ACT IV SCENE III & IV

… I suppose that I’m the only one who’s mourning Polony’s death at this point. Well… this will all eventually have to blow up in our “tragic hero’s” face sooner or later so I always have Hammy’s demise to look forward to! Yes, Polony, your untimely death shall be avenged! (Hahaha just kidding. Wow that sounded really horrible.)

Anyways, in this scene we have King Claudius address the murder of Polony by directly confronting an even crazier-than-usual Hamlet. Claudius asks for his councilor’s whereabouts, Hamlet simple responds that he’s at supper, not that he’s supping, but rather, he’s being supped on.

“Not where [Polonius] eats, but where he is eaten. A certain convocation of politic worms are e’en at him. Your worm is your only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots. Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service – two dishes but to one table. That’s the end.” (22-27)

My initial reaction to his indirect response was basically a quizzical stare accompanied with a giant question mark stationed in the middle of my brain. What? How in the world did we get from Polony’s whereabouts to worms and kings and beggars and their guts?! Well, since we know by now that there’s a method to Hamlet’s “madness,” let’s take his little wormy speech apart, shall we?

It’s probably safe to assume that this is obviously all metaphorical, an analogy to something. Since our sidenotes suggests that the “convocation of politic worms” most likely referred to the Diet of Worms, if “politic worms” are meant to represent the politicians, “supper” probably represents an even bigger concept/thing – the world.

Hamlet says that Polonius is being eaten by these politic worms. According to wikipedia (such a reliable source, I know), the Diet of Worms is most famous for summoning Martin Luther, the founder of Protestantism, to renounce his views under the orders of the Pope. Shakespeare was a man of the Elizabethan era in England, the period in which Queen Elizabeth Tudor ruled (Kyahh, the Tudors! I love the Tudors! Just saying.). The Queen was well known to be a dedicated Protestant, and England, at the time, pretty much agreed that Protestantism was the best. (In fact, if I do remember correctly, England despised the Catholics, particularly the Catholic Spaniards.) It’s possible that when Shakespeare says that the “convocation of politic worms are e’en at him,” he says it in a negative connotation, since the Diet of Worms was against the Protestant movement, and England (Shakespeare’s beloved country) very much promoted it. Therefore politic worms = bad. Eating up Polony like they tried to nibble at Luther.

He proceeds to speak of Claudius’ worm (“your worm”) – which either refers to Claudius’ own Diet of Worms, aka Claudy’s little minions, which, in Hamlet’s mind, comprise of Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Polonius, or it’s saying that Claudius himself is a politic worm. The latter sounds like it would make more sense since Polonius is still the victim who was eaten at supper here. He then says that it’s “your only emperor for diet.” Translation? His schemes as a politic worm to eat away at people is all that occupies his diet/mind? Possibly.

The following sentences are especially trick, as Hamlet delves into the world of fat. “We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots.” This reminds me a lot of the shadow conversation Hamlet had with his friends in an earlier part of the play, how if ambition is simply a shadow of a dream, then kings (with ambition) are shadows of the beggars (without ambition). We all depend on each other to feed ourselves, our ambition, our desires, only to “fat ourselves for maggots,” insects that eat anything from food to dead bodies. Makes it sound like Hamlet is saying all our greedy ambition leads to nothing, or death, and is meaningless. “Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service – two dishes but to one table. That’s the end.” It doesn’t matter if one is king and the other is a beggar, either way they “fat” others and they “fat” themselves.

So… if we piece together the puzzle… this basically translate into -

“Not where [Polonius] eats, but where he is eaten. A certain convocation of politic worms are e’en at him” = ”You used Polonius to the very end, and like a worm, you ate away at him.”

“Your worm is your only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us, and we fat ourselves for maggots.” = “You only think of how to use other people for your own benefit. It’s in our human nature to be ambitious and to use each other for our ambition, but it’s all pointless in the end because we all die anyway.” (Italics = unsure about.)

“Your fat king and your lean beggar is but variable service – two dishes but to one table. That’s the end.” = “What difference is a king and a beggar when their services are simply interchangeable? They’re both humans. They contribute the same thing to life. They both die.“

So where is Polonius, Hamlet? Being eaten by worms. As usual.

ACT IV SCENE I & II

I really dislike Hamlet. Granted, he’s the character that gets all the best lines, and seems to be the only one who understands what’s really going on in this play, but to be quite frank, I really, truly, and sincerely dislike this boy’s guts.

I call him a boy because although he’s one smart butt, he’s not very wise. Sure he’s a keen observer and a profound thinker, but no wise man would even consider revenge – “an eye for an eye” – to solve his problems. Then again, I suppose I should be considering the era Hamlet is living in, as well as the fact that he’s a Shakespeare character, and all Shakespeare characters tend to be drama queens in tights. (Sorry to say, though I do love Shakespeare’s writing style, as I mentioned in the last entry.)

It’s not really the revenge bit that irks me the most though, as it’s an understandably vital part to the story – if Hammy didn’t want any revenge, the story would have ended a long time ago, unless Claudy was stupid enough to plot HamHam’s death anyway. It’s more like his snobbish attitude, though I guess that also has its understandable roots since he feels betrayed by everyone around him.

Still, what a jerk. Giving never ending directions to the actors in Act III scene ii, as if they didn’t know how to do their own job. Dropping sexual comments on Ophelia like he didn’t just tell her off a couple of scenes before. (I honestly don’t see how people could possibly anticipate this couple when Ophelia obviously deserves MUCH BETTER.) Cutting down his mother and pretty much telling her that she’s filth, as if he’s someone who’s oh so pure but just happens to have vengeful thoughts of killing his uncle. Calling his friends sponges in Act IV scene ii, and then calling them stupid for not understanding him (“A knavish speech sleeps in a foolish ear.” 23-24 Ha. Knavish?). Well of COURSE they wouldn’t understand you, they don’t even get where you’re coming from you snot!

And he does that pretty often: saying something poetic and profound but never bothering to clarify what he means for his intended audience because he figures they’d be too foolish to understand. Honestly, in my opinion, it’s the fools who make speeches for only themselves to enjoy. Yes, I realize that it’s for the purpose of dramatic irony that Shakespeare makes Hamlet so overly annoying with these moments where he’s like, “I’m just gonna say something pretty to confuse you and then belittle you for not understanding its prettiness,” but come on. Wouldn’t you be annoyed too if you had a friend who constantly did that?

“*Makes some pretty, poetic analogy/metaphor*”
“…What?”
“Oh, nothing. You wouldn’t understand~ *looks away*.”

I don’t know about you but that would make me just… do something violent. (I kid. Or rather, I’m just ranting.)

I think another big reason why I’m really disliking this guy right now is because he totally killed off my favorite character, Polonius (Polony/Poly-oly!), and was kind of like “…Whoops…” after he did the misdeed. Wow, so he’s a drama queen when lecturing his mom about her flaws, but not so much when it comes to his own. The little booger.

