Thursday, July 19, 2012


July 19, 2012


            So we had a sonnet contest today, but we only had a night to write it, with the ending words of each line already done for us. Here is what I came up with. Remember, I only had a couple of hours to do this.


                        Sonnet 1

Young days doth seem to make time’s nature fat,
Freshly full of dash as the stored pickle,
Eyes ablaze, nimble in step, like the cat
Young days hide the crook’d mask of death’s sickle.
Time’s hard trickle could never affect I,
His ardor belongs to some other sot.
Yet, slowly, the minutes’ march mentions my
Name, sly whispers of welcome on my cot.
Questions are asked of where I am going,
While errors howl, screech, and scream on time’s truck,
And love, love, listens, patiently blowing
Kisses of faith, touchéd trinkets of luck–
Seconds to muster aloud to time, “Why
Not take thy carriage to some other guy?”



That “pickle” line was really hard. Thanks Gina or Wyckham for contributing that word. Stephen made an interesting point. He said to look at the Moor/more (original Renaissance pronounciation “moor”) homonym in Othello. “More” appears 61 times, while “Moor” appears 45 times. What does that mean? You have to decide that one.  


            Did more research today. Here’s the books I worked with.


Thomas Collins, The Penitent Pvblican, published in 1610.


John Freeman, The Comforter: or A comfortable Treatiʃe,
published in 1600.


Anonymous, Three Sermons, Or Homelies, To Mooue Compaʃsion towards the Poore and needie in theʃe times, published in 1596.


I had a great conversation with Caleen and Rob B on the bus ride home today. She said that human beings don’t wake up in the morning with the intent to “do evil.” For example, Iago doesn’t wake up in the morning and the first thought in his head is to destroy, destroy, destroy. He does what he does because that is just his nature; in other words, he uses his mind to his best advantage. It doesn’t necessarily mean that Iago’s first thoughts out of bed are to annihilate everything in his sight. But I also remember a famous quote which Edmund Burke supposedly said, “All that is necessary for the triumph of evil, is that good men do nothing.” Where are the good men in Othello?
























July 18, 2012


            I forgot to mention that on Saturday, on our way back from Gettysburg, Rob T had to pull over to get some gas. Kim asked if she could pump the gas because apparently New Jerseyans can’t pump their own gas. This ban on self-service emanates from a law in 1949. How quaint, I thought.


Today, I want to talk about King Lear, and about why it is my favorite play. I had taped a response to the question, “What is your favorite Shakespearean play to teach?” for the Folger Shakespeare Library’s Education department. This response is what I came up with. This written response is longer than the one I taped.


First and foremost, King Lear is a family drama. While the wife of Lear, and mother of Goneril, Regan, and Cordelia, is dead, the play still has a father with three daughters and a father with two sons (Gloucester with Edgar and Edmund). In addition, Lear has two figuratively adopted sons in Kent and the Fool. (One possible reason for the depth of Lear’s love for Cordelia is to imagine her mother’s death. For example, did her mother die in child-birth? If so, Cordelia is Lear’s last attachment to his dead wife, the last breathing organ of his queen. There is one line which stands out to me about the way Lear loved (loves through Cordelia) his wife: “I would divorce me from thy mother’s tomb” (2.4.124). Lear still envisions his union with his wife as a single entity, that he needed her to complete himself, because king and queen will be interred, literally or figuratively, in “one” tomb. Cordelia fills in the gap for now.) Furthermore, Lear is a play of extremes--extreme sorrow, extreme pity, extreme cruelty, extreme terror, extreme pain, but also extreme love. Shakespeare takes us on a journey of, as Jay Halio says, “waste and sorrow,” but also of love. In Lear, you have parents who should have known better. In short, they are parents with haunting errors on their souls and/or beings. It is left to Cordelia and Edgar (Edgar is underrated as one of the Bard’s greatest creations), not only to redeem themselves, but to redeem their respective fathers. But there’s more. Shakespeare takes us on a journey through old age, through senility, through madness, and again at its core, through love. There is a compassionate love embedded in the play--servants who place egg whites on Gloucester’s eyes, Cordelia’s forgiveness of Lear: “O my dear father! Restoration hang / Thy medicine on my lips; and let this kiss / Repair those violent harms that my two sisters / Have in thy reverence made!” (4.7.26-29), and Edgar’s forgiveness of Gloucester: “Sit you down, father; rest you. . . . / Give me your hand. / Come, father, I’ll bestow you with a friend.” (4.6.250, 279-81). These lines alone make me cry every time because of the depth of love and compassion of child for parent. Furthermore, Edmund, at his end, asks for redemption (asks for compassion): “Some good I mean to do, / Despite of mine own nature” (5.3.242-43). Edmund tries to save Cordelia but fails. King Lear, because of its emotional depth, because The Bard puts the value and deepest recesses of love on trial, is Shakespeare’s greatest play.


