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!
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.
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.
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