Just to go a bit off track, since this is a post mainly dedicated to my immense dislike (notice that I never use the word hate?) of Hamlet, I just wanted to talk a bit about Polony for a moment. Or rather, our class’ general opinion of him.Why? Seriously, I don’t understand why people would dislike Poly-oly. I’ve heard a couple of comments that deem him nosy. Even Hamlet insults him (after he’s dead. Way to show remorse for your actions, punk.), calling him a “wretched, rash, intruding fool…” (Act III scene iv. lines 38). Yet I don’t understand why.

Exactly what part of him is so annoyingly “intruding”/nosy? The part where he’s just trying to be a father in giving his daughter some advice? When he speaks to Claudius about the Hamlet x Ophelia affair because he suspects that it’s the reason behind Hamlet’s distress? Well, what else was he supposed to do? He was worried about his daughter, maybe Hamlet (though he shouldn’t be because Hammy is a complete jerk whenever he speaks with him), and how this relationship and Hamlet’s madness could affect the kingdom! He was simply staying loyal to his duty as a father and a king’s councilor. And how about the fact that Polony was spying on Gertrude’s and Hamlet’s conversation? Polony is a paranoid person, but also a very loyal one. It makes sense that he would spy on his king’s behalf – Claudius even ordered him to!

If the reason behind the majority’s dislike for Polonius is simply his know-it-all personality, I guess I can’t really defend him in that area. Polony and Hammy were both know-it-alls in their own ways. Except I found Polony’s conceited attitude to be a bit more endearing than Hamlet’s. (I think it was the sexual comments he made towards Ophelia that his snobbiness really started to bug me. If I were that girl, I would’ve kicked him in the face. But then again, if I were Ophelia, I’d probably get into trouble for acting violent against a prince. Even if he’s one of the most unprincely princes ever.)

Anyways, back to Hamlet, the reason why I don’t completely hate Hamlet is a very interesting character read about. Sure, he may make my blood boil, but he also makes me momentarily forget how much I really don’t like him whenever he says lines of gold.

His line in Act IV scene ii, when he responds to Rozencrantz’s inquiry of where poor Polony’s dead body is left me a bit torn between two opposite reactions: “Compounded [the dead body] with dust, whereto ’tis kin.” (6) This, as it is explained in the side note, is a reference to the book of Genesis in the bible – “for dust thou art, and unto dust though shall return.” As soon as I read this (along with the side note, since it took me a minute or two to register what he meant by line 6), I, for some reason, fell in love with his twisted way of thinking. The love was short-lived, however, when in the very next second, I snapped immediately, thinking that Hamlet had some nerve to think he had the right to just bury Polonius someplace random and not tell anybody. Not only that, but the fact that he makes such a reference makes it seem like he’s assigning himself the position of God by returning Polony to the dust himself.  (If that makes any sense…)

I wouldn’t surprised, actually, if Hamlet really did consider himself a god. He seems to have a lot of confidence in his judgment, always bossing people around (actors), condemning sinners (Queen Gertrude), and even deciding the rules of death and the afterlife. Not only does he decide all by himself that it’s okay to bury Polony without telling anyone because he’s returning him to the dust, he also mandates that killing King Claudius in the midst of prayer would send him to heaven, while killing him in the midst of committing a sin would send him to hell, where, according to Hamlet, he belongs.

Paul Valery (top), Polonius & T.S. Eliot

The last 100 years have seen more pedantry in poetry than in any other age.

Remember when poetry as a topic brought out the best in thinkers?

Socrates may be a villain to many poets, but Platonic arguments are grand, necessary, and…poetic.

Horace and Aristotle laid groundwork so vital we can overlook their pedantic natures.

Dante’s Vita Nuova is without the pretence of pedantry.

Shakespeare, another enemy of pedantry, made it a popular trope: Rozencrantz, Guildenstern, and Polonius in one play alone.

Pope and Swift fought pedantry as a natural impulse.

Burns, Byron, Keats, Shelley and Poe were against it in their souls.

Yeats, at his best, displayed a hatred of pedantry: “Old, learned respectable bald heads edit and annotate lines…”

These artists are practically defined by their opposition to pedantry.

Something went wrong in the 20th century, however, as Manifesto-ism became a way to get attention in a field of diminishing returns

Here’s Scarriet’s Top Ten Pedant List:

1. Yvor Winters

Claimed the formal is moral, while convincing himself that Allen Tate’s poetry was better than Shelley’s.

2.  Harold Bloom

A pedant’s pedant’s pedant.   Shakespeare’s great—OK, we get it.

3. Jacques Derrida

One part Nietszche, one part William James, one part Analytic Philosophy, one part New Criticism, one part absinthe.

4. Ezra Pound

“Make it new” is a very old pedantry.

5. Cleanth Brooks

Ransom and Warren kept him around to feel like geniuses by comparison.

6. T.S. Eliot

Hated Hamlet.   Afflicted with Dissociation of Verse Libre.

7. Allen Tate

Modernism’s Red-neck traveling salesman.

8. Helen Vendler

A drab sitting room with a Wallace Stevens poster.

9. Charles Bernstein

“Official Verse Culture” was in his own mind.

10. Paul Valery

Always too correct.  Proves the rule that Poe sounds better in French than modern French poetry sounds in English.

BONUS—11. Charles Olson

Take a deep breath.  And blow.

New layout. Only because the last one made my posts look annoyingly narrow.

ACT II SCENE II (2/2)

As much as we know by now how much Shakespeare likes to sprinkle allusions here and there throughout his stories, this is the first time (I believe?) we get a full blown excerpt. Specifically from the story of Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles, Priam, the king of Troy, and Hecuba, the wife of King Priam. (Well, more specifically, from a story in which Aeneas recites Pyrrhus’, Priam’s, and Hecuba’s story to Queen Dido of Carthage. I don’t think that’s a very important detail though.) What’s very interesting about the inclusion of this story is that Hamlet specifically requests that the speech depicting Priam’s murder be recited then and there. It seems pretty random of him to suddenly shove the “First Player” into the spotlight, but let’s consider the following in this particular portion of the scene before reaching a final verdict on Hammy’s motives: the content, the reactions, and the audience.

Hamlet starts us off with a lengthy description of Pyrrhus’ dark character. Pyrrhus is pretty much depicted as a brute, “roasted in wrath and fire,” who is hungry for the death of King Priam. Immediately this should set off a light bulb in our heads. (Ding!) Already we find a parallel between Pyrrhus’ story and Hamlet’s – both are sons out to avenge the deaths of their fathers. Also, the fact that Hamlet has this stanza memorized by heart indicates that he either prepared for this moment or that he remembers how the story goes very well, simply because he finds some great significance in knowing it. I personally think it’s a mixture of both.