In the evening, some of us went to an Italian restaurant called 2 Amy’s to celebrate Sarah’s birthday. Sarah is an incredibly erudite woman who studied Shakespeare in London. All of us had a good time.

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

July 1 - 17, 2012

July 1, 2012


Today was my first day at the Folger Shakespeare Library’s Teaching Shakespeare Institute as well as my first day in Washington, D.C. I met the group of teachers I’ll be working with, and I must say they are an inspiring, eclectic group of people. Our instructors are equally wonderful human beings. I sincerely hope this time spent here serves as a tempest for change in my life. Unfortunately, the joy and excitement I feel for this experience is marred by the fact that I miss my kids in San Antonio. It’s hard being away from them. One wonders how the Bard was able to work in London while his family was two-to-three day’s journey away. How was he able to vent his concern and worry? As far as the argument that sixteenth century fathers did not feel the way for their children in the same vein that modern fathers do--I don’t buy that. The human heart is the human heart. Frailty thy name is disconnection. That may be a reason why he threw himself into his work, into his passion, since he wasn’t able to directly be around his children. In other words, when one misses loved ones, sometimes the only thing to do is to throw yourself into your work, into a life’s purpose, to accomplish what talent deems need be done. That’s what I will try to do. Last but not least, DC is a beautiful city!


July 2, 2012


Today was another wonderful day at the Teaching Shakespeare Institute. We learned valuable techniques for performance-based teaching. I really do feel that performance-based teaching, actually acting out Shakespeare’s lines is crucial, not only for learning and comprehension of the Bard’s plays, but to act out the lines, the scenes, the motions, and the feelings is what Shakespeare is all about. One must remember that a play is meant to be seen, although close study and scrutiny is vital, it is the visual perception of the plays, the acute definition sight and sound gives, the holding the mirror up to nature as ’twere, that one feels, and hopefully students feel, is much better for comprehending Shakespeare--not only comprehending Shakespeare, but developing an affinity for his works. If one can make it personal when one puts oneself into the emotions, honestly delves into the meaning of the words, one develops an appreciation of the works.


We also had an activity where I had to trust someone to lead me across the Folger Shakespeare Library’s stage and walk down stairs. What I learned is that I really don’t trust people all that much. I had to trust someone to lead me across what could have been the Forest of Arden for all I knew; I realized that it was hard for me to trust her to steer me away from injury. What does that say about humanity? Why is it that as children all we seem to do is trust, and somehow the world, or more specifically people, make us feel that the only one you can trust is yourself? I realize some of that has to do with my own personality--a flaw in my personal tenets which believes that if I want something done right, then I have to do it myself. But why is it so hard to relinquish that control? As Junot Diaz writes--vulnerability is the key to love. Maybe that allowing yourself to be hurt, putting your life or safety in jeopardy or harm’s way, allows one to develop trust, gratitude, friendship, and ultimately, in the deepest of relationships, a profound love for one another. The kind of love Beatrice and Benedict share, and perhaps the reason that they hate each other so much in the beginning of Much Ado About Nothing is because they don’t want to release that vulnerability. In another relationship, what I argue is Shakespeare’s greatest love fruition between man and woman, is the Macbeth’s marriage. Maybe their flaw is that they release too much vulnerability resulting in ineluctable annihilation.


Finally, I learned that I’ll need at least two full weeks to see all of the sites in this town, and a three-to-six month reservation for a White House tour. What an amazing city this is! The beauty of this city makes me proud to be an American.


July 3, 2012


Another great day at the Folger and TSI: today was a much busier day as we had to take the bus at 7:45 am to the Folger for our first full day of scholarship and learning. We heard a great lecture from Jay Halio. He elucidated the necessity of comedy in seemingly tragic plots. I can’t help but think back to my days as a special education teacher assistant for behaviorally challenged kids. Some days were filled with restraint; in other words, it seemed like all day all I did was physically restrain one kid after another, and some of these were violent episodes. It’s not fun to hold a kid down like he or she is some sort of deviant, violent criminal. Mr. Macias, the teacher, and I could only laugh when the day was over. We had no choice. Unfortunately, I couldn’t forget the day as easily as he could. That job drained me--emotionally, spiritually, mentally. But laughter alleviated the pain, a little. Maybe Shakespeare is just showing how things really are; that is, life is that “mingled yarn of joy and sorrow.” One has to balance with the other. We all would take the joy. But would you relinquish your sorrow? I know some people would--those who were raped or molested, those who made terrible mistakes. But I’m not sure I’d give up my suffering--an alcoholic, at one time abusive, father. I don’t know. I’d like to give up some egregious errors I’ve made; yet, it’s made me the person I am. I remember the story of when Michael Jackson complained to Quincy Jones about the suffering he endured from his father. But Quincy Jones told him, “Michael, you wouldn’t be who you are without that.” Suffering can serve a purpose, and be redemptive, sometimes.




