Something about the great William Shakespeare that has always resonated with me is the fact that nobody knows the day he was born. Historians know he was baptised on April 26th 1564 and thus they assume he was born around 3 days prior on April 23rd. April 23rd is also the day he died in 1616, within a month of signing his will which described him as being in "perfect health". He was 52 years old. Today is April 23rd, so I had to have a Shakespeare-related post.
In my second year of University we had a Shakespeare Studies module which, had the COVID-19 pandemic not happened, would have entailed a week-long trip to Stratford-upon-Avon. Missing out was disheartening, especially when the trip was one of the reasons I'd been so excited to study at Birmingham. I've been to Stratford before but never for more than a day trip. When I was younger, my family and I visited the town once a summer; we would venture to the Butterfly Farm, go boating and trek through the markets. My favourite thing about Stratford though, of course, is Shakespeare's Birthplace. When I was 18, on a school trip, I purchased a pencil from the RSC gift shop that said '2B or not 2B' on the side. Very overpriced, but I have no regrets. That quotation 'to be or not to be' comes from Hamlet - the titular character contemplates suicide as he says the line in a soliloquy at the beginning of the play. He is lamenting the death of his father and venting his horror at his mother Gertrude, who has decided to marry his uncle, Claudius.
Hamlet's love interest is Ophelia, who is depicted in her death in the above oil painting by Sir John Everett Millais. The audience doesn't actually see Ophelia die though in her final scene, she appears to have driven herself into madness as a result of believing Hamlet has fallen out of love with her. She tells the audience she is collecting the 'willow', 'nettle' and 'daisy' that she lays beside in her passing, plants symbolic of forsaken love and grief. In the play, Hamlet and Horatio visit the churchyard and the titular character ponders who has died upon hearing the 'maimed' funeral being performed. I decided to alter the storyline for my below poem - I imagined how Hamlet would grieve Ophelia if he were to discover her body in the lake and how he would regret his treatment of her.
Oh, it hurts again.
The familiar tugging of the chest
When regret first made its nest
You went mad, they suggest
My bride to be
Her fairness and fragility
Lost in the serene of the stream
My darling Ophelia
The rapacious daydreamer
How I hoped
In your yearning
You’d see through my turnings
My twists were unsealed
My fair Ophelia
Oh, how I wish you’d told me!
Perhaps you did
And I speedily shut the lid on your cries
Dismissed them as though they were lies
And now you have died
You lay still and blue
In the lake
And in your wake
They are finding the art in your demise
Like the lady of the lake
Except you will never rise
My Ophelia
The weeds claim you as their own
As I walk this ground
Forever alone
Happy Birthday to the big man himself!
See you next week,
Karisma xx