Knowing that there is a parallel between these two characters, it leads us to speculate that there might be more connections throughout the given story. If Pyrrhus represents Hamlet, Achilles would be King Hamlet, King Priam would be King Claudius, and Hecuba would be Queen Gertrude. Achilles is known to be a great and valiant hero, so it would make sense for Hamlet to associate him with his equally heroic Hercules/Hyperion-like father. King Priam is implied to be clumsy, weak, and an incapable ruler -

“…[Pyrrhus] finds [Priam],
Striking too short at Greeks. His antique sword,
Rebellious to his arms, lies where it falls
Repugnant to command…” (493-496)

- all of which are qualities that Hamlet probably thinks suits his goat of an uncle. And since King Priam is already there to represent King Claudius, Priam’s wife, Hecuba, naturally becomes Queen Gertrude in Hamlet’s mind.

To Hamlet, this is a story that perfectly defines the situation he is facing right now. He probably feels that the story serves to both reflect and justify (key word!) his motives behind killing King Claudius – to avenge his father and to save his kingdom from such a lousy ruler. Hence, he feels confident as well as defensive when the passage is recited. (The defensive part can be seen clearly when he shoots down Polony’s complaint of the story’s length by saying to the “First Player”, “Prithee say on. He’s for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps” (524), implying that Polony is too dumb to enjoy the performance.) Perhaps Hamlet actually feels insecure about killing another for the sake of his father (as he expresses doubt of the ghost’s validity later on), and has an outsider of the situation, a random actor, tell a tale of another that’s similar to his own. That way he secretly feels reassured of the actions he will be taking.

Hamlet’s confident reaction to the story takes a sharp turn however, when Hecuba makes her entrance into the tragic scene. “But who, ah woe, had seen the mobled queen-”, to which Hamlet responds, “‘The mobled queen’?” (527-528) in confusion. We can clearly see that he did not expect this part – the image of Queen Hecuba running towards Priam and crying upon his death. Perhaps it triggered him to think of a parallel image of his own mother running towards Claudius in that same, distressed fashion. Though he tries to deny that he cares enough about how his mother feels to stop his plans, the fact that his confidence seems to have taken a nosedive right after that last piece of the story seems to suggest otherwise. In fact, in his concluding monologue, he even expresses uncertainty as to what to do right after he rants about Hecuba’s intrusion and Pyrrhus’ reaction.

“What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he would weep for her? What would he do
had he the motive and the cue for passion
That I have? He would drown the stage in tears
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech,
Make mad the guilty and appall the free,
Confound the ignorant and amaze indeed
The very faculties of eyes and ears. Yet I,
A dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak
Like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause” (586-595)

To conclude my lengthy ramble – Shakespeare effectively shows a couple of things through the use of an extended reference:
1. Hamlet’s doubt.
2. The fact that Hamlet’s been thinking a lot about his situation and relying on Pyrrhus’ story to find his answers. (How else would he have memorized that whole story or requested for it specifically on the spot?)
3. Emphasizes Hamlet’s thoughts on each character based on how they’re characterized in the story. For example, the fact King Hamlet is represented through yet another hero, Achilles, reinforces the fact that Hamlet looks up to his father.
4. Hamlet still cares for his mother.
5. Could foreshadow the events to come. It’s very likely that Claudius’ death – if he is killed, that is – will lead to his Gertrude’s distress. (I mean, that’d be her second husband she’d be losing.) Not only that, but did you notice how dark the description was for “hellish Pyrrhus”? Another hint, I believe, that Hamlet is going down the road to his demise, where he’s going to lose his sanity and maybe even his heart.

ACT II SCENE II (1/2)

Seriously.

First we have King Claudius and Queen Gertrude pondering over the possible cause of Hamlet’s misery (“What it should be, / More than his father’s death, that has thus put him / So much of th’ understanding of himself / I cannot dream of.” – Claudius, lines 7-9. “I doubt that it is no other but the main- / His father’s death and our o’erhasty marriage.” – Gertrude, lines 59-60. Indeedy). Then, after the whole Norway portion of the scene, Polonius states that he believes Hamlet has gone mad because he is in love. He’s so confident that he even declares that if he’s wrong, the King and Queen can “Take this [his head] from this [the rest of his body]…” (line 168). (Wow. I hope that bold statement isn’t going to badly affect him later on.) Polonius continues on his quest to prove his point and talks to Hamlet, all the while pointing out to the audience where he finds evidence that Hamlet is clearly going insane because of love. As Polonius says he’ll “take his leave of him,” Hamlet replies, “You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal – except my life, except my life, except my life.” (line 233-235) And later on, when Hamlet encounters his childhood friends, he briefly retorts Rosencrantz’s comment that “the world’s grown honest” (line 255-256) with a sarcastic, “Then doomsday is near” (line 257).

In all these instances, we witness the use of dramatic irony, a literary device that Shakespeare is well-known for. Dramatic irony is basically when the audience knows something that the characters don’t. The King and Queen are curious about Hamlet’s recent behavior. We, the audience, know the cause of it. Polonius swears that he knows the reason behind Hamlet’s madness. We know that’s not quite it. When Hamlet mentions that the only thing a person can take from another who’s unwilling is their life, it’s likely that he’s talking about his father’s murder, something that the audience knows Hamlet has learned about and something that Polonius has no knowledge of. And finally, when we analyze Hamlet’s bitter response to Rosencrantz’s “the world’s grown honest” comment, only the audience knows that Hamlet is probably thinking back on his father’s unfair death, and how his uncle is now living deceitfully.

What’s the point & effect of dramatic irony? Well, I suppose in its own unique way, it helps to build up the suspense for the audience. Although the audience knows what Hamlet knows, and knows what everyone else on the stage doesn’t know, what the audience has yet to know is what will happen as a result of all this knowing and not knowing. For example, what will happen to Polonius, or what will Polonius do when he finds out that he has been wrong all along? Will that bold statement of his matter at all? Or what will even happen between Claudius, Gertrude, and Hamlet as the story unfolds? How will the secrets Claudius and Hamlet are keeping be revealed? All these questions occupy the mind of the audience members as the dramatic irony plays out through this scene.

Going a bit off topic, another thing to note about the first half of this scene is the conversation Hamlet has with his childhood friends. The whole shadow bit is what particularly caught my attention.

Bold = bits in a bit of a conversation that I found especially amusing/interesting.

“Hamlet: …To me, [Denmark] is a prison.
Rosencrantz:  Why, then, your ambition makes it one. ‘Tis too narrow for your mind.
Hamlet: Oh God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I had bad dreams.
Guildenstern: Which dreams, indeed, are ambition, for the very substance of ambitious is merely the shadow of a dream.
Hamlet: A dream itself is but a shadow.
Rosencrantz: Truly, and I hold ambition of so airy and light a quality that it is but a shadow’s shadow.
Hamlet: Then are our beggar bodies, and our monarchs and outstretched heroes our beggars’ shadows…” (lines 270-284)

As the sidenote in our Hamlet book explains, this basically translates to: “if ambition is but a ’shadow’s shadow,’ then beggars (who are with ambition) are the only humans with substantial bodies and kings and heroes (ruled by ambition) are only the beggars’ shadows.” It’s an interesting thought posed by Hamlet and, I believe, a bold statement made by Shakespeare. I suppose this also makes Claudius a shadow then, since he succumbed to his ambition to become king and killed his own brother to obtain that position. I wonder if that also makes Hamlet one as well, since now he’s ambitious to avenge his father’s death. But whose shadow would Claudius and Hamlet be? King Hamlet’s? But King Hamlet is dead and has no “human substantial body.” So does that mean that Claudius and Hamlet are shadows with no owners? Does that mean they are useless in a way because they have no owner? I can see that analogy apply to Hamlet, but not so much for Claudius.