Margaret talked about some interesting issues of duality involving both Antipholus’ and Dromio’s in The Comedy of Errors. I had viewed them as separate and distinct characters, but she said to look at them as two sides of the same coin: the two sides that exist in each of us--good vs. evil, chance vs. design, rope (weak) vs. chain (strong), torture vs. triumph, Ephesus vs. Syracuse, the list goes on and on. The duality of self is a conundrum of body and spirit, where the ambition of the will crashes into the frailty of being, a different victor each time.


Also, got to touch a First Folio. Hmmmm. What was better? The first time I enveloped the slender, sinuous curves of a woman or the first time I penetrated the pearly pages of a First Folio?


No comment.


July 4, 2012


What a day! I am exhausted. Today was sightseeing day. We left a little bit after nine in the morning and arrived back around ten-thirty at night. I still can’t keep track of all of these museums. My brain is on overload right now. It’s hard to dive into the beauty of a single rose when it’s surrounded by the multitudinous amount of elegance and ethereality of surrounding flowers whose glistening petals almost drown out the rose’s glory. I do wish my family was with me though. It’d be nice to appreciate this historic area with them. Texas seems so far away. It was nice to see the fireworks, but I wish I had the excitement for them that I had as a little kid. Maybe the prodding of time takes away the giddy chills of anticipation, and they mature into the serene meditations of what really is.


Also, the mosquito bites bothered me, but they are nothing like the painful bites that otherworldly terror of nature, the Texas mosquito, leaves. Funny aside. I asked Sara if one could sit in the grass, and she completely misunderstood me. She thought I was asking her if she could physically sit in the grass. Anyways, she said she could. But I had to explain to her that the reason I asked is because in Texas you can’t sit in the grass without a blanket, which doesn’t even work most of the time, because fire ants will eventually find you. And don’t even mention the scorpions, coyotes, and rattlers! Ah, I miss you Texas.  


July 5, 2012


Today was another busy day at the Folger Shakespeare Library. I was a bit tired due to the Fourth of July marathon I embarked on yesterday. I want to focus on the talk given by Barbara A. Mowat, one of the principal editors of the Folger Shakespeare Library’s Works of Shakespeare. She mentioned that as she has spent more and more time within the milieu of the words of Shakespeare, she’s noticed just how compassionate the words are, and one would like to say, just how compassionate Shakespeare the man was. She mentioned the compassion showed towards Gloucester after the blinding scene--that is, how the servants find egg whites to place on Gloucester’s eyes. But also evident throughout that play is the compassion displayed by Edgar and Cordelia--two characters who probably have the least reason to be compassionate. What does that say about humanity? That the people designed to emote the most compassion (Goneril, Regan, and, arguably, Edmund) are the characters who deliver the most pain. And the ones who should be angry (Cordelia, Edgar) define and exemplify what is sometimes tied to compassion--the power of forgiveness. This central truth about the goodness of humanity (and the real fact that evil also exists) is one of the reasons why I love the Bard so much. In many ways, he teaches us how to live. Should one not try to be as compassionate and forgiving as Cordelia, Edgar, or Prospero? Didn’t Ariel exhibit some elements of forgiveness? Are we warned against being too ambitious (the Macbeths), “Unhappiness is best defined as the difference between our talents and our expectations” (Edward de Bono) or about being too lost in love (Romeo and Juliet)? Are we shown the essence of evil (Iago) and the horrors of jealousy (Othello)? Or the unbreakable angst of seeing your children leave the nest? Is that why Lear went mad--the inevitable departure (loss) of his daughter was too much for him, that is, the inevitable march of wind and time which takes away mothers, fathers, sons, daughters. I still argue that Hamlet was indeed very close to his father. Why else would he tell Horatio, “I shall not look upon his like again”? (1.2.187). Those kinds of comments are reserved for the truly magnificent. In the end, Shakespeare will always be one of my greatest teachers and most solemn comforters.


