I read Hamlet a while ago, and though I hated Claudius–as he’s meant to be–I admire his way with words. It is quite an irony that such a vile character is also capable of such profound thoughts.
National Blog Posting Month – Day 22.
I’ll resume my novel with chapter 20 tomorrow.
Shakespeare is my love. And though I’ve read and enjoyed his sonnets, I had never managed to read his full plays. I read the abridged editions, yes, but the original was always beyond my ability.
An then, it changed. With some encouragement, I tried reading Hamlet — the full play. I loved every bit of it. By the time I finished reading it, I grew hungry for more.
It felt great to accomplish such a big feat and I will cherish the thrill forever. Here’s my victory: reading a complete Shakespeare play.
National Blog Posting Month – Day 15.
I’ve taken a break today from my schedule of publishing one chapter a day from my NaNoWriMo novel from two years ago. I’ll publish chapter 14 tomorrow.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been reading Shakespeare’s Hamlet. The original play in full. And it’s given me moments of solitary pleasure and bliss like none other.
A long time ago, I read a simplified version of the play, and I thought it was just too cinematical. It felt like watching an old movie with a plot that’s been beaten to boredom.
But when I read the play now, I realize how wrong I had been. The story isn’t new, yes, except that everything about it feels new. Shakespeare’s use of words, his insults, his puns and vivid descriptions make Hamlet such an interesting read.
And no one makes imaginary characters utter advice and words of wisdom like Shakespeare does. I’ve found a new respect towards the man. He’s The Man.
And here’s a little titbit.
“Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works”
Pure genius, huh? I know!
For a long time, people have believed that writing and marketing are two different entities.
Marketing is the art of selling stuff to people. And writing — well writing is just bleeding.
But we’ve also seen great writers shine as great marketeers too. And who else should I point out than the beloved Shakespeare himself? (or herself?!)
We know Shakespeare was a good writer. We also know — but don’t accept it — that he was one of the greatest marketeers in history.
I’m not exaggerating.
People have said for ages that good content sells itself. But people have said that for ages without realizing what it meant.
Shakespeare’s plays and sonnets became successful because they were good. But good as in, not with perfect grammar and flawless sentence structure. Shakespeare didn’t care for grammar rules; he took the license and brandished it with such fierceness in the face of the literary world. He violated every rule in the grammar book. He wrote dialogues in poetry, and invented words to suit his personal situations.
He played with spelling, he altered rules, he teased restrictions — but his works were good. And the state approved of them.
So how did Shakespeare manage to sell his “faulty” works to such a well-educated state — to what we now call the golden age of Literature?
Shakespeare cared naught for the templates. It didn’t matter what the rule book said, because he didn’t write for the rule book.
Shakespeare wrote for the people.
He wrote for the poor people, for the uneducated, for the drunk, for the sober, for men drunk with love and for the women behind tapestries.
And he wrote about people. He wrote about envious kings, doubtful husbands, about runaway lovers, of boy kings and tomboys.
Shakespeare wrote for the people.
His works spoke about being human. He created vulnerable stories, he spoke about the things that are in our minds all day. He spoke about sex, about money, about greed and passion. He spoke to our souls, to our inner most feelings. His words resonated with us, and we related to them.
And that’s why Shakespeare sparks excitement in us. And that’s why, even centuries later, you have to spend more than a handful to get your hands on Shakespeare’s works. If that doesn’t make him one of the greatest marketeers in history, I don’t know what does.
Oh, I miss those days,
when all that mattered
was the next class —
carrying a bulky book,
and caressing with a love
that none understood.
*
I miss that thrill —
of having the book open,
of reading a piece of prose —
or a poem — yes,
I’d like that — a poem.
*
A war poem, perhaps,
with a touch of sarcasm
and plenty pathos
oh, I’d love that; reading
analyzing, and discussing
the figures of speech and
reading between the lines —
decoding puzzling poetry.
*
I miss being awed
by the ceaseless Caesar,
and Brutus back stabbing;
the hair that be wires;
and the stunned disbelief
when love’s not love.
*
I miss those days —
of classroom revelations,
of shared appreciations
and new born respect —
oh, for god’s sake,
I meant for literature.
The Chaos Within 