Actually, I’m not even sure if I got this whole shadow analogy down right. If a beggar’s shadow is a king and a hero, what does that say about their relationship? What does that say about the king? Or the hero? That their ambition depends on the beggar? That they are, ironically, no longer living for themselves? If that’s so, then Hamlet’s ambition depends on the ghost of his father. If Hamlet is the shadow of his father’s ghost, then that could foreshadow Hamlet’s demise since he is no longer living for himself but for revenge.

ACT II SCENE I

So far, we get the impression that Polony  is a manipulative man. In this particular scene, he sends a servant to gather information about how his son is faring in France, telling him to gain honest answers from Laertes’ acquaintances by using indirect language and by fabricating some minor bad habits Laertes practices. This, along with the earlier scene in which Polonius suspects Hamlet’s intentions behind pursuing his daughter, shows that Polonius is a man who is very confident in his own analysis of people. He seems to think humans other than himself are very simple-minded – he casts off Hamlet as some typical youth who wants to sleepeth with Ophelia, and now he assumes that Laertes’ French acquaintances can be easily fooled into spilling over the needed details. Makes me curious about Polony’s past. Why does he have such a low opinion of people? The fact that he’s sending a servant to secretly check up on his son could also further show his distrustful nature.

The scene continues with the entrance of a distressed and confused Ophelia, prodding Polonius to ask her what’s wrong (for the second time that we’ve seen them interact).

No matter how manipulative and judgmental Polonius seems, I can’t help but find his character interesting and somewhat likable. Also, what happens next shows that he is still a good father despite his evident flaws. Though he assumes too quickly that Hamlet’s actions are the result of love/lust, he still apologizes to his daughter for his misjudgment earlier and immediately takes action to do something about the situation by reporting it to the king. “Come, go we to the King. / This must be known, which, being kept close, might move / More grief to hide than hate to utter love.” (130-132) Or in other words, “this love might cause more grief if hidden than hatred if told about” (sidenote). Not only is he a distrustful and judgmental man, but he’s also a pessimistic one, and he wants to prevent the worst outcome possible.

The only motive I can see behind his prompt actions is his sincere concern for his daughter, Ophelia. In fact, all we have seen from Polonius so far is his strong role as a father in his children’s lives. First time we meet him, Polonius states that he’s upset to let his son go back to France after he had just come back to visit for King Claudius’ coronation (Act I Scene ii, 60-64). Then in Act I scene iii, he gives both Laertes and Ophelia each a lengthy piece of advice surrounding their situations. Now in Act II scene i, we see him playing the fatherly role again, as he dispatches a servant to keep an eye on his son and tries to solve his daughter’s problems. He also seems to be concerned about Hamlet’s own feelings now since lines 131-132 (quoted above) indicate that he’d rather let hatred sprout than to leave Hamlet to wallow in grief.

In this scene Laertes and Polonius do an excellent job of bashing Hamlet. Of course they don’t do it to Hamlet’s face as he is the prince of Denmark. But instead, they are trying to inform Ophelia to be wary of Hamlet’s “tenders” or affection (I, iii, 112). I understand why both Laertes and Polonius would want to warn Ophelia. Laertes is her brother and Polonius is her father. It is not uncommon to receive such warnings from family members. However, this scene can also represent the general feeling Laertes and Polonius have towards Hamlet. Before Polonius enters the scene, Laertes tells his sister the following: “Then weigh what loss your honor may sustain / If with too credent ear you list his songs, / Or lose your heart or your chaste treasure open / To his unmastered importunity” (I, iii, 28-31). From my understanding, it seems that Laertes does not want Ophelia to become a victim to Hamlet’s affection. But, Laertes manages to create a possible situation where Hamlet is only after lust not love. Ophelia argues only slightly with Laertes and Polonius. Saying that “[Hamlet] hath importuned me with love / In honorable fashion” (I, iii, 110-111).

After reading this scene, I want to know why Laertes and Polonius are so harsh towards Hamlet. What do they know about him that we don’t?

ACT I SCENE III

Like Ms. Maloney mentioned earlier in class today, this scene is jam-packed with characters giving advices: Laertes advises Ophelia on how to approach the whole affair with Hamlet. Polonius advises Laertes how to behave while he’s away. And finally, Polonius turns to Ophelia and gives his own two cents on how she should view Hamlet’s affections.

Laertes  & Ophelia
Judging from how Laertes speaks to Ophelia, it seems that these two siblings are pretty close to each other, as Laertes insists that Ophelia keeps in touch – “…sister, as the winds give benefit / And convey (is) assistant, do not sleep, / But let me hear from you” (2-4) – and Ophelia responds that she naturally will – “Do you doubt that?” (5).
The following advice he then gives to his sister naturally suits their closeness as siblings, as he warns her not to easily fall for Hamlet, reminding her that Hamlet is next in line for the throne. This means that if he married, he’d have to marry with the stability of his kingdom in mind.  Even if he did love Ophelia, there is a great possibility that he won’t be able to marry her due to his duty as future king. (Touché.)  Laertes also implies that Hamlet’s love is probably  an impulsive & immature one, a love that will not last long – “Forward, not permanent, sweet, but not lasting / The perfume and suppliance of a minute. / No more” (9-11).
I found Laertes’ concern for his sister particularly endearing, and his advice something that any caring brother would probably say. The advice itself is also pretty logical, as Ophelia seems to accept, although she does remind him not to condemn her “as some ungracious pastors do,” but rather, to guide her into following his advice.

Polonius & Laertes
I found Polonius’ enthusiasm for Laertes to leave a little strange. (“Yet here, Laertes? Aboard, aboard, for shame!” 60-61) Wasn’t he just saying in the scene prior about how he strongly insisted against Laertes going away? (“…wrung from me my slow leave / By laborsome petition, and at last / Upon his will I sealed by hard consent.” Act 1 scene 2 lines 60-63) What’s with the sudden change of attitude? Am I reading too much into this or was Polonius totally lying/acting earlier when he said he didn’t want to see his son go? Why are the two so eager for Laertes to leave anyway?
The advice Polonius gives Laertes is a bit odd as well, and could also shed some light on Polonius’ suspicious character. From keeping one’s thoughts to one’s self, listening to others’ judgments but reserving one’s own, never borrowing/lending money, etc., Polonius’ advice seems to reflect his own distrustful and self-reliant nature.