One last thing: if I want to go for that PhD, I see how much work I’m going to have to do.


July 6, 2012


Today was another amazing day at the TSI, except for the fact that I’m tired and exhausted, in a good way though. But it’s the end of the first week. I made it! The TSI is a very intense experience. Being immersed in the Bard, all day, without many breaks, is challenging. The rub is to keep the brain focused, concentrated, trying to keep the sponge dry to absorb as much as possible, but it’s hard as the sponge fills up so quickly. I realize I’m not the only one struggling through separation from loved ones. Many participants remark that it’s hard being away from a husband, a loved one. Sometimes we get so tied to someone in our lives that it’s hard to endure a temporary suspension of closeness. One thing I’m discovering is that I am starting to really enjoy acting, getting into the character, the scene. I hope that when I give the exercises I’m learning here to my students that they will feel the same way. I’m one of those playwrights who is not an actor, so it is challenging. In some ways, I feel like one of those players receiving instructions from Hamlet: “hold the mirror up to nature,” “now this overdone cannot but make the unskilful laugh,” don’t “out-herod Herod,” and “speak the speech trippingly on the tongue” (3.2.1-23). Speaking of Hamlet, why does he go into this erudition about acting? How in the world did Hamlet become, in many people’s eyes, a Danish quasi-Stanley Kubrick? Was this expertise learned in Wittenburg, gleaned from Yorick, or perhaps pulled from the recesses of his being due to the encounter with the Ghost? In many ways, it seems Hamlet has to do this. He has no choice. This action is his trek towards truth, his vehicle of vociferous voice, his attempt to get away from the “comfortably numb” (“I can ease your pain / Get you on your feet again”), an anesthetized spirit, and into the sphere of the unnervingly determined, a man of action and flaw, one who realizes the glimpse of idealized manhood, the kind he “shall not look upon again,” is nothing more than a defective and dirty image of a new Adam: (“When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse / Out of the corner of my eye . . . / [But now] The child is grown / The dream is gone”). Damn! I love Hamlet! The Melancholy Dane! The Great Dane! The only one Shakespeare could not control.


July 7, 2012


            Today we went to go see The Merchant of Venice at the Blackfriar’s Theatre in Staunton, Virginia. It is a beautiful playhouse. The play always hits me like a series of strong punches to the gut which leave me gasping for air. I don’t find too much funny in that play, and it’s hard for me to look at that play as a comedy with the Holocaust in the background: Nazis playing baseball with infant Jewish babies and all that makes me ashamed of my human race. It’s hard to see Shylock disfigured, they take away his religion, disowned, they just about take away his possessions, and dishonored, the man cannot even feel one morsel of justice. The poor man has even lost his daughter and has no one to fall on. He is, figuratively (spiritually, mentally), dead. Interestingly, Shakespeare comes back to this father-daughter dynamic in King Lear through the relationship of Cordelia and Lear. In Lear, Shakespeare seems to refine, and greatly improve, the love between father and daughter, and role switches as Lear steals the “fortune,” Cordelia’s dowry, just as Jessica rapes Shylock of his. One daughter runs off, the other is exiled, but both are married. Both have left their fathers alone, in a figurative hell, to do battle against the nature of man. Jessica becomes “pagan,” Cordelia lives in “pagan” Britain. But the difference is mercy, and compassion, and forgiveness. Jessica is superficial, prodigal. Cordelia is sincere, prudent. Cordelia accepts her father for all his faults, for his temper, for his age, for his decisions, for his way of life, while Jessica rejects every one of these of Shylock’s. So what was the Bard trying to refine? What was he trying to tell us? Why does he pit Jessica versus Cordelia, Shylock versus Lear? Is this Shakespeare the father aged thirty years or so versus Shakespeare the father aged forty years or so? What did he understand about the relationship between father and child? Maybe one thing is that fathers are not perfect. Nor are their children. Mistakes will be made, sometimes egregious errors of the soul. The rub is that the progress of love, and love is just that, progress, must move on despite these errors. You can’t turn your back on what comes from you, and you can’t turn your back on who you come from. You are one, through the connection, whether you like it or not.  


