Wednesday, 25 May 2016

Poetry is honey for the soul (2) - William Shakespeare (and Olga)

           Poetry is honey for the soul

Today, we skip back in time. This is a privilege to go back and forth in poetry! From a contemporary American poet to a 16th/17th British poet. THE British poet, would some say. The poet or ONE OF THE poets, Anyway, I do not think Shakespeare needs an introduction. But, yet, there is a twist here again.

Olga offers us her choice of the 130th sonnet
as read by Alan Rickman.

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun; Coral is far more red than her lips' red; If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun; If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head. I have seen roses damask, red and white, But no such roses see I in her cheeks; And in some perfumes is there more delight Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks. I love to hear her speak, yet well I know That music hath a far more pleasing sound; I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground: And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare As any she belied with false compare.
And what would we have to leave Shakespeare and Dowland?
In memoriam Alan Rickman:
poetry, music and voices.

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