Polonius & Ophelia
From the very beginning, Polonius has been suspicious about his daughter’s relationship with Hamlet. While Laertes seems to have had prior knowledge about the whole situation – maybe Ophelia confided in him about it some time ago – Polonius has to prod his daughter to have her “give up the truth.” (Wow, it’s like he’s cornering a criminal or something.) But even before he gets the whole story straight from her, he says, “You do not understand yourself clearly,” indicating that he has an idea of what’s going on (shows that he’s a very sharp & observant guy) and has already judged her based on what he thinks he knows, or maybe definitely knows.
This makes him out to be very similar to those condemning, “ungracious pastors” Ophelia had mentioned earlier. Yet despite his nasty comments, his interruptions, and his rude attitude, Ophelia remains polite & formal with her father.  Maybe an indication that she is not as close with her father as she is with her brother, and that she knows that it’s useless to argue with the opinionated man.
As for the actual advice Polonius gives her, he’s pretty much saying that Ophelia would be a complete idiot to fall for sneaky Hammy’s trap. Harsh words. He’s completely ruling out the idea that Hamlet’s actually in love and assuming that Hamlet is just trying to reel her in for a sinful affair. As shown earlier when he was giving advice to Laertes, Polonius is a man who doesn’t seem to trust many people around him. He mixes in a lot of finance, diplomacy, and military-oriented phrases as well, which I believe further emphasizes that he is a man who laughs at the idea of “affection” and instead resorts to manipulative thinking.

Been busy with Miss D today. I’m not even here! Auto-posts comin’ atcha live all day.

Cher: That’s another thing, Tai. We have to work on your accent and vocabulary. “Sporadic” means once in a while. Try and use it in a sentence today.
(several minutes later)
Josh: Be seeing you.
Tai: Yeah — I hope not sporadically!

Heather: It’s just like Hamlet said, “To thine own self be true.”
Cher: Hamlet didn’t say that.
Heather: Ha. I think I remember Hamlet accurately.
Cher: Well, I remember Mel Gibson accurately, and he didn’t say that. That Polonius guy did.
Josh: (laughs)
— Clueless, 1995.

Really good theater is more than timeless; it’s a cord that the actors and director pull which unearths the past in the present, connecting us in an almost eerie, ephemeral and visceral way; pulling us into a journey in which finally we are but a timeless audience ourselves in homage to the joy, the revelry, the delighted surprise or pain that is the “human condition” in art.

Just that kind of experience was Hamlet last night.

It was the kind of show that you sense, while in it—ah, see, I’ve said we were in Hamlet, rather than we were watching it—is more than simply a production of a show.  It was a piece of history in the making.

The kind of performance that enters history on its own powerful wings, that gives pulse and flight to Shakespeare fit even to astound the playwright himself.  I believe Shakespeare himself would have walked out like us last night, aware he had seen greatness; that he had seen his words filled with even more soul than ever even he’d imagined.

Oh, to share that with the wider world in the US…

I hate collecting unnecessary things, including paper.  I’ll collect a million notes and whatnot for my books—yes.  I’ll collect books themselves—yes.  But nothing else, really.  I don’t like to have too much.

But by the time the first act ended, I was scrambling for the playbill I’d tossed aside, and I clutched it close thereafter.  History’s in that playbill.  Some of our finest actors are in there now, forever captured in their great roles.

I won’t lie, my first thoughts were less…lofty.  My first thought, as the scene opened with Hamlet on the floor, dressed in distinctly not-old Scandinavian garb, the light and music highlighting his silent inner torment, was: “Oh, they’re using music?  And simplifying the wardrobe?  Hm.  Sigh.”  And then, only because I said I wouldn’t lie, I’ll admit to another thought: “Huh, so Jude Law really is that handsome in real life.”

But then it began.  Horatio (Matt Ryan) and the guards seeing Hamlet’s dead father’s ghost, and in horror summoning Hamlet (Law).  Hamlet questioning them and dashing up.  Within two scenes the humor, the madness, the compassion, the loyalty and friendship, the fear, the profane and profound, and we were hushed and breathless.  And now I can add to my summation of Mr Law that that man can act. 

No, not just act.  Not just inhabit a role. 

There simply is no way to explain it.  The actors acting as Horatio, Hamlet, Polonius (Ron Cook)—at whose name alone I already begin to giggle in anticipation—and Guildenstern (Harry Attwell) were stand-outs.  Ah yes, and the King (Peter Eyre) and Hamlet’s uncle (Kevin R. McNally). 

I tell you, those actors did their entire (what shall I call it?—craft? industry?) profession justice of the highest caliber.  They bowed before us when the show was over, but I tell you, we might have bowed to them.  Bowed in gratitude that they brought us a living, fraught Hamlet.  They delivered Shakespeare from the 17^th century for us.  They brought us back, brought us in and delivered us back home safely but changed.

They were brilliance.  There were scenes so powerful—in acting, lighting and directing (and never has the impact of that strong nexus been so clear to me as in this production)—that one felt the audience itch to clap but refrain, in fear of distracting the players in the next scene, or missing a single moment of the drama. 

At the end of the first act, I turned to my friend J and said, “This makes me want to reread parts of the play.”  But what madness, I already do from time to time reread parts of the play.  By the end of the entire performance, I had regained my senses.  “This makes me want to reread most of the play.”  (I can skip some of the political scenes, I admit it.)

And when I got home, I did.  And as I did, I strove to hear their voices, their cadences in the words.  For the life in their words was such as to fill the play as never had it been filled before for me.  I can still hear Hamlet’s voice now in my head…  Polonius’s…  Horatio’s…

Never had I heard these speeches as I did last night.  Never had I felt such compassion for Hamlet, but likewise never had I loved Horatio before, and never laughed so hard at poor, confused Polonius.  Never had I felt anything much for the Queen at all.  Never had I pitied the Ghost King.  Never had I marveled at the control of the King Usurper before all unraveled.  Never had I sorrowed over the loss of faith betwixt Hamlet and old buddies Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. 

Oh, oh, oh.  What brilliance and what beauty was that play. 

If you get the chance, please see it.  You will see history thrumming with life, heart and fury.  You will bleed.  You will love.  You will blog.

* Directed by Michael Grandage; Set & Costume Design by Christopher Oram; Composer & Sound by Adam Cork, and Lighting by Neil Austin.

I once met a man called “Lucky.” My garage door had failed and he was the repair man. I saw the name on his jacket and asked him about it. He said that until about 10 years before, everything had worked out just right in his life, hence the nickname. But then the wheel of fortune turned and illness and death followed, including the death of his wife. “Lucky’s” luck had run out.

Shakespeare had a sense of such things. Thus, in Hamlet, following the death of Polonius and Ophelia, we read the words, “…When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.” More colloquial usage tells us that bad events come “in threes.” Same idea.

The other side of bad luck, is the good. Branch Rickey, the baseball executive, famously said,  “Luck is the residue of design.” Of course, he was talking about good luck and how careful planning and persistence helped create it, or made it look as if it had been created. And a woman of my acquaintance, someone who lost a parent early and a husband late, has only recently met the love of her life. Better to have good luck late than early, it would seem. Still, if one reads Greek mythology, one finds Solon, a wise man, counseling that no one should consider himself (or be considered) happy, until the last possible moment of his life, because misfortune yet has time to occur. “Lucky” would agree.