July 8, 2012


            Today I went to noon mass at the beautiful St. Ann’s Catholic Church down the road. What a beautiful church it is. St. Ann’s has stained glass windows of the disciples and a beautiful altar and enormous crucifix right above it, as most Catholic churches do. Two items stood out to me during mass: 1. One line from a reading, 2 Corinthians 12.9: “Power is made perfect through weakness”; and 2. The priest had a very good homily, although it was short. He brought up that C. S. Lewis had remarked that through Christianity he was able to see everything else more clearly. Of course, naturally, I thought of Hamlet. Since Hamlet is clearly a Christian text: Old Hamlet is in some form of Purgatory, Claudius tries to beg for forgiveness, Hamlet cannot commit suicide as “the Everlasting had fix’d / His canon ‘gainst self-slaughter!” (1.2.131-32), I thought about how Hamlet, throughout his play, begins to see things more clearly through these intonations of religion and how his “power is made perfect through weakness” (2 Corinthians 12.9). We encounter a weak Hamlet at the beginning of the play, dressed all in black, emblematic of a dead soul, who, little by little, word by word, gradually picks up strength. The encounter with Old Hamlet does not weaken him; it makes him stronger. His near fatal encounter with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern does not shake him; it makes him stronger. Indeed, at the final death scene all expect Hamlet to lose to Laertes in their battle: HORATIO. “You will lose this wager, my lord” (5.2.147). Instead, he is stronger, he has worked on his technique as he retorts, “I do not think so. Since he went into France, I have been in continual practice. I shall win at the odds” (5.2.148-49), and he is clearly on his way to defeating Laertes in their battle. He flexes his muscles, and we see a Hamlet, strong and sturdy, driven and resolute. Even though he does perish along with the other major players, sans Horatio, it is only because Laertes does not honor the code of conduct for the battle and, in fact, cheats to deliver his death blow. Through Hamlet, we see power through weakness, and Hamlet sees, evidenced through his transformative play, everything more clearly: “Not a whit. We defy augury. There’s a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it be now, ’tis not to come. If it be not to come, it will be now. If it be not now, yet it will come. The readiness is all” (5.2.157-60).


Right after mass, I went outside to catch up on some phone texts, and I started talking to a homeless man named Joseph on the side of the church. Gabriel and Joseph, get it? I am so glad I spent an hour and a half talking to him. While I did notice some mental inconsistencies, this man is an erudite scholar in my opinion. We talked Shakespeare, mythology, the art of teaching, jazz, Miles Davis, Arthur Miller, DC, sports, and the value of knowledge. Why this man is homeless, I have no idea. Maybe he was an angel in disguise? He elucidated that Shakespeare has the power to carry one through life, that his words are a veritable fountain of youth; one can be forever young through Shakespeare, because the journey, the search never ends. In fact, Shakespeare is a necessity of living, as vital as water, as nourishing as the right foods. The Bard takes us on an ancient journey, a journey of looking for the “secret,” the journey for knowledge, where the conclusion of one journey imparts upon your being the strength for the next one. In fact, Hamlet embarks on a journey to seek and discover just how much knowledge he can obtain. Of course, we know Hamlet can only seek so much, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, / Than are dreamt of in your philosophy” (1.5.168-9), and he crosses a fatal line, he uncovers the secret, as he even seems to know when he will die, “The readiness is all.” But it is an interesting conundrum: how much knowledge can we really learn? How much knowledge can we afford to know? Do we really know what we want? Can we afford that journey mentally, physically, spiritually? One reason some people value sports is because it pushes our bodies to their physical limits: how much can we take physically? How much can we afford to take? We admire those who can afford to take more than us. He also brought up Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman, and how it is a retelling of the Faustus tale, and that when I teach a college class, on the first day, I should enter class, and my first lines should be, “Alright, how much knowledge do you want? How far do you want to take this? Because we can go as far as our minds will let them.” What a sly way to start a class. I think if I encountered a professor who said that upon our first class’s meeting, I probably faint. I would not do that with high schoolers. Oh yeah, the man saw Miles Davis play! Multiple times! Damn!


July 9, 2012


            These days are becoming a struggle. Today we had a great lecture about the sonnets. Shakespeare’s sonnets and poetry tend to be overlooked, but I forgot who it was that said the sonnet sequence is probably the greatest sequence of lyrics that has ever been composed. I have fallen in love with the sonnets--a love I should have discovered a long time ago. So what of the sonnets? One way to look at the sonnets is to say the sonnets are windows, perhaps even doors, to the plays. That would be an interesting book to write--how do the sonnets shed light upon the machinations of the plays. What small motifs that were covered in the sonnets are fully fleshed out in the plays? For example, Time is a brutal enemy in some of the sonnets: “No, Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change” (123). How does Shakespeare elucidate this further in the plays? I think the clearest example of this line is perhaps in King Lear. Lear’s final battle is with time. This reason is why he decides to divide his kingdom--“That future strife / May be prevented now” after his death. Time has alighted his sword upon Lear’s shoulder.   


