One of my favorites...

Keeping Things Whole

In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.

We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.

-Mark Strand

A Quick Non-Parisian Interlude

I just read this poem for the first time. I hate prefaces, so I'll let it do it's own talking...
____________________________________

The Pruned Tree

As a torn paper might seal up its side,
Or a streak of water stitch itself to silk,
And disappear, my wound has been my healing,
And I am made more beautiful by losses.
See the flat water in the distance nodding
Approval, the light that fell in love with statues,
Seeing me alive, turn its motion toward me.

Shorn, I rejoice in what was taken from me.

What can the moonlight do with my new shape
But trace and retrace its miracle of order?
I stand, waiting for the strange reaction
Of insects who knew me in my larger self,
Unkempt in a naturalness I did not love.
Even the dog's voice rings with a new echo,
And all the little leaves I shed are singing,
Singing to the mood of shapely newness.
Somewhere what I lost I hope is springing
To life again. The roofs, astonished by me,
Are taking new bearings in the night, the owl
Is crying for a further wisdom, the lilac
Putting forth its strongest scent to find me.
Butterflies, like snails in grooves, are winging
Out of the water to wash me, wash me.

Now I am stirring like a seed in China.

-Howard Moss

Holidays in Winter

Because I love the holidays and always hope for snow...
_____________________________

Snow flakes.

I counted till they danced so
Their slippers leaped the town,
And then I took a pencil
To note the rebels down.
And then they grew so jolly
I did resign the prig,
And ten of my stately toes
Are marshalled for a jig!

-Emily Dickinson

_____________________________

The Snow Fairy

I
Throughout the afternoon I watched them there,
Snow-fairies falling, falling from the sky,
Whirling fantastic in the misty air,
Contending fierce for space supremacy,
And they flew down a mightier force at night,
As though in heaven there was revolt and riot,
And they, frail things had taken panic flight
Down to the calm earth seeking peace and quiet.
I went to bed and rose at early dawn
To see them huddled together in a heap,
Each merged into the other upon the lawn,
Worn out by the sharp struggle, fast asleep.
The sun shone brightly on them half the day,
By night they stealthily had stol'n away.

II
And suddenly my thoughts then turned to you
Who came to me upon a winter's night,
When snow-sprited round my attic window flew,
Your hair disheveled, eyes aglow with light.
My heart was like the weather when you came,
The wanton winds were blowing loud and long;
But you, with joy and passion all aflame,
You danced and sang a lilting summer song.
I made room for you in my little bed,
Took covers from the closet fresh and warm,
A downful pillow for your scented head,
And lay down with you resting in my arm.
You went with Dawn. You left me ere the day,
The lonely actor of a dreamy play.

-Claude McKay

_____________________________

The Faun Sees Snow for the First Time

Zeus,
Brazen-thunder-hurler,
Cloud-whirler, son-of-Kronos,
Send vengeance on these Oreads
Who strew
Wihte froned flecks of mist and cloud
Over the blown trees and the tufted grass
Of the meadows, where the stream
Runs black through shining banks
Of bluish white.

Zeus,
Are the halls of heaven broken up
That you flake down upong
Feather-strips of marble?

Dis and Styx!
When I stamp my hoof
The frozen-cloud-specks jam into the cleft
So that I reel upon two slippery points...

Fool, to stand there cursing
When I might be running!

-Richard Aldington

_____________________________

Snow Day

Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,
its white flag waving over everything,
the landscape vanished,
not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,
and beyond these windows

the government buildings smothered,
schools and libraries buried, the post office lost
under the noiseless drift,
the paths of trains softly blocked,
the world fallen under this falling.

In a while I will put on some boots
and step out like someone walking in water,
and the dog will porpoise through the drifts,
and I will shake a laden branch,
sending a cold shower down on us both.

But for now I am a willing prisoner in this house,
a sympathizer with the anarchic cause of snow.
I will make a pot of tea
and listen to the plastic radio on the counter,
as glas as anyone to hear the news

that the Kiddie Corner School is closed,
the Ding-Dong School, closed,
the All Aboard Children's School, closed,
the Hi-Ho Nursery School, closed,
along with--some will be delighted to hear--

the Toadstool School, the Little School,
Little Sparrows Nursery School,
Little Stars Pre-School, Peas-and-Carrots Day School,
the Tom Thumb Child Center, all closed,
and--clap you hands--the Peanuts Play School.

