Uncategorized – Page 11 – Art is My Religion

Posted on 3 May 2015 by richardjnovotney

Sunday Sonnet – 03 May 2015

Our Romantic ideal of what love might’ve been like in Elizabethan times is pretty much hogwash. Certainly the kind of romantic love displayed in the move Shakespeare in Love is complete fantasy. Love and sex back then was little different than it is nowadays: it covers the spectrum from chaste and sweet to tawdry and cheap. Shakespeare’s Dark Lady sonnets are remarkable for many reasons, but one of them is their unflinching honesty in portraying bad relationships. Case in point:

142

Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:
O! but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robbed others’ beds’ revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov’st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows,
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example mayst thou be denied!

This is a tough sonnet to parse out, for its psychological arguments are varied, tangled and complex. Let’s see if I can summarize it:

The Poet’s love for such an awful woman is his sin, and the Dark Lady’s only virtue is condemning him for the sin of loving her. But it doesn’t stop there! For she really has no right to condemn him for his bad choice in lovers (namely, her), since her sins are worse than any of his. Furthermore, it’s galling that these condemnations come from lips so tainted, considering where her lips have been. More than that, not only has she kissed almost every man that’s come her way, she lies with those very same lips. So the Poet begs her to be allowed to love her anyhow (he’s pathetic), so that she’ll pity him. He then will pity her! For the deal is, if she refuses to pity the Poet, he just might refuse to sleep with her. As if.

There’s an entire soap opera wrapped up in these fourteen lines. My favorite line is: ‘And robb’d others’ beds’ revenues of their rents.’ Delicious stuff.

The image comes from Shakespeare In Love, showing one of its many ridiculous scenes of post-coital bliss. Ms. Paltrow’s character never existed, and even if she had, she was nothing like the powerful, angry, sensuous and vengeful Dark Lady described in Shakespeare’s Dark Lady Sonnets.

Posted on 1 May 2015 by richardjnovotney

Friday’s Maniacal Poe Quote – 01 May 2015

Have any of you ever resisted an sudden urge to veer your car into the opposing lane? Or veer it over the concrete abutment to sail from a high bridge to certain death at the bottom of a gorge? Edgar A. Poe felt these urges, and wrote about them in his essay:

We stand upon the brink of a precipice. We peer into the abyss—we grow sick and dizzy. Our first impulse is to shrink from the danger. Unaccountably we remain. By slow degrees our sickness and dizziness and horror become merged in a cloud of unnamable feeling. By gradations, still more imperceptible, this cloud assumes shape, as did the vapor from the bottle out of which arose the genius in the Arabian Nights. But out of this our cloud upon the precipice’s edge, there grows into palpability, a shape, far more terrible than any genius or any demon of a tale, and yet it is but a thought, although a fearful one, and one which chills the very marrow of our bones with the fierceness of the delight of its horror. It is merely the idea of what would be our sensations during the sweeping precipitancy of a fall from such a height. And this fall—this rushing annihilation—for the very reason that it involves that one most ghastly and loathsome of all the most ghastly and loathsome images of death and suffering which have ever presented themselves to our imagination—for this very cause do we now the most vividly desire it. And because our reason violently deters us from the brink, therefore do we the most impetuously approach it. There is no passion in nature so demoniacally impatient, as that of him who, shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus meditates a Plunge.

–from ‘The Imp of the Perverse’ (1845)

However, it’s not an essay. As Poe did in several other faked factual accounts–‘The Premature Burial’ the most famous example–his essay about the impulse to act against one’s own best self interest turns into a short story. In this one, the narrator’s a murderer driven, years after his crime, into sudden confession.

The murderers in ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’ and ‘The Black Cat’ succumb to the same urge. And perhaps Poe himself did this throughout his tragic life, a life full of grave mistakes, sudden turnabouts and personal acts of stupidity committed at the worst possible times. Despite this flawed behavior, Poe’s exploration of this urge forecasts the Freudian psychology of the subconscious and repression. Indeed, a mad genius.

The image comes from the cover of an old LP of Vincent Price reading Poe stories, including ‘Imp of the Perverse.’