During the night, I attended Ralph Coen’s great lecture on the Blackfriar’s Theatre. It was a great lecture on the history of the theatre and of London and its times.                       


July 10, 2012


            Today Jay Halio gave another great lecture about the staging of The Merchant of Venice. He mentioned that during the Renaissance Shylock was portrayed as a comic villain, perhaps someone whom I would compare to Ralph Furley in the sitcom Three’s Company. Furley could be a comic villain at times, although he wasn’t forced to change his religion!


Jay also mentioned that Shylock is not really a true representation of Jewry as Shylock even admits, “I never felt it [the curse of the Jews] till now” (3.1.85-6). This statement alone separates Shylock from his people. Furthermore, he is about to break a commandment--the sixth commandment, “Thou shalt not murder.” Jay also stated that the Antonio-Shylock-Portia triangle is akin to the Abraham-Isaac-Angel dynamic in the Torah. But there is one key difference. Abraham’s act is a sacrifice of duty and trust (with love intermingled) while Shylock’s act is one of cold, brutal, murderous revenge. Shylock has become the avenger; that is, he has blasphemed himself--broken the first commandment (which curses himself at the same time) because he takes on the role of Supreme Judge--YHWH. And in this comparison, who is the ram? Jessica? In short, Shylock is inauthentic--in his religion and in his life. But the play also makes us question the authenticities of Shylock’s antagonists, the Christians. As a result, by dropping a magnifying glass upon Shylock and everyone else, no one is free from flaw, and Shakespeare makes us question the parts within ourselves that are authentic and inauthentic. It is truly hard, at least I find it so, to be truly authentic all of the time or to fully defend that authenticity all of the time. Only better souls than me, e.g., Mother Theresa, John Wooden, are capable of that kind of selflessness and clarity. For example, as a Christian, sometimes I find it extremely difficult to forgive certain wrongs done towards me. Does that make me an inauthentic Christian? Am I an inauthentic Christian if I want revenge, or I harbor ill feelings towards someone? What kind of mercy and compassion am I capable of if I demand an eye for an eye, if I execute lex talionis? These are just some of the questions the Bard wants us to consider--is it even possible for anyone to be truly authentic?


I always looked at Antonio and Bassanio in homooerotic terms, but it is possible to view The Merchant of Venice as a parable of the Bard, and the Antonio-Bassanio dynamic as a retelling of the prodigal son. This argument gets into an interesting question--just how does Shakespeare use the parables of Jesus in his writings? One day, I would like to write a book on the possible parable retellings or parable elucidations that Shakespeare makes.


July 11, 2012


            Today was a challenging day. It seems my problems with my sinuses kicked into full gear today, so I was battling lethargy and sickness throughout the day. I refuse to take medicine, mainly because of any side effects, and because I would like to give my body the chance to fight off the infection/illness.


            We had an interesting talk about Shakespeare the father, and whether a reader could glean anything about his relationship with his daughters through the characterization of the absence of Portia’s father and the father-daughter relationship between Shylock and Jessica. Was Shakespeare saying anything about his absence from Stratford? And this line of questioning even begs a deeper question. Because of his absence, was Shakespeare the father a failure? Was the greatest writer who has probably ever lived a failure as a parent? I don’t think he was, but it’s hard to calculate the toll a father’s absence can have upon his children. I’ll just speak from experience. I know that due to the lack of having my father around I definitely did some things which were detrimental to my overall health (physically, mentally, spiritually) that I probably would not have done had he been around. Of course, I take full responsibility for my choices, but would I have had the good father or the bad one? If I had the bad one, the one who was drunk and high seemingly all the time, I probably would have turned out much worse. But one wonders just how well did Shakespeare do as a parent? I mean, he probably did not even get to see Hamnet buried.


On another note, it was nice to help facilitate communication between Jay Halio and Bonnie Lyons. Dr. Bonnie Lyons, professor at the University of Texas at San Antonio, my alma mater, is probably, if not my greatest hero, then one of my greatest heroes. She has been my teacher, my mentor, my guide, my friend, one of the people who has inspired me the most. She went to my daughter’s sweet sixteen celebration. She is such an accomplished scholar, and not only that, is an award-winning poet. She wrote a book of poems from the perspectives of women in the Old Testament, titled In Other Words. It is a brilliant piece of work, and every time I hear her read the poem from Jezebel’s perspective, well, it just gives me chills! I did nominate her to be San Antonio’s first poet laureate. Anyways, it’s nice to see the connection between Jay and Bonnie--both great academics, writers, and human beings.