Some believe that there is no such thing as luck: that you get what you deserve and you deserve what you get, a Karmic view of things. Churches of prosperity promote “right thinking and right living” in the belief that you will be rewarded in this life and the next for such action and the correct form of religious observance. And if we read the Book of Job, in the Hebrew Bible (the Old Testament) we find a man who has all manner of bad fortune thanks to a friendly wager between the angel Lucifer and God. Job had been a prosperous, religious, happy, and good man. But he is made to suffer all sorts of loss and pain so that his devotion to God might be tested. Three friends come to ask him what he could have done to deserve such misfortune. Surely, they tell him, he must have done something iniquitous. Clearly, they don’t believe in the notion of “bad luck.”

Many years ago a social psychologist name Melvin Lerner proposed something called “the Just World Hypothesis.” Lerner contended that when we observe misfortune occurring to another person, we prefer to believe that the individual has done something to deserve the negative events befalling him. But, if it is clear that he did nothing, then we will tend to devalue him personally, in effect saying, “well, maybe he didn’t do anything to cause his problems directly, but he isn’t a good guy, so, in a way, he deserves what has happened anyway.” Lerner maintained that people do this sort of mental gymnastics unconsciously in order to fend off the notion that something bad might happen to them. “Terror Management Theory” has picked up where Lerner left off, looking at how we manage and try to mute the anxiety caused by our mortal state.

You say you don’t believe in luck? Well then, you must believe that all disease and all accidents “happen for a reason,” that the explosion of a volcano, for example, is guided by some divine hand. But when those illnesses, accidents, and misfortunes target the innocent, especially little children who are raped or tortured, you will be hard pressed to find a reason that is adequate. “Ah,” some say, “we, on earth, don’t understand God’s ways; but surely, this will be for the best in the end.” The conversation is never ending, and it is unlikely that either side will persuade the other.

Finally, there is the question of how to define when a thing is good luck or bad. According to another Greek myth, Cleobis and Biton were the two sons of Cydippe, who needed to attend a religious festival at some distance from her home. However, oxen to draw her cart were not available, and so these two good young men yoked themselves to the cart and got mom to the festival on time. Their act of devotion to their mother won wide praise, but since they were exhausted, they soon needed to nap. Cydippe, who also had been praised for having raised such offspring, prayed that her sons would receive the best that any man could obtain. And, ironically, this wish was granted in the form of the their painless deaths as they slept, dying after having received great accolades at the pinnacle of their lives; now they would not have to suffer whatever else might come as they aged.

Good luck? You be the judge.

“The Arch-flatterer, with whom all the petty flatterers have intelligence, is a man’s self.”

-Francis Bacon

This is from the MIT Persona project. It’s lovely to watch it compile. Like Nick Douglas suggests, put on some Coltrane, or maybe some Stereolab, or even the BBC shipping forecast/Permanent Bedtime, and watch it do it’s thing. And it’s thing is you.

Get me off this crazy thing called Pookie.

You know me, I’m extremely innovative and into trying new things. And so, when a friend of my third cousin Tony’s girlfriend’s poodle’s estranged ex-lover suggested I look up his friend Pookie on my brief soujourn to the mainland from Madagascar, I did. Pookie works part-time as a bush pilot. He offered me a free sight-seeing flight. I accepted.

All I can say is this: Never, ever, ever trust a winged Giraffe. The flight was bumpy, the service non-existent and the landing abysmal.

Sooner or later you will face a brutal reality:

Your high school reunion.

The fear will climb you like a maypole and you will think your are thirty pounds fatter than you actually are. You will check the guest list for your high school crushes or old boyfriends and be warmed by those old flames, followed by an endless panic attack concerning seeing them again. You’ll destroy your closet looking for the perfect ensemble and plan hair and makeup for a week ahead of time. Moreover, you’ll plan how to describe your job so that you don’t sound like a glorified receptionist.

You say to yourself + 30 imaginary pounds in the mirror, “Oh college, how have you failed me so completely?”

Then the day arrives. It’s the moment of truth.

Results may vary after this point. I can only speak for myself.

A certain amount of anticipation and dread accompanied my decision to attend my high school reunion, but I never struggled with whether or not to go. I knew from the moment I got that letter inviting me to “The School by the Sea” for my 5th year reunion that I would be there.

Let me explain. My high school education wasn’t what you would call normal. I went to boarding school one thousand miles away from home. When I tell new acquaintances this, they usually react in the following way.

Wide-eyed with wonderment and a mischievous gleam in their eye they ask, “What did you do?”

This reaction makes me laugh because so many people can’t imagine sending their son or daughter of to school across the country at the tender age of fourteen. They figure you must have done something so horrible that you had be sent away to “learn to respect your limits or your elders” or both.

Let’s set the record straight. I wasn’t packed off and sent to boarding school because I’m some sort of juvenile delinquent. I chose to leave home.

See, I always loved summer camp. I went to Camp Seafarer in North Carolina for 8 years and worked there as a counselor for two. I wouldn’t be who I am today without my experiences there. The first year I went, I was ten. I was a shy girl who barely spoke up except to say incredibly awkward things. I was the kind of child who could play on a playground for hours and not bother to learn the names of the other children I was playing with because I was too terrified to ask. Facing a month away from home was frightening and exciting, but when I got there, I slowly came out of my shell. I blossomed, some might say. I went out to activities every day and set goals for myself, striving every day to achieve them. I learned how to sail, how to tie a bowline knot, and how to jump a hurdle on horseback. It was at Camp Seafarer that I was asked to dance by a boy for the first time. There were a lot of firsts at camp, and the best part of it all was that I was in control of my own destiny.

I’m an only child, you see. Every step of the way up until that point, my parents had been there guiding, supporting, micromanaging, and frogmarching me towards some undisclosed success. There are advantages and disadvantages to being the sole object of your mother and father’s love. I was given every possible opportunity; piano lessons, ice skating lessons, vacations, tutors, and educational trips. Anything I asked for, I got and usually more. Every time I soared I was rewarded and every time I fell, I was supported, analyzed, and talked through how to improve upon or avoid this mistake again. I never had that integral sink or swim moment.

However, at Camp Seafarer, I was in control. I scheduled my activities and I auditioned for plays. When I failed, it was up to me to fix it. When I succeeded, I simply basked in the glow of a job well done. It was enough because it was all mine.

Back in Chicago, I went to a middle school that ended in eighth grade and when I reached that point, I had to apply to high schools. I applied to every private school in the city, including my own personal Jesuit nightmare, St. Ignatius College Preperatory School. When I visited, I hated it. The students seemed dispassionate as they marched to classes in their uniforms. They answered questions when they had to and not because they wanted to. They were smart, make no mistake, but I couldn’t see myself fitting in. As the year forged on, I became restless. I wasn’t particularly happy about any of the choices of schools I had applied to thus far.

