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Home :: Archive :: 2001 :: September ::
Re: Funeral Elegy
The Shakespeare Conference: SHK 12.2133  Friday, 7 September 2001

[1]     From:   Richard Kennedy <
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        Date:   Thursday, 06 Sep 2001 20:21:23 -0700
        Subj:   Re: Funeral Elegy

[2]     From:   Nancy Charlton <
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        Date:   Friday, 07 Sep 2001 00:13:45 -0700
        Subj:   Re: SHK 12.2114 Re: Funeral Elegy


[1]-----------------------------------------------------------------
From:           Richard Kennedy <
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Date:           Thursday, 06 Sep 2001 20:21:23 -0700
Subject:        Re: Funeral Elegy

Nathan writes that the people here should take a look at the Google
Groups archive to understand his name-calling.  Do so, and you will find
that Kathman has called me a "syphiletic monkey," and Nathan has called
me a "psychotic monkey,' amongst much other abuse.

But as to the sonnet he mentioned, here it is.  Some gentleman asked for
a sonnet to give his ladylove.  Shakespeare was suggested, also Marlow
and Neruda, and I wrote this:

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I've recently had need for a romantic poem myself, and couldn't find one
that quite fit the situation, so I had to write it myself.  It's as
well-constructed as any sonnet by Shakespeare, and more profound than
half of them.

  "If you could read my heart, as if a sheet
  Of singing ballads all in tuneful choir,
  The melody would nightingales defeat,
  Such hymns in praise of you my heart has fire.
  If you could read my mind as if a book,
  Of mystery and beauty would you read,
  Your churlish disposition let you look,
  And wonder such confusion that you breed.
  Of my desire, if you felt the force,
  Within your breast my suit you'd not eschew.
  Requited love, of nature, hath its course -
  We'd plight our troth with holy vows, then screw.
      The drought of age must come to all, so yield.
      The sweet rain patters; let me plow your field."

=========================================

Several people, and Nathan one of them, took the thing seriously.  One
poster went at it line for line, but of course it was a joke, and was
lifted from a chapter in a novel I'm writing about an adventure that
touches on the authorship question, a farce for all of us no matter what
we believe.  So I posted an attachment to explain the sonnet, Chapter 9
of the book I'm working on, as follows:


Chapter 9

        After the long night's toil at the small table, I slept late, shaved
late, checked out
and ate breakfast before going to the telegram office.  Bozart had
answered to my claim
of an "astounding discovery".

        GROUP BREAKING UP OVER SONNET 20.  WHAT DOES
        "MASTER-MISTRESS" MEAN?  YOU DISCOVERED WHAT?
        E-MAIL: 
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 .  BOZART.

        Good, I had his e-mail address.  Now for the next move.  A cyber caf

 

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