July 12, 2012


            Today we started off seminar by watching some wonderful clips from the Playing Shakespeare series and were entertained by performances of the character of Shylock by Patrick Stewart and David Suchet. Jay Halio again stated that Shylock is an extremely tainted and flawed man; that is, he is a character who really does not deserve much pity. He should be considered one of Shakespeare’s greatest villains because he turns on others, he turns on his daughter, and he ultimately turns on himself by converting to Christianity. So where does Shylock stand in the Bard’s canon of villains? Against Edmund and Iago? I think Shylock should be placed near the top of that list because he is a man determined to get his pound of flesh; he exhibits no mercy, no empathy. He embodies the antithesis of what Barbara Mowat said stands out in Shakespeare’s works--compassion.


Later in the evening, I worked on the group lesson plan with Gina and Rob B. Our lesson plan project involves the authenticity/inauthenticity dynamic, which I’ve talked about before, and we decided that a person may decide to be inauthentic in order protect himself or to protect others. But Gina helped me to jump onto another point. Who is Shakespeare’s greatest character of inauthenticity (or as my students would term it, “faker”)? Without a doubt, I argue that it is the Great Dane, Hamlet. I even believe that he “fakes” himself out, at times. For example, he marvels at the actions of Fortinbras’ army:


And let all sleep while, to my shame, I see


The imminent death of twenty thousand men


That, for a fantasy and trick of fame,


Go to their graves like beds, fight for a plot


Whereon the numbers cannot try the cause. (4.4.9.49-53)


Hamlet wonders aloud about his inauthenticity, which precludes any action on his part against Claudius. In short, if the warriors can be “authentic” over a small parcel of land, why can’t he take action against a much larger issue, on a much larger stage? In a way, his play is a search for authenticity. In addition, one must remember that he feigns madness, and I even argue that he is on the brink of madness since he seems to embrace hate over love. I mean, he sends Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to their deaths, without much empathy or compassion. It is not until the end of the play, when he asks forgiveness of Laertes, that we see the “authentic” (to everyone) Hamlet. While he may not forgive Claudius, he does try to make amends with Laertes: “Give me your pardon, sir. I’ve done you wrong” (5.2.163). In short, Hamlet’s inauthenticities turned authencities deceives (“fakes”) others out to such a degree that he teeters on the edge of being unable to disengage from his inauthenticities. Hamlet is on the brink of inauthenticating himself.


July 13, 2012


            Happy Birthday to me! Forty years on this earth: “When forty winters shall besiege thy brow” (Sonnet 2). I have to tell you that I was a bit disappointed not to be around those I love for my fortieth. Indeed, I am lucky to have even made it this far. But all of my fellow teachers, friends, and instructors here made my birthday a very enjoyable day. I received a wonderful card along with a rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday.” I was extremely excited to begin research on my paper about the Renaissance conception/ethos of forgiveness. The Folger Library is a special place. Thank you to everyone, thank you to Katie for my book, and thank you to Peggy O’Brien and Michael Tolaydo (a one-time Texan) for the hugs, the Texas stories, and the wonderful party thrown for everyone at the TSI! 


July 14, 2012


Today was our first research Saturday at the Folger. I am getting a bit tired, a bit burned out although I did hold books in my hands which were printed in 1596, 1600, and 1610, respectively. I was almost scared to even touch those books since they are so rare. You wonder whose hands they went through, whose fingerprints are on their pages, whose sweat and blood even, and what kinds of human lives those books migrated through. What kind of life have those books had? You wish they could talk. Today they migrated through my life!


July 15, 2012


Today is Sunday, and I enjoyed my day off. In the morning, I went with Katie to mass at the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception. It is a beautiful church. Standing above the altar is a unique painting of Jesus rising from the dead. It depicts a Christ who is seemingly angry, almost enraged, and muscular, ready to mete out justice: one who demands his due since He paid his dues. This is a picture of Jesus that is hardly seen. It is a beautiful and thought-provoking work of art.


In the afternoon, Rob T, Kim, and I went to the hallowed and holy grounds of Gettysburg. One can almost cut with a knife the atmosphere of pain and suffering, of loss and demoralization, of the human stain tattooed on those fields of that American “band of brothers” fighting, to the death, against each other. You can even envision those bodies piled one upon the other--“And pile them high at Gettysburg / I am the grass. / I cover all.” (Sandburg, “Grass”). It has been a day I will never forget. I brought some rocks back from Gettysburg! And what’s up with that small Texas monument at Gettysburg? Come on Lone Star State!