So this is where the children hide all day.
These are the nests where they letter and draw,
where they put on their bright miniature jackets,
all darting and climbing and sliding,
all but the few girls whispering by the fence.

And now I am listening hard
in the grandiose silence of the snow,
trying to hear what those three girls are plotting,
what riot is afoot,
which small queen is about to be brought down.

-Billy Collins

_____________________________

The Snow Man

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

-Wallace Stevens

Let's Hear It for the Bad Guys

Othello's Iago is considered one of the greatest literary villains of all time. I cannot disagree. He is conniving, manipulative, and ruthless, and Shakespeare was the master of scripting villains. So often today we see archetypal characters who seem to have emerged whole and evil into this world. They revel in their malevolence. They are wicked for the sake of being wicked. They are essentially sociopaths. But Shakespeare's villains are more than pure evil; they are also human. Their actions may horrify, but they do not exist in a vacuum. The following is a list of some of Shakespeare's greatest offenders.

Shylock
The Merchant of Venice
Shylock may demand "a pound of flesh" as payment when Antonio defaults on his loan, but he commands some compassion from the audience as a Jew living in a very anti-Semitic Venice. His status as a sympathetic character continues to be debated, but, as always, the answer lies in the text. Shylock's lament regarding the treatment of Jews speaks for itself.
          If you prick us, do we not bleed?
          If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you
          poison us, do we not die?" 
          -Shylock 3.1.64-66

Shylock threatening to cut "a pound of flesh" from Antonio

Don John
Much Ado About Nothing
Like Shylock, Don John appears in one of Shakespeare's comedies, and therefore his evil nature is tempered by the overall tone of the play. As an illegitimate bastard, Don John is jealous of his legitimate, half-brother Don Pedro. He tells Claudio that Don Pedro (who is trying to court Hero on Claudio's behalf) is actually courting Hero himself. He later manages to trick Claudio into thinking that Hero is sleeping with Borachio which leads to Claudio jilting her at the altar, Hero's death being faked, Claudio vowing to marry her cousin, Don John fleeing the city, the cousin revealing herself to be the much-alive Hero, the two marrying, and Don John being captured.
                                             It must not be
          Denied but I am a plan-dealing villain.
          -Don John 1.3.26-27

Don John gloating at Claudio and Hero's failed wedding

Brutus and Cassius
Julius Caesar
Brutus is perhaps one of the most famous villains in history. I knew "Et tu, Brute?" long before I had read the play. His name connotes deception and betrayal, but Brutus kills Caesar out of a misguided belief that Caesar's ambition will ruin Rome. He contemplates the repercussions of allowing Caesar to be named king and commanding unbridled power. Brutus's answer is to "think [Caesar] as a serpent egg/ Which hatched, would, as his kind, grow mischievous,/ And kill him in his shell." (2.1.33-36)
The true villain of the play is Cassius. He is the mastermind of the plot to assassinate Caesar and manipulates the noble Brutus.
          Well, Brutus, thou art noble. Yet I see
          Thy honorable mettle may be wrought
          From that it is disposed. Therefor it is meet
          That noble minds keep ever with their likes;
          For who so firm that cannot be seduced?
          -Cassius 1.2.320-324

The slain Caesar

Edmund
King Lear
Edmund is another bastard son, this time of the Earl of Gloucester. He is also jealous of his half-brother Edgar and succeeds in having him exiled. This jealousy spurs much of the action of the play. Edmund sleeps with the married sisters Regan and Goneril, shows no concern when his father's eyes are gouged out, and has his men strangle Cordelia which leads to her father, King Lear, dying of a broken heart.
          This is the excellent foppery of the world, that,
          When we are sick in fortune,--often the surfeit
          Of our own behavior,--we make guilty of our
          Disasters the sun, the moon, and the stars: as
          If we were villains by necessity
          -Edmund 1.2.132

Edmund conspiring with Regan

Duke of Cornwall
King Lear
The Duke of Cornwall is married to Regan. He schemes with her and with his sister-in-law Goneril to torture the sisters' father King Lear and the Earl of Gloucester. He takes particular delight when Gloucester's eyes are gouged out, shouting "Out vile jelly!/ Where is thy lustre now?" (3.7.85-86)