Posted on 30 Apr 2015 by richardjnovotney

Hump Day Shakespearean Quote – 29 April 2015

Some believe this is the greatest Shakespearean speech ever. Which, if true, would make it one of the great speeches in English literature:

PROPERO:

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,
And ye that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid,
Weak masters though ye be, I have bedimm’d
The noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds,
And ‘twixt the green sea and the azured vault
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire and rifted Jove’s stout oak
With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck’d up
The pine and cedar: graves at my command
Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let ’em forth
By my so potent art. But this rough magic
I here abjure, and, when I have required
Some heavenly music, which even now I do,
To work mine end upon their senses that
This airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And deeper than did ever plummet sound
I’ll drown my book.

—The Tempest, Act V, Scene i

This is the last great speech of the last play Shakespeare wrote entirely himself. And it’s not hard to see Shakespeare drawing a connection between the aging magician, Prospero, and himself, the aging playwright. For Prospero, at play’s end, is at the height of his magical powers; and arguably, The Tempest saw the playwright also at the height of his powers. Both the magician and playwright choose to ‘break my staff…’ A pun on his own name? Finally to ‘drown my book.’ And before these final pronouncements, the soliloquy registers a train of triumphs and accomplishments. Each of the lines of this speech easily harkens back to any innumerable scenes or characters in his thirty-some plays.

Like many of greatest artists and athletes of today’s world, the Bard chose to go out on top.

The image comes from Christopher Plummer as Prospero in a 2010 version of Shakespeare’s play.

Posted on 26 Apr 2015 by richardjnovotney

Sunday Sonnet – 26 April 2015

Today a sonnet to friendship seems appropriate to me because this weekend I’m briefly seeing a lot of friends I seldom get to visit. Part of the Young Man sequence of sonnets, this beautiful poem speaks to the melancholy of departed friends, and the memories you take with you:

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,
And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored and sorrows end.

One of the remarkable things about this poem it its use of Elizabethan courtroom language: ‘Sessions’; ‘cancell’d’; ‘expense’; ‘grievances’; ‘account’; ‘pay’ and ‘paid’; ‘losses are restored’. The love for separated friends and courtroom lingo don’t seem an obvious match, but Shakespeare makes it work.

Lost chances, lost friends, the death of friends or loved ones brings the Poet to tears. However, all he has to do is think upon his dear friend–in this case the Young Man–and all his sorrows end.

Finally, ‘remembrance of things past’ from the gorgeous pair of opening lines is a phrase made famous by the translated English title of Proust’s 20^th century classic novel.

The image is of the Hawkshead Courthouse in the Lake District, an example of what many courthouses might have looked like in the time of Shakespeare.

Posted on 23 Apr 2015 by richardjnovotney

Happy Shakespeare’s Birthday!

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits and

Are melted into air, into thin air:

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep.

–William Shakespeare

From The Tempest, Act 4 Scene 1

Posted on 22 Apr 2015 by richardjnovotney

Hump Day Shakespearean Quotes–Tomorrow is Shakespeare’s Birthday!

If I were King, we’d celebrate the 23^rd of April as a National Holiday, the birthdate of the greatest writer of Western Literature. And even though he wrote his plays and poetry four centuries ago in the earliest form of modern English–‘Elizabethan English’–his ideas and phrases and characters and themes still resonate with us today. They have, in fact, settled deep into our daily lives. To celebrate his birthday this year, allow me to share just a few of the many dozens of popular phrases Shakespeare coined, with an example here or there of their uses in our modern day world. Enjoy!

‘All our yesterdays’ from Macbeth

Though not used in every day speech as a tossed off quip, it’s often used in art, including pop art. One of the most favorite episodes of the Original Star Trek’s third season was called ‘All Our Yesterdays,’ a time-travel yarn. And Shakespeare was obsessed with time.

‘Bated breath’ from The Merchant of Venice

Such a common phrase, coined by Shylock.

‘Brave new world’ from The Tempest

Made famous again by Aldous Huxley in the 20^th century with his landmark science fiction classic about dystopian society. Both Huxley and the Bard used this phrase ironically.

‘Break the ice’ from The Taming of the Shrew

You’ll be doing this with cocktails soon enough this evening; who knew that this oft-used quip came from the Bard?

‘Brevity is the soul of wit’ from Hamlet

Ironically, this comes from Hamlet, Shakespeare’s longest play.

‘Cold comfort’ from The Taming of the Shrew and King John

Shakespeare so loved this, he used it twice.

‘Crack of doom’ from Macbeth

No, Tolkien didn’t create this. The three weird sisters in Macbeth did, when predicting Macbeth’s….doom.

