennium, I wrote a full page of thoughts for each day of 2000 thinking it would be a curiosity for my grandkids someday. My wife was diagnosed with stage four cancer in January 2001. For the next 288 nights she asked for a bedtime story; either Winnie the Pooh or a page from my Millennial Journal.