“Our ears”. That’s the thing with Shakespeare, he was a playwright. I can still clearly remember the ah, ha! moment I had years ago when watching Ian McKellan perform the opening line to The Merchant of Venice, “In sooth, I know not why I am so sad,” several different ways in the now famous RSC Masterclasses on performing Shakespeare. Ten single words, not particularly special, difficult, provocative. But together, they can be filled with intention, action, reflection, motivation - they set the scene of a play filled with revenge, prejudice, love, friendship.
To hear those words spoken awoke in me an understanding I had never had before about Shakespeare - something never garnered from the required reading of Romeo and Juliet in high school, or the tasteless bribe by the teacher of watching the 70s R+J adaptation with its slight nudity. (It was definitely a misguided time in education when sex was being used to buy potential intellectual interest. Yuck!)
To this day, I rarely just read a Shakespeare play quietly in my head. The words are on the page to be spoken, performed. And of course that offers its own layer of fun - a gesture may give a different intention for the words spoken, a tone change makes a plea for forgiveness sincere or false. Performance permits interpretation and that is the gift that Shakespare’s words keep giving. He has not throttled the actor with the words, the words offer the opportunity of variety for the actor and the reader.
If Shakespeare were solely a playwright, our English language would still be rich with his gifts, his turn of phrases, his vocabulary, his plots and characters. Fortunately, and truly a gift of its own, Shakespare wrote his Sonnets. Structured jewels of perfection. Moments that touch the heart when read silently or aloud.
Oh I swoon! I’m not the first to say this, nor will I be the last, but the beauty of Shakespeare is that anyone can read it, on their own, at their own pace, and feel something, maybe they can’t put their finger on it, but something made a spark, something started. Perhaps the germination of appreciation for Shakespeare?
As I read more and more of the plays and poems from this “sweet swan of Avon”, enjoying the occasional chance to reread as well, I’m often overcome with awe. Not in some snooty, “oh! now I get Shakespeare and I’m so smart”, but in awe like how a child looks at a fish at the aquarium. An appreciation of nature, art, God even.
Happy Birthday Mr. William Shakespeare, you have made the world a richer place!