July 16, 2012


            The third week of the Teaching Shakespeare Institute began with our study of Othello. Mike Witmore, the director of the Folger Shakespeare Library, gave an interesting lecture in the morning. He raised the issue that Othello is the story of someone who hears the lies he wants to hear, the lies he can, ultimately, not resist. These are lies he seems to wish were true, lies which seem to commune so well with his body and spirit that he finds it very hard to extricate himself from their power. This argument asks an interesting question of us. Can we, as human beings, resist the power of the irresistible lie? Some form of the irresistible lie exists for each of us-- tailored and crafted to every individual’s needs, wants, worries, fears, and concerns. Personally, I have succumbed to that power in my life (while I probably still believe that particular lie).


            Donna Denizé and Louisa Newlin gave an absolutely amazing talk on Othello in the afternoon. Donna reminded us that Othello is the inexperienced lover, not quite sure how to handle love, not quite sure how to love, and not quite sure how to accept it. He loses control when he falls in love because he releases a fragile vulnerability. In fact, Denizé states that Othello and Desdemona have a spiritual love, a love which is above sexuality, and in the end, perhaps Othello feels, deep down within, that he does not deserve Desdemona in the first place. After all, Othello wooed Desdemona with “his honors and his valiant parts.” Iago recognizes Othello’s flaw, his inborn incredulity, and feeds on it, like a maggot on an open wound.



July 17, 2012


            Eight more days to go after today. Where has the time gone? I’m so busy that I have a funny feeling the remainder of this week and next week will fly by. Plus, I’m ready to go home. DC is great, a wonderful, cosmopolitan city, but it’s not where I belong, although this experience has really changed my life, and I have made a bunch of new friends, and everyone I have met and spent time with is great in his or her own way. There is a great quote from W. Somerset Maugham in The Moon and Sixpence about knowing not only where your home is, but where one belongs:


I have an idea that some men are born out of their due place. Accident has cast them amid certain surroundings, but they have always a nostalgia for a home they know not. They are strangers in their birthplace, and the leafy lanes they have known from childhood or the populous streets in which they have played, remain but a place of passage. They may spend their whole lives aliens among their kindred and remain aloof among the only scenes they have ever known. Perhaps it is this sense of strangeness that sends men far and wide in the search for something permanent, to which they may attach themselves. Perhaps some deep-rooted atavism urges the wanderer back to lands which his ancestors left in the dim beginnings of history. Sometimes a man hits upon a place to which he mysteriously feels that he belongs. Here is the home he sought, and he will settle amid scenes that he has never seen before, among men he has never known, as though they were familiar to him from his birth. Here at last he finds rest.


Maybe San Anto, Tejas is my place of rest.


Today in discussion with Stephen Dickey we delved into a study of Iago. It seems Iago is indeed truthful, although he picks and chooses what truths to tell. The comparison was brought up between Iago and the devil (the serpent) while Othello and Desdemona are the Adam and Eve archetypes. Othello and Desdemona seem to carry a pristine innocence within, much like Adam and Eve. Yet, I still have to question the innocence of Othello. This character, this man, is a warrior. He has killed people, and he has ordered people to be killed. At his core, he is a soldier. I question his innocence, his inexperience. He has been in “battles,” “sieges,” “hair-breadth scapes,” “sold to slavery.” He is Theseus, he is Perseus, he is Hercules. He is the mythological figure who has seemingly seen it all. So how can he fail so miserably in his marriage to Desdemona? Is it some intrinsic flaw, some recognition of character, of truth, that won’t allow him to love and all Iago has to do is make this truth evident to Othello? Is this why Verdi referred to Iago as “The Truth?” Iago’s piecemeal rendition of the essence of Othello, an essence of being Othello can’t even seem to delineate for himself, the verities of his being, seemingly result in Othello’s downfall. In short, Iago holds up the mirror to Othello’s nature, and the Moor only has to follow, naturally, along.


We also embarked on a discussion of the handkerchief. This article of cloth ties into my argument. I argue that the handkerchief, an instrument, a vessel, of cleanliness, since its main purpose is meant to “clean,” is a symbol of Othello’s attempt to clean himself, through the pristine angelic innocence of Desdemona, of egregious errors to his soul. What these errors are is up to debate. In other words, the handkerchief is emblematic of Othello’s attempt to gain not a divine redemption, but a human one. Desdemona can redeem Othello. Once she misplaces it, Othello loses his chance at any redemption, and like any warrior off the field of battle, like Odysseus floating amongst the winds of the gods, he flounders, and ultimately, fails.