One day, I saw a friend of mine looking through a boarding school brochure. Inside its laminated story book pages there were kids on bicycles, grassy quads, blue skies, pine trees, and red track fields. It showed kids making clay bowls on spinning wheels and singing in a capella groups. I knew that I could probably find some of those things at the private schools in Chicago, but an idea had formed in my head. Judging by my success at camp, perhaps I could achieve more away from the loving arms of my parents then I could within their reach.

Photo of the Tabor Academy waterfront by Alex Palmer '09

With my parent’s permission, I applied to boarding schools all over the east coast. The next fall, I found myself at Tabor Academy in a dorm with twenty other girls, most from the area around school, whereas I was 1,000 miles away from home, and completely out of my element.

I had the unique opportunity to decide who I was. No one knew me. I could make first impressions on an entire community. Even knowing this, I was terribly afraid I would make some awful blunder.

The first few nights there, I sat on one of the granite benches on the water front. Even though I had worked so hard to get away from home, I missed it. I knew my mother and father would have had some useful knowledge to impart. All they way to school, my parents had pelted me with so much advice that I couldn’t see straight when we arrived. I couldn’t wait for them to leave me the hell alone. As we hugged goodbye till Thanksgiving, my mother wagged her finger. “Neither a borrower nor a lender be,” she said with great reverence. Afterward, that piece of Polonius’ advice from Hamlet has served as their final words to me whenever they drop me off at my current place of residence.

The seabreeze tossed my thick bush of brown hair across my face as I looked out over Buzzards Bay. All of their advice was slipping through my fingers. I was here to make my way without them.

Sometimes, I thought, you should be careful what you wish for.

I stayed at Tabor for four years. The first two were hellish and I was unhappy. I wanted to be wonderful at science and sports, but that just wasn’t in the cards. Nothing seemed to come naturally to me, least of all social aptitude. No one enjoyed being friends with a stuck up city girl who loved Star Wars and sang the Moulin Rouge version of  “Lady Marmalade” at least fifty times a day in her dorm room while everyone else was trying to study. It wasn’t until I laid anchor in the theater and music community that I found a foothold for myself at Tabor. Teachers and students started looking at me differently. They knew my name and they didn’t call me out on dress code infractions as much. I did the musical every year and toured with my a capella group every spring. It was a damn fine gig if I do say so myself. My last two years at Tabor were some of the happiest in my life. My friends were like family and theater was a dream. I felt so lucky to be there every day.

And so it was that I entered highschool wanting to be an astronaut and left with a passion for the stage, headed to New  York University’s Tisch School of the Arts, no less. I graduated with awards for contribution to theater and choral music and I left thinking I knew a lot more about myself than I would have if I had gone to school back at home in Chicago. My parents were still extremely proud, and supportive, but I had done this for myself.

I had no idea what awaited me in New York. I knew I would get through it as I had gotten through life at Tabor, but I was in no way prepared for my first year there, let alone the other three. It was filled with art, non-sexual nakedness, dance, shock, and student rush tickets to Broadway shows. I was back in an urban environment, pulsing with energy, buzzing with life. I was filled with passion for what I was doing every single day. Imagine: No more math classes. It was heavenly. I thank my lucky stars every day that my parents let me go and paid for my education at Tisch.

Now, it’s a year after my graduation from NYU and I’m living the life of a starving artist. Like everyone else in America, I have felt the pain of our declining economy, losing my job and not being able to get a new one for four months at a time. In December, I broke up with the man I can’t stop loving. In January, I saved a suicidal room mate’s life when I found her bleeding out in the bathtub. In February, I lost a dear friend and collaborator to a successful suicide attempt. By March, I was still jobless and was feeling the desperate strain of my independent reality weigh on me heavily every second of every single day. This is my life, I thought. I can’t stand my life right now.

It had been almost a year since I had performed in a full scale production. I could feel my life blood and passion begging for attention like a poorly tended hearth living in the pit of my stomach. My skin was going numb.

That’s when I got the letter inviting me back to Tabor Academy for my high school reunion.

How can I face all of these wonderfully smart and successful people? I thought. I’ll be a laughing stock again… or worse, they won’t recognize me at all.

I’m not fearless, but I like to think I have a bit more backbone than to let a few momentary insecurities stop me from going through such an important right of passage.

The truth is, as the day approached, I realized how much I had missed that community. I had spent so much of my life pushing forward and away from anything or anyone that had nurtured me along the way, but now I dearly missed the cradle of support that I got from my parents, teachers, and friends at Tabor. I had been a ship my whole life, struggling to break free from my mooring, but now I was ready to return to port, more ready than I ever thought I would be.

As I arrived back on campus, my heart pounded in my chest. My body felt weak, almost euphoric. Many of my classmates had remained in the same area and saw each other more often, but true to form I had left the nest and sailed into uncharted waters.

The whole weekend was like a glorious out of body experience. People I knew well and people I hadn’t all asked how I’d been and seemed to care about my response. I realized that I cared about theirs and I was proud of their numerous accomplishments. I remembered more first and last names than I thought I would. Seeing my teachers struck such a resonant chord with me. They had spent four years as my surrogate parents, setting me up for success, talking me through rough patches, and inviting me for Sunday afternoon tea. The whole reunion was like a warm celebratory ritual with dancing, drinking, and storytelling.

Near the end of the evening I was laughing with a friend who had gone with me to the Caribbean aboard the school’s tall ship to do an on-site marine studies class. We were resting our feet as the rest of our classmates danced the night away. He asked me what I was up to and I told him about the play I was writing, my novel, my new apartment, and how much i enjoyed the process of developing new musicals.

“You’re living the dream.” He laughed and smiled at me.

Until he said that, I had completely forgotten that I was.

At the end of the weekend, I felt my ship had been thoroughly resuplied. I had collected information and maps, and made plans for new adventures, confident that I could sail across the fated sea with a warm wind at my back.

I have decided that once Odysseus returned to Ithaca, he must have longed for another voyage.

In his great play, “Hamlet,” Shakespeare put some noble words in the mouth of a character named Polonius:  “To thine own self be true . . . thou canst not then be false to any man.”

That seems like sound advice. How indeed can one be true to others if he is not true to himself? Being true to oneself seems like the least one can do. And if one is not true to himself, he is his own worst enemy.

The irony is that Polonius, who spoke this noble sentiment, miserably failed to live up to it. He was a hypocritical, selfish old weasel. Yet he knew enough about the truth to give these words of advice to his son.

“All truth is God’s truth.” But not everyone adheres to the truth. Among these are three types of person:

1. Those who DON’T KNOW the truth. Some people do wrong out of sheer ignorance. Many primitive tribes were headhunters or cannibals before Christianity and civilization showed them a better way. The Greeks ignorantly worshipped idols until Paul the Apostle preached salvation by Jesus Christ, at which time they became responsible for the truth (Acts 17:22-31, Ephesians 4:17-19).