Earl of Gloucester's eyes being gouged out

Claudius
Hamlet
Claudius murders his brother, the king of Denmark, and marries his newly widowed sister-in-law Gertrude for the crown. The dead king's ghost appears to Caudius's nephew Prince Hamlet and insists Hamlet avenge his father's death. When Claudius realizes that Hamlet is on to him, he hires Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to murder Hamlet. When this plan backfires, Claudius schemes with Laertes--upset that Hamlet has accidentally killed his father Polonius--to have Laertes duel Hamlet with a poisoned sword. As a backup plan, Claudius poisons a cup of wine. This plan also backfires leaving Gertrude, Laertes, Hamlet, and Claudius all dead.
          Oh, my offence is rank. It smells to heaven.
          It hath the primal eldest curse upon 't,
          A brother's murder. Pray can I not.
          Though inclination be as sharp as will,
          My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent,
          And, like a man to double business bound,
          I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
          And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
          Were thicker than itself with brother's blood,--
          Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
          To wash it white as snow?
          -Claudius 3.3.37-47

Patrick Stewart as Claudius

Richard II
Richard II
King Richard is full of loathsome self-pity but has a serious Jesus complex. He mimics compassion while taxing the commoners and fining the nobles for their ancestor's crimes. Bolingbroke accuses Mowbray of murdering the Duke of Gloucester, though John of Gaunt believes Richard had ordered Mowbray to commit the crime. To solve this dispute, the two set to duel, but Richard, attempting to keep the truth from being known, banishes them both before they can fight, Mowbray for life and Bolingbroke for six years. Richard then seizes John of Gaunt's land and money when he dies, thus angering nobles because Richard uses the money to fund his war with Ireland. He is murdered in prison by Exton, a noble.
          No matter where. Of comfort no man speak:
          Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs;
          Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
          Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth;
          Let's choose executors, and talk of wills:
          And yet not so--for what can we bequeath
          Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
          -King Richard 3.2.155-161

Richard II, Shakespeare Theater Company, Washington, D.C.

Lady Macbeth and Macbeth
Lady Macbeth laments her husband's lack of ambition. She convinces him to commit regicide by killing King Duncan and has him drug and frame two guards for the murder, killing them before they can proclaim their innocence. After Duncan's death she appears much less in the play, but the guilt of her actions gets the best of her, and she descends into madness, eventually dying offstage of an apparent suicide. The best example of her villainous nature is the description she gives to goad Macbeth into keeping his promise to kill Duncan when he doubts the plan: she says that had she promised to do it, she would bash in the brains of a smiling baby feeding at her breast.
          I have given suck, and know
          How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me:
          I would, while it was smiling in my face,
         Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums,
         And dash'd the brains out, had I sworn as you
         Have done to this.
         -Lady Macbeth 1.7.54-59

Lady Macbeth before her suicide in the midst of her madness

Richard III
King Richard is an ugly hunchback. He is mean and morally vacuous. He bribes a soothsayer into claiming that his brother, King Edward IV, is an assassin, and he has Edward locked in the Tower of London and takes the throne. He has his two nephews, the sons of Edward, beheaded to keep them from claiming the crown. He cajoles Anne Neville into marrying him despite the fact that he has murdered her husband and father. He is at times both pathetic and arrogant, but he is never viewed as a sympathetic character. He is slain by Richmond at the battle of Bosworth Field.
          Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
          Devised at first to keep the strong in awe.
          Our strong arms be our conscience, swords our law.
          March on. Join bravely. Let us to it pell mell,
          If not to heaven, then hand in hand to hell.
         -Richard III 5.3.323-327

King Richard on his throne

Iago
Othello
Iago's villainy grows from his jealousy. Iago has served Othello loyally for many years, but Othello promotes Cassio over him. For this Iago vows revenge. He convinces Othello that his new wife Desdemona is cheating on him with Cassio. Othello believes his trusted friend and ignoring Desdemona who insists she is innocent, murders her and commits suicide. When Iago inadvertently kills his own wife, he barely notices. Iago completely lacks a conscience.
          I follow him [the Moor] to serve my turn upon him...
          In following him, I follow but myself;
          Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
          But seeming so, for my peculiar end:
          For when my outward action doth demonstrate
          The native act and figure of my heart
           In compliment extern, 'tis not long after
           But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
           For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.
          -Iago 1.1.42,58-65

Laurence Fishburne as Othello and Kenneth Branagh as Iago

Tamora
Titus Andronicus
Tamora, Queen of the Goths, scares me. Her malevolence is unparalleled, except perhaps by her lover Aaron the Moor whom she incites to exact her revenge on Titus Andronicus for sacrificing her son Alarbus to avenge his own sons' deaths during the ten year war against the Goths. Aaron's role in the play is described below. Tamora's most vile act occurs in the second act when her sons are about to rape and mutilate Titus's daughter Lavinia. Lavinia appeals to Tamora as a female to save her, but Tamora refuses and tells her sons that the more they hurt Lavinia, the more she loves them. They both rape her and then cut out her tongue and cut off her hands so she cannot identify them as her attackers. Brutal.
          Revenge it, as you love your mother's life,
          Or be ye not henceforth called my children...
          But when ye have the honey ye desire,
          Let not this wasp [Lavinia] outlive us both to sting...
          Away with her, and use her as you will,
          The worse for her, the better loved of me.
          -Tamora 2.3.14-15,31-32,166-167

Jessica Lange as Tamora

Aaron the Moor
Titus Andronicus
At Tamora's urging, Aaron convinces her surviving sons to kill Bassiano and to rape and mutilate Lavinia. He then frames Titus's sons for Bassiano's murder. When they are about to be executed, he tells Titus that his sons will be returned to him if he chops off his hand. Titus does so, and true to his word, Aaron returns his sons. However, they are returned without their bodies and with Titus's severed hand. When Aaron is sentenced to death by being buried to the chest and left to die of thirst and starvation, his only regret is that he wasted some days not raping, not thieving, not murdering. He tops my list as the worst Shakespearean villain and as top five literary villains of all time.
          Even now I curse the day,...
         Wherein I did not some notorious ill;
         As kill a man, or else devise his death;
         Ravish a maid, or plot the way to do it;
         Accuse some innocent, and forswear myself;
         Set deadly enmity between two friends;
         Make poor on barns and hay-stacks in the nights,
         And bid the owners quench them with their tears.
         Oft have I digg'd up dead men from their graves,
         And set them upright at their dear friends' doors,
         Even when their sorrows almost were forgot;
         And on their skins, as on the bark of trees,
        Have with my knife carved in Roman letters,
        Let not your sorrow die, though I am dead.
        Tut, I have done a thousand dreadful things
        As willingly as one would kill a fly;
        And nothing grieves me heartily indeed, 
        But that I cannot do ten thousand more.
        -Aaron 5.1.125-144

Harry Lennix as Aaron the Moor

The Moor of Venice

Othello has been sitting on my night table untouched for longer than I care to admit. I opened it again last night feeling that I needed something completely unlike Narnia, something grounded, a tragedy perhaps. I haven't read Othello since freshman year of college, and sadly, when I did, I speed through it the night before class. After teaching Shakespeare to high school students, I find myself wanting to go back through all the plays I read only well enough to pass exams and to give them the attention they deserve.

I cannot read Shakespeare without thinking about Julius Caesar and Macbeth. I recognize that this feeling may be influenced by having taught both plays. I've always found that teaching something is the best way to discover its secrets. Julius Caesar resonates for me because of its political insight. Antony's and Brutus's funeral speeches, Brutus's in particular, remain two of the most brilliant speeches I have ever read. They rival all the great speeches in cleverness and subtle manipulation. Modern politicians could learn a thing or two if they read fiction a bit more and spouted memorized bullet points a bit less. In a not so dissimilar vein, I come to Macbeth. This cautionary tale is renowned both for the Macbeths' ambition and for Lady Macbeth's subsequent madness. I love Macbeth's famous lines in Act V. He is despondent after Lady Macbeth's suicide and contemplates the nothingness of life. I like to think, however, that because we have only this "hour upon the stage", that "signifying nothing" or everything, we must make the best of it. I love what is said and what is left out. I love that maybe we can see what Macbeth cannot.

          To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
          Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
          To the last syllable of recorded time;
          And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
          The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
          Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
          That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
          And then is heard no more. It is a tale
          Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
          Signifying nothing.
                                             Macbeth, 5.5.19-28

So back to Othello. I return to the moor of Venice with these lessons in mind.