‘Dead as a doornail’ from 2 Henry VI

I use this phrase every night after work, just before my first cocktail.

‘Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war’ from Julius Caesar

Most recently used by Kevin Spacey in House of Cards.

‘Eaten me out of house and home’ from 2 Henry IV

What my hosts say to me every time I visit.

‘Foregone conclusion’ from Othello

Othello speaks this, but it’s the evil Iago who prompts it. A powerful phrase, be careful when you use it–it’s so often untrue.

‘The game is afoot’ from I Henry IV

Conan Doyle borrowed this for Sherlock Holmes.

‘Good riddance’ from Troilus and Cressida

One of our favorite modern phrases, don’t you think?

‘It was Greek to me’ from Julius Caesar

Many people feel this about Shakespeare when they first try to read him. Give him a chance!

‘In a pickle’ from The Tempest

Such a silly aphorism, from one of the most sublime plays ever written.

‘In my heart of hearts’ from Hamlet

Spoken by lovers till this very day, first used in one of the most grim tragedies ever written.

‘Killing frost’ from Henry VIII

We have one of these every year, yet no one used the phrase till The Bard.

‘Knock knock! Who’s there?’ from Macbeth

Yes, Macbeth is one of the bloodiest tragedies ever written, but here you go. Something every child learns. In the play, this is one of the few instances of humor, though even the humor here is pretty dark.

‘Something wicked this way comes’ from Macbeth

Ray Bradbury titled his classic novel of dark fantasy after this evocative phrase.

‘Sound and fury’ from Macbeth

Faulkner used this for his famous classic, The Sound and the Fury.

‘Too much of a good thing’ from As You Like It

Yes, even in the squalor of Elizabethan life, it was possible to have too much of a good thing.

‘Wear my heart upon my sleeve’ from Othello

However, the villain of Othello famously did not wear his heart on his sleeve, but kept his evil designs guarded till the very end.

‘What the dickens?’ from The Merry Wives of Windsor

No, this did not come from Charles Dickens.

‘What’s in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet’ from Romeo and Juliet

Yes, even Romeo and Juliet could inspire the writers of the original Star Trek.

Posted on 17 Apr 2015 by richardjnovotney

Friday’s Maniacal Poe Quote – 17 April 2015

Poe once wrote, ‘The death of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world.’ His ghostly yarn, “The Oval Portrait”, embodies this notion.

She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee. And evil was the hour when she saw, and loved, and wedded the painter. He, passionate, studious, austere, and having already a bride in his Art; she a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee; all light and smiles, and frolicsome as the young fawn; loving and cherishing all things; hating only the Art which was her rival; dreading only the pallet and brushes and other untoward instruments which deprived her of the countenance of her lover. It was thus a terrible thing for this lady to hear the painter speak of his desire to portray even his young bride.

–from ‘The Oval Portrait’ (1842)

The story is very short, but nonetheless encompasses several important Poe tropes in only about two pages: a gothic setting; a beautiful woman; Art and the Artist; Death; and how the innocent usually die first.

‘The Oval Portrait’s’ concept that a portrait can collect or reflect the physical or moral aspects of a living human certainly caught Oscar Wilde’s attention. It’s said that Wilde thought so highly of Poe’s tale, that it inspired his idea for The Picture of Dorian Gray.

The image is a daguerreotype of Poe taken in 1848, during the last year of his life–after the long and lingering death of his beautiful wife, Virginia.

Posted on 16 Apr 201516 Apr 2015 by richardjnovotney

Hump Day (a day late) Shakespearean Quote – 16 April 2015

Spring is upon us here in Wisconsin, so how about an airy, summer-like delight from the magical Puck, aka Robin Goodfellow? This delightful verse–especially in the hands of a skilled actor–can ‘spring’ to hilarious delight:

PUCK

My mistress with a monster is in love.

Near to her close and consecrated bower,

While she was in her dull and sleeping hour,

A crew of patches, rude mechanicals,

That work for bread upon Athenian stalls,

Were met together to rehearse a play

Intended for great Theseus’ nuptial-day.

The shallowest thick-skin of that barren sort,

Who Pyramus presented, in their sport

Forsook his scene and enter’d in a brake

When I did him at this advantage take,

An ass’s nole I fixed on his head:

Anon his Thisbe must be answered,

And forth my mimic comes. When they him spy,

As wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,

Or russet-pated choughs, many in sort,

Rising and cawing at the gun’s report,

Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky,

So, at his sight, away his fellows fly;

And, at our stamp, here o’er and o’er one falls;

He murder cries and help from Athens calls.

Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus strong,

Made senseless things begin to do them wrong;

For briers and thorns at their apparel snatch;

Some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things catch.

I led them on in this distracted fear,

And left sweet Pyramus translated there:

When in that moment, so it came to pass,

Titania waked and straightway loved an ass.

—A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act III, Scene ii

Repeated rhymed couplets, especially to a modern ear, can sound cloying. But in the hands of Shakespeare and a skilled orator, this form lends itself perfectly to the scene at hand, where the magical Puck relates to Oberon how his wife Titania, through the powers of a magic potion, has fallen in love with a ‘rude mechanical’ most recently transformed into an ass.

Go ahead, read the last four lines out loud.

To this very day, A Midsummer Night’s Dream remains one of Shakespeare’s most popular plays, a masterpiece of comic delight and sublime language.

The image is of Steven Lee Johnson as Puck in last year’s Chicago Shakespeare Theater’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Posted on 12 Apr 2015 by richardjnovotney

Sunday Sonnet – 12 April 2015

Medical care in Elizabethan times was a regular horror show. Your treatment–if you were unlucky enough to survive long enough to receive care–might come from a physician, a surgeon or an apothecary, depending on the ailment. I call number 147 Shakespeare’s ‘Medical Sonnet.’ The Poet longs to break away from the Dark Lady, but his lust resists all powers of reason. Lust is his fever, and reason is the physician; one has left in lieu of the other.

147

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,
At random from the truth vainly express’d;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

The Poet has ignored reason, and so good sense–his physician–has left him: ‘Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me.’ The Poet longs for death, but this disease won’t quite kill him: “Desire is death, which physic did except. Finally, the Poet is past the point of caring: “Past cure I am, now reason is past care.’

As if this wonderfully intricate metaphor weren’t enough, Sonnet 147 ends with one of the most delicious couplets ever:

For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Finally, the opening: ‘My love is like a fever.’ Rock ‘n’ rollers to this very day have used this metaphor–so worn out we can no longer stand it. Shakespeare invented it.

The image comes from the cover of a French book on the treatment of battle wounds, printed in Shakespeare’s time.

Posted on 11 Apr 2015 by richardjnovotney

Friday’s Maniacal Poe Quote – 10 April 2015

The indefinable boundary between life and death fascinated Poe. In one of his more bizarre and grotesque yarns, Poe explores the power of hypnotism, and whether such a thing as an induced trance might have the power to stave off death. A morally questionable mesmerizer attempts it on a tuberculosis victim, only to yank the voice of Death itself from the lips of the fresh cadaver:

I now feel that I have reached a point of this narrative at which every reader will be startled into positive disbelief. It is my business, however, simply to proceed.

There was no longer the faintest sign of vitality in M. Valdemar; and concluding him to be dead, we were consigning him to the charge of the nurses, when a strong vibratory motion was observable in the tongue. This continued for perhaps a minute. At the expiration of this period, there issued from the distended and motionless jaws a voice—such as it would be madness in me to attempt describing. There are, indeed, two or three epithets which might be considered as applicable to it in part; I might say, for example, that the sound was harsh, and broken and hollow; but the hideous whole is indescribable, for the simple reason that no similar sounds have ever jarred upon the ear of humanity.

–from ‘The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar’ (1845)

The narrator’s attempt to put the dying Mr. Valdemar in a state of suspended animation ends in a spectacularly gruesome denouement. I won’t spoil it for you–the story’s short, you should go read it. But remember this when you do: We know it’s fiction, but when Poe published this in 1845, it wasn’t labeled as fiction; many readers believed it to be a scientific report. Poe fills the story with a plethora of succinct details; the lurid accumulation of leaking bodily fluids, the ghastly anatomical descriptions and abrupt pronouncements of unpleasant sights and smells. These convinced many people that this little horror show actually happened.

What many people perhaps didn’t think about is the Poe’s own wife, Virginia, died of tuberculosis. Perhaps there’s a moral lesson buried here, as it were, beneath all the grotesqueries.

The image is Harry Clarke’s illustration of the story for a 1919 edition of Poe’s works.