2. Those who DON’T CARE about the truth. Any policeman will flatly tell you, “Ignorance of the law is no excuse.” While honest ignorance is forgivable, one becomes responsible for the truth which is within his grasp. The truth of God is freely available to most of the world through the Bible, and is preached regularly in Christian churches. Paul says that the very order of Creation testifies of God and his goodness, so that they are “without excuse” (Romans 1:20).

We live in a materialistic world where many people care for nothing except pleasure and personal gain. Sadly, even many professed Christians pray only for themselves and their own desires, “that you may consume it upon your lusts” (James 4:3).

3. Those who are ENEMIES of the truth. Continued apathy for truth breeds enmity for truth. We see this in a world full of theft, murder, deception, and greed, where people use and abuse others for their own ends. Some people who molest children claim that sex is an appropriate way to show them love.

They deny the truth because they don’t like it. They “call evil good and good evil.” But “Truth is just truth; you can’t have opinions about truth” (Peter Schickele).

Jesus said, “You shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free” (John 8:32). Now, that verse was not recorded so that shady journalists could put God’s stamp on their version of the truth; nor the disseminators of filth and slander could use it against censorship. It speaks of just one specific truth:  salvation is through Jesus Christ. “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life; no man comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6).

–From my article in the Polk County Enterprise, August 4, 1991, p. 5B.

You may submit your Bible questions to pastor@cueroassembly.org

His death is certainly the best thing that has happened to Denmark in a long time! Just hours before he died after his duel with late Polonius’ son Laertes, he was marveling about Yorick’s skull outside the castle gates in the old graveyard. God bless his mad soul; I witnessed it myself from afar. He passionately jested and conversed with the crude gravedigger as young Lady Ophelia’s grave, who was once his lover, was being prepared after she committed suicide, or so they say. The manner in which he expressed his fascination with the physical decomposition of the human body after death left my skin with chills and made my heart stop cold. Such luck Denmark had when he died, albeit his incestuous uncle was no better at ruling. Nevertheless, once the procession to lay Lady Ofelia to rest began he remarked “forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love make up my sum” of love. His hypocrisy was revolting, for I had heard a rumor that he had brazenly told her to go to a “nunnery” just before her father died. Denmark is much better off without any members of that crazed family at the throne.

dr. segoviano

I do recall, after all the distress that has occurred here at Denmark, I can not disregard the intensified battle that occurred between Laertes and Prince Hamlet. As a courtier, I had to announce the battle between these two men and I do say, I thought it was going to be a generous sport, but I was disappointed for what Laertes did. How could Laertes poison his sword to kill Hamlet? Why, we citizens believed that Laertes was a gentleman who loved his sister, Ophelia, and father, Polonius and was a noble fighter. As a human being, I do have to admit that I would have done the same thing to revenge my father’s death but there are so many other ways a man can release his anger; I am just surprised of what Laertes choose to do and how he could fall so low with his decisions. On the other hand, I do say that I am proud of Laertes since he confessed himself from his sins. All of us were shocked when Laertes declared that everything was King Claudius’s idea, though. But, alas, Laertes and Hamlet exchanged forgiveness; I can even remember their wording, “Exchange forgiveness with me, noble Hamlet,” “Heaven make thee free of it.” Although horrible events have occurred at Denmark, I do believe, through all this mayhem, that Denmark will have a new beginning and that Laertes finally became a true man of honor.

M.G.

Here is an aspiring Shakespearian giving us a worthy rendition of the speech, web-cammed from his little kitchen:

In my book, Holy Mass should last one hour or less. There are occasional exceptions, of course: If you go to someone’s ordination, it will be longer than an hour. The Easter Vigil is longer than an hour. But these are rare exceptions to the rule.

Recently, a faithful parishioner told me he thought I was “rushing” through Mass one Sunday. He was not criticizing me.

For various reasons, that particular Mass was in danger of running well over an hour.

If I am conducting the train, I am going to do everything in my power to get the train out of the station in an hour or less.

Solemnity needn’t be lugubrious. Efficient solemnity is a beautiful thing.

Let’s listen to St. Thomas Aquinas: “Prayer should be devout. Yet it often happens that devotion grows cool through prayer being too long.”

And our Lord Himself: “When you are praying, speak not much.” (Matthew 6:7) This verse from the Sermon on the Mount might also be familiar to you as: “When you pray, do not babble on, like the pagans do.”

While we are on the subject of the Roman Rite…

There are many people in this world who are not familiar with the ceremonies and observances of the Sacred Liturgy of the Church. There are those who criticize our rituals for being obscure and “inaccessible.”

Let’s freely admit that it is not possible to walk in off the street into a Catholic church and understand the Holy Mass the first time.

This is true for the operations of any human organization. It certainly is not possible to walk in off the street into the U.S. Capitol building and immediately understand the proceedings of the House of Representatives or the Senate. It always takes some time to get the hang of things.

As we become more and more familiar with the Church’s ceremonies, we gradually come to understand the following: The ceremonies of the Roman Rite are sublimely simple. The Roman Rite is our way of obeying God.

God gave us His Word, so we read it together in church. At the Last Supper, He said, “Do this in memory of me,” so we do.

The liturgical year is also a matter of obedience. God became man and was born of the Virgin Mary, so we have Advent and Christmas. God suffered, died, and rose again, so we have Lent and Easter.

The whole business seems complicated at first. But with a little practice, we can see that in fact it is very simple.

The first two characters, Queen Gertrude and Polonius, from my childrens book project for Hamlet.  They outfits are not really based on the movie  (1996) but may share similar qualities.  Please keep in mind that they are not designed to be extremely graphic, but more of cute animated pictures to help children grasp the concept of what each character means.

You will be kept up to date with this project as I continue to draw more people and begin plotting out the story board.

This won’t be the only project I’m working on though.  If you’re here because of my other drawings relating to youtube people, I’m not done with that ongoing project.  I will still be slipping in a few youtube doodles in between Hamlet posts.

One of the coolest jobs in the world has to be acting on Law and Order.   Not only do you get to work with some of the most consistently intelligent & riveting scripts on television, but, because it’s filmed in New York City, generally in the daytime, you get the chance to do great live theatre as well, most famously Sam Waterston, Jesse L. Martin, Jerry Orbach, S. Epatha Markeson.

Having just watched, through the AWESOME POWER of TiVo, Wednesday’s new episode, I smiled when Sam Waterston’s Jack McCoy- Interim District Attorney of New York County- came over his indecision about whether or not he was going to run to be officially elected to the position (not that there was ever a question)- as he collected his first signature, he said, referencing his early waffling on the possibility of campaigning, “I’m too old to play Hamlet,” and he exchanged smiles with the other character, Michael Cutter, in the room.

This past summer, Waterston headlined Shakespeare in the Park’s Central Park production of Hamlet.  As Polonius. 

p.s.- it also doesn’t hurt to watch L&O when, like this episode, where the characters played by Linus Roache and Jeremy Sisto are stuck in a hotel & lying around in wife-beaters.  Why don’t more people recognize them as sex symbols?  Pics after the jump.

Linus Roache & Jeremy Sisto: