Column050 — May/June 2001 « POETICKS

Column050 — May/June 2001




The Appearance of a Selected Works by Me!



Small Press Review,
Volume 34, Numbers 5/6, May/June 2001




Xerolage, volumes 27, 28, 29 and 30. 2000-2001.
Edited by Miekal And and Lyx Ish aka Liz Was.
24 pp., each; Xexoxial Editions, Rt 1, Box 131,
LaFarge WI 54639. $5, ppd.

——————————————————————————–

In 1966, I self-published a book of some three dozen visual haiku that I re-self-published as a Runaway Spoon Press book in 1997. Other than that, I’ve not had a single collection of my visual poetry published until this year, just a week or so after my 60th birthday on Groundhog Day. While it is true that I have not been a prolific visual or any other kind of poet, I have had visual poems published in zines all over the world, and in several exhibitions, and there are Big Press reference books out there with entries on me as a visual poet.

So, it’s interestingly odd, I think, that it’s taken so long for a non- self-published book of my visual poetry to come out–but pretty par for the course in our still little-recognized off-road of poetry. It is also a Great Relief for me finally to get this particular collection out there, thanks to Miekal And and Lyx Ish, and their since-1985 super-series of 24-page Xerolages, each issue of which is devoted to one artist (or collaborative alliance of two or more artists) making significant use of copier technology. I’ve lauded this series before in this column so will only remind you now that among those who have had Xerolages devoted to their work are Bill DiMichele, Lloyd Dunn, Greg Evason, Malok, Ross Martin, Clemente Padin, Vittore Baroni, Marilyn Rosenberg, Ruggero Maggi, Bill Keith–and now, at around the same time that the issue with my work in it appeared (volume 30)–Jean-Francois Robic (volume 27), Carlyle Baker (volume 28) and Carla Bertola (volume 29).

Robic’s collection is of what I call visiocollagic poetry, a subset of visual poetry consisting of texts and visual images sharing pages but not fused. In Robic’s introductory words, he “mixed (his) family old pictures & historic events (especially about eastern & communisitc history), signs & words in all languages concerned by the images: french, russian, breton, spanish, german–so you need a dictionary to appreciate all the images’ meanings. It’s up to you to . . . connect signs, words, & images; to give them back a signification; your signification.” A lexicon, however, is provided for the very few words that are scattered through these classically xerolagically distorted, blurry, oriented-in-all-directions clusters of images. Even without the lexicon, though, an aesthcipeint’s flow into the pathos/ever-long-ago of the nations and families (metaphoring each other) of Robic’s sequence is practically automatic.

Baker’s collection almost entirely leaves the verbal, though it is saturatedly textual. It begins with an abc, each letter of which has several words or symbols next to it that start with it, eventually turning into a poem of sorts in the style of “dat damn dada” of the D entry. On the next page a piece of paper covered with horizontal slices of words and phrases flutters away from three blank pieces of paper toward the viewer to speak, barely, of such things as “thing,” “insight,” “the people,” “wide range” . . . Next to this is a page of coded material using little lines, dots, x’s and the like which the same sliced phrases and words from the previous page cross–and can now be seen to say, “Someone who is truly knowledgeable makes even the complex things seem simple,” and goes on to something about helping “the people” decide between “products and services.” From that point on, Baker’s sequence is a wordless meditation on language. It ends with an image of what seems to be the tower of Babel in ruins–with a very abstract dadaist sketch of some kind of Buckminster Fuller structure behind and above it that suggests to me something about the material’s evolution to the conceptual. Without space for twenty or thirty thousand more words to discuss this work, I can only say here that it is . . . fascinating.

The same is so much the case with Bertola’s collection of mostly textual visimages, too, that I will sneak away from my responsibilities as critic and just quote from Bertola’s brief introduction, in which she speaks of “dismembering or recreating” words to make signs/designs of them. “The voice,” she says, “breaks (them), throws (them) into the whirl of sound. The Xerox succeeds in twisting and reconstructing (them) in haunting sequence.” (Which is my impression of her work, too.) “At times,” she goes on, “my signs-words aren’t drawn with a pen but with a thread (wool, silk) and they create new writing to which the Xerox gives the look of very ancient or futuristic graffite. When the ‘subject’ is an image, for instance my face, the Xerox intervenes to give off the anguish and the grotesque with a language that the word couldn’t and doesn’t want to face.”

My own collection cheats a little by being more of visual poems than of the collages-via-Xerox that And coined the word, “xerolage,” to represent, but just about all of them, in spite of looking like poems rather than collages, consist of cut-out texts and graphic images pasted together and xeroxed (and, often, re- Xeroxed). As I somewhat ruefully confess in my one-page introduction, the 26 poems in the issue (which include a front- and a back-cover poem) represent almost my entire output over the years as a visual poet, aside from a few sequences, and my latest works in color. I feel very good about it, though: it represents me at my best as a visual poet. And it includes a few of those of my mathematical poems that are also visual poems.

Leave a Reply

Column009 — November 1994 « POETICKS

Column009 — November 1994

 
 
 

My Summer Vacation

 


Small Magazine Review, November 1994, Volume 2, Number 4
 


 

 
 
 
     Olla-podrida. Summer, 1994; 4 pp.;
     Florida’s Shame, Box 10375,
     Parker FL 32404. SASE.

     Blaster 288 pp.; 1994; Pa; Feh! Press,
     200 E. 10th Street New York NY 10003. $12.95.

     Meshuggah No. 10, June 1994; 56 pp.;
     200 E. 10th Street New York NY 10003. $2.

     End Time 299 pp.; 1994; Pa; AK Press,
     Box 40682, San Francisco CA 94140-0682. $8.

     Global Mail September–December 1994;
     8pp.; Box 597996, Chicago IL 60659. $2.50.


Jack Saunders, who will soon have written “100 books without selling a word to New York or Hollywood,” has a simple mode of operation: every day he sits at his computer for 37 hours or more and, like his hero Jack Kerouac, writes whatever comes into his head–which is mostly a defense of writing whatever comes into his head. Much of this is repetitious–but mythically so, and vastly reassuring to his fans (I’m proud to be one) who, my guess is, are similarly “marginal” writers who won’t give up in spite of NY and Hollywood, and are grateful to find Jack’s leaky but still somehow seaworthy dingy bobbing along with them no matter how many time zones left of the closest shipping lane they find themselves in.

A strictly plain-text prosist, Saunders is no experimental writer. I’m writing about him here, though, because he was one of the people I was supposed to meet this summer at Rev. Crowbar’s Big Schmooze, an event intended to celebrate the tenth anniversary of the reverend’s publishing house, Popular Reality–and the publication of Al Ackerman’s first full-length book, Blaster. This latter includes, by chance, a piece on Saunders that Ackerman wrote with the help of Trixie, the remarkable five-legged squirrel that Rev. Crowbar has trained to nibble exact replicas of Alexander Pope’s signature into the foreskins of any vug-Randolph who succeeds in getting through the body of Ethan Allen that John M. Bennett donated to the reverend as protection from said vug-Randolphs, who are large sentient beetles given to mimicking Saunders’s prose style and calling it poetry.

Forgive me, but as soon as I mentioned Ackerman, my case of acker-imitatis flared up yet again and I couldn’t help emitting the passage above (and this one). For further details on this malady, see the upcoming issue of Lost & Found Times, which is due out sometime early in 1917, assuming the vug-Randolphs don’t take advantage of the absence of Ethan Allen from editor Bennett’s study.

Ackerman is much funnier than my lame imitation might lead one to guess, incidentally. His forte is the hilarious but somehow sympathetic delineation of characters like the guy in “2197 Vienna Sausages” who, after months of being ignored by “a hefty blond” he dotes on, suddenly dreams up a sure-fire way to impress her: he will make an overcoat entirely out of vienna sausages.

It is instructive to compare Ackerman to such a (first-rate) knownstream humorist as Dave Barry: where Ackerman comes out ahead is in (1) daring to occasionally break out in passages like “I like people who turn up their nose at Helen when she was sick again. Not that the recovery was followed by a relapse, exactly, where too sick to travel thought winter fell in love with puffy skin”; (2) daring to offend, as in stories like the one about a boy’s visiting a convalescent home to meet FDR, who hadn’t died in office but lost his marbles, and FDR’s trying to embrace the boy while “at the same time asking (him) in a loud whisper if (he) had ever handled a trouser snake”; and (3) daring to reveal depth of culture–with references to figures like Thomas Merton, for example–instead of to the ephemera writers like Barry depend on, like whoever the present chief executive of the U.S. happens to be. In short, Ackerman is simply larger than such family-faring syndicatees as Barry–which means he’ll not likely have a sitcom based on his writings, but that his writings will make more of a splash a century from now than Barry’s are likely to.

Saunders, by the way, never made it to the Schmooze: one of his current broadsides (some of which he’s calling “Olla podrida”) details the financial disasters responsible for that (like losing his home, etc., because of all the money he’s put into self-publishing). He was sorely missed, but Ackerman showed up, and Bennett–and some guy named G.A. Matiasz whose SF/Oakland-based early 21st-century thriller called End Time I’m currently in the middle of and finding not only highly professional but intelligent, a rare combination in fiction. It’s fun-reading, too! Simeon Stylites, publisher of, among other things, Blaster and the zine, Meshuggah (whose “special religion issue” includes this quote from Tammy Faye Bakker: “I take Him shopping with me. I say, ‘OK, Jesus, help me find a bargain.’”–but which also includes serious material, such as a little-known essay on Christianity by Robinson Jeffers) was on three occasions sighted lurking in one of the 42 corners of the Crowbar mansion, and Ashley Parker Owens showed up one afternoon and passed out copies of her dizzyingly thorough “listing” (400+ entries from 39 countries) of “all kinds of art projects, collaborations, and mail art events,” Global Mail. Dang, so many more people and publications to mention, but I’ve run out of space. Guess I’ll have to continue this next time.

Leave a Reply

Column075 — March/April 2006 « POETICKS

Column075 — March/April 2006



Internet Report

 


Small Press Review,
Volume 38, Numbers 3 & 4, March-April 2006




Big Bridge. Edited by Michael Rothenberg. Website: www.bigbridge.org/toc.htm.

Improvisations.
Vernon Frazer. 697pp; 2005; Pa;
Beneath the Underground,
568 Brittany L, Delray Beach FL 33446. $45.

po-X-cetera. Webmaster: Bob Grumman.
Website: comprepoetica.com/newblog/Index.html.

.


 

A few minutes before I started this column, I premiered a new section in my blog’s new home page called the “Quarreling with Morons Section.” My blog gets little traffic, but today drew someone who took umbrage at my calling prose poetry “ridiculously unchallenging to write.” Said he: “You play with Microsoft Paint, call your wasted half-hour’s junk a poem, and dare to say that prose poems are easy to write? Nice.

A few days previously, someone else, or maybe the same moron, took a shot at me, informing me that “Sylvia Plath never did the math, nor the meth which is what you must be smoking to think this is poetry.” Although this person didn’t say, it would seem he was referring to one of my mathematical poems, or maybe to all of them. The problem with crap like this, which you see all over the Internet, and taking up most of the space in any magazine’s “letters to the editors” section, is not the opinions expressed, but the stupidity of the way the opinions are expressed. It would seem that the vast majority of readers are only able to say yes or no to something (and the aye-sayers are just as irritating in this respect as the nay-sayers). It has never crossed their minds that it’s not that they are for or against something that matters, but what they can marshal in support of their view.

Despite the frequency of trolls, as they are called, the Internet is becoming increasingly valuable by the day. Evidence new to me of this is the literary e.zine–oops, make that “webzine”–Big Bridge. I was startled to find out it has been around since late in 1997. I learned about it my usual way–by being asked to submit something to it. The end-result of that was a section in the zine containing work of eight minimalist infraverbal poets, with my commentary. Here’s what I wrong about it in my blog:

“This issue of Big Bridge has a huge amount of poetry-related stuff, including what looks to be a Major Autobiographical Essay (possibly book-length), by Karl Young. A few years ago, I often thought while gabbing on the phone with Karl that he had to write up what he was telling me about his life, for he was much more into the American Literary Scene of the late sixties and on than I was, and seemed to know more about it than anyone. He’s begun doing this, most ambitiously (so far as I know) in his Big Bridge piece, the full title of which is ‘Some Volumes of Poetry: A Retrospective of Publication Work by Karl Young.’ It has a wonderful–visual poem, I’d call it–on its ‘cover page.’ Following that is a fascinating introduction to what is going to be a continuing Big Bridge series about Karl’s life in publishing. Each chapter of it will cover some group of books he’s published, and their authors. (Note: I later learned it will get into many other literary subjects, as well. More on that in future columns, no doubt.)

“My impression from reading these first chapters of Karl’s is that they will include much purely personal material. I’m all for that. Mainly, however, they will help cement a number of worthy poets (such as d.a. levy) into their rightful place in literary history. There’s some irony in this, for Karl has long argued that many of the poets he will be writing about have been victims of rival factions hoping to disappear them, and succeeding. He is most excellent disproving himself. For this, much thanks is due the editor-in-chief of Big Bridge, Michael Rothenberg, for getting him to do so.

“I’d give Big Bridge an A+ for Karl’s contribution alone, but–yipes–I just now discovered it has my ‘Arithmepoetic Portrait of Blue’ in it, too! That is part of a set of 3 pieces from the latest Spore that its editor, Crag Hill, no doubt told me would be in the issue but I forgot about. It looks pretty good to me! Accompanying it are Donna Kuhn’s solitextual (i.e., ‘solely textual’) ‘loquacious talky,’ with ‘lefthanded voice’ among its dotty deftnesses, and Andrew Topel’s also dotty, also fine, ‘The Shape of My Thoughts 3,’ which I’d call an (excitingly) illustrated poem but probably everyone else in my poetry circles would call a visual poem. I’m listed as a ‘contributing editor,” too, which I didn’t expect. That should be no big deal but I have to admit that it makes me feel important–or, I should say, less unimportant.

“Big Bridge also has work from fairly well-known poets like Michael McClure, Joanne Kyger, Clark Coolige and Jerome Rothenberg, and there’s a section devoted to Tom Clark. It has some fiction and reviews, as well. Among the reviews are a group devoted to the recent work of Vernon Frazer, prominently including Improvisations, a thick large volume (1.5″ by 11″ by 8.5″) I got gifted with, one of the grand perks of being a Famous Reviewer.” It was (to add to what I said at my blog, and segue into a discussion of Improvisations) nice to see that one of the five discussions of Frazer, Dan Waber’s, of Frazer’s Avenue Noir, was not entirely positive, although much more so than not–not because I like poets to be dinged but because I don’t like cheering sections–as I may have made clear earlier in this column. . . . Jonathan Penton does an especially entertaining and informative review of Frazer’s magnum opus, the aforementioned Improvisations. Read it! An interview of Frazer also in the section is worth reading, too. In it, Frazer mentions Kerouac. Kerouac is at the heart of Improvisations, though the latter is much more cerebral and impersonal than Kerouac ever was. Impersonal in the sense of not concerned much with human relationships, etc. Here’s a randomly-chosen fragment from it: “a relayed flexure eat opprobrium and its formulaic textured mosaic.” Here’s one (of many) that boinked me (i.e. had a favorable effect on me): “pyramids against an archer’s sky.” The work starts with “I,” “I,” “IS” and “(by ear, sd Gloucester & I repeat” to give it an earned spring out of Olson/Pound. It is polyphonic, and typographically unconventional by mainstream standards. I don’t find its visio-poetic effects at the highest level, though–as a graphic artist here, Frazer is too Druckerianly rectilinear–that is, his text is generally laid out, as in the work of Johanna Drucker, like industrially-planned cities rather than wibble-wobbling into the high organisms that his best writing becomes.

I believe Frazer is probably less well-known even than I, so I am buoyed to find such a nice large section of a fairly widely-read publication’s being devoted to him. As I keep saying, the Internet will be the saviour of all us infra-marginals–thanks to people like Rothenberg and the others behind Big Bridge–and the great amount of space it can cheaply give to non-names.

Leave a Reply

Chapter Three « POETICKS

Chapter Three

SHAKESPEARE, THE ACTOR/POET

The next plank in my detailed case for Shakespeare has to do with the question of whether or not anyone named William Shakespeare was an actor.

William Shakespeare, Actor

The London-based acting company variously known as the Lord Chamberlain’s Men (1594-96, 1597-1603), Lord Hunsdon’s Men (1596-97), and the King’s Men (1603-42) was responsible for the premieres of almost all of the Shakespearean plays. The evidence that establishes that some William Shakespeare not only was an actor, but was a prominent member of this company, is as follows, in chronological order:

(1) A record of 15 March 1595 indicates that the Treasurer of the Queen’s Chamber paid “William Kempe William Shakespeare & Richarde Burbage servants to the Lord Chamberleyne” for performances at court in Greenwich on 26 and 27 December (St. Stephen’s Day & Innocent’s Day) of the previous year. This is not the strongest evidence that a William Shakespeare was an actor, but puts him prominently with the right organization at the right time to have been one—in the company of two known actors.

(2) Next, we have an indenture that was drawn up 21 February 1599 for the Southwark property on which the Globe playhouse was erected. Though the land was owned by Sir Thomas Brend, his son Nicholas was the agent in the transaction that resulted in seven of the Lord Chamberlain’s Men’s becoming share-holders in the playhouse itself. The indenture states that half of the shares were divided among William Shakespeare, William Kempe, John Heminges, Augustine Phillips and Thomas Pope, while the other half went to the brothers Richard and Cuthbert Burbage. Only one share-holder was known not to be an actor, Cuthbert Burbage, and there are extant records verifying his being a theatrical entrepreneur of a kind none of the others was known to have been. Ergo: a strong if not explicit record for a William Shakespeare’s having been an actor.

(3) When Sir Thomas Brend died not long afterward, the post-mortem inventory of his property made on 16 May 1599 included his Bankside plot on which was “Una domo de novo edificata . . . in occupacione Willielmi Shakespeare et aliorum” (“a house [actually the Globe Theatre] newly built . . . in the occupation of William Shakespeare and others.”) Interesting that Shakespeare is the only one named on this document as occupying (or whatever that may mean if not oiterally occupying) the new home of the Lord Chamberlain’s Men—which, if it doesn’t make him an actor, certainly makes him an important theatrical personage.

(4) The first piece of direct evidence that a William Shakespeare was an actor (rather than someone associated with a company of actors but not necessarily an actor himself) is the record previously mentioned from the heralds’ office (which exists only in a copy made before 1700). It consists of a sketch of the Shakespeare coat of arms with the notation, “Shakespear ye Player/ by Garter,” the latter reference being to the Garter King of Arms, William Dethick, who granted the Shakespeares their coat of arms. At the time, Brooke was attacking Dethick for awarding coats of arms to undeserving families—such as a fishmonger’s and—in this case—one with an actor in it. Whatever we make of this document, it does establish that the Herald, Ralph Brooke, who was almost certainly responsible for the original (in 1601 or 1602), considered somebody named Shakespeare an actor. I will return to this record in much greater detail in a later chapter, one whose purpose is to show that the actor/poet William Shakespeare was the William Shakespeare born in Stratford, which this record helps confirm.

(5) The fifth piece of pertinent evidence is weaker: it is an entry of circa 1602 in John Manningham’s diary. Manningham has heard that during a performance of Richard III, “Shakespeare” had found out about a female admirer of Richard Burbage whom Burbage had invited to meet with him later; Shakespeare got there first and when Burbage showed up, knocked at the door and had a servant announce him as “Richard III,” Shakespeare sent back word that “William the Conquerer was before Richard III.” This indicates that some William Shakespeare was, in the public eye, intimately associated with Richard Burbage.

(6) Next is a Royal Warrant for a Patent and the Patent itself (19 May 1603) licensing the company of actors, “Laurence Fletcher, William Shakespeare, Richard Burbage, Augustine Phillipes, John Hemmings, Henrie Condell, William Sly, Robert Armyn, Richard Cowly and the rest of their associates” as the King’s Servants. Like most of the records so far, this one does not prove that the Shakespeare named was an actor (he could have been merely a prop man or something), but strongly suggests it, particularly as (a) all the others on the list were known to have been actors, and (b) he was listed in the second spot on the list, which meant he was considered the second most important person on it, such lists generally being hierarchical back then. (The man first on the list, Lawrence Fletcher, had acted for King James in Scotland, according to one record; apparently he joined the troupe upon James’s ascension, and was given high status for being a favorite of James’s.)

(7) Closely connected to the preceding record is the account of Sir George Home, Master of the Great Wardrobe, listing the names of “Players” who were given four yards of red cloth apiece for the investiture of King James in London on 15 March 1604. Here a William Shakespeare is named first among the same members of the company as before—making the document the strongest explicit record stating that a William Shakespeare was a . . . player.

(8) A little later, Augustine Phillips of the King’s Men died. In his will, executed 5 May 1605, proved 16 May 1605, he bequeathed “to my Fellowe William Shakespeare a thirty shillings peece in gould, To my Fellowe Henry Condell one other thirty shillinge peece in gould . . . To my Fellowe Lawrence Fletcher twenty shillings in gould, To my Fellowe Robert Armyne twenty shillings in gould . . . .” All of those besides Shakespeare whom Phillips characterizes as his “fellows” were actors in the King’s Men.

(9) That same year John Davies of Hereford’s The Civil Warres of Death and Fortune was published. Among its lines were the following:

          Some folled her by acting all mens parts     Stage Players            These on a Stage she rais’d (in scorne) to fall:            And made them Mirrors, by their acting Arts,            Wherin men saw their faults, though ne’r so small:            Yet soome she guerdond not, to their desarts;    W.S. R.B.            But, othersome, were but ill-actioned all:            Who while they acted ill, ill staid behinde,            (By custome of their maners) in their minde.

So: a poem by Davies concerning an actor W.S. whom he associated with an “R.B.” Later we’ll see that in another of Davies’s poems he refers to a W.S. and an R.B. who act—this time mentioning W.S.’s poetry. That a W.S. is mentioned but not a William Shakespeare makes this inarguably a weak piece of evidence, by itself, that some William Shakespeare was an actor, but it is evidence of that nonetheless. However, the fact that Davies twice uses W.S. and R.S. together in poems and, the second time he does so, makes it plain that Shakespeare and Burbage are meant, makes this first W.S./R.B set almost certainly a reference to Shakespeare and Burbage–as actors.

(10) Davies wrote in another poem (c. 1611):

          To Our English Terence, Mr Will. Shake-speare              Some say (good Will), which I, in sport, do sing,            Hadst thou not played some Kingly parts in sport,            Thou hadst been a companion for a King;            And been a King among the meaner sort.            Some others rail; but, rail as they think fit,            Thou hast no railing, but, a reigning Wit:            And honesty thou sowst, which they do reap;            So, to increase their stock which they do keep.

I think referring to a man’s playing a king in sport is pretty direct evidence that the man was an actor.

(11) A 1613 record (“Item, 31 Martii 1613 to Mr. Shakespeare in gold about my Lord’s impresa xlivs. To Richard Burbage for painting and making it, in gold xlivs.”) is further evidence that some William Shakespeare was an actor, albeit only circumstantial since the “Shakspeare” here not only is not identified as an actor but may have been some other Shakespeare, such as John Shakespeare, the royal bitmaker Charlotte Stopes turned up in her researches. But Burbage and Shakespeare were associated together too many times for it to be likely that here Burbage was for the first and apparently only time associated with some other Shakespeare, who happened to be working up some kind of clever/arty picture/motto combination of just the kind that Shakespeare the writer imaged so often in his plays and that Burbage would have had the talent to paint. So I count the association of the two fair evidence for a William Shakespeare’s having been an actor.

HLAS participant Rob Zigler agrees. In a post to someone arguing the contrary, he says, “To put it bluntly, the idea that the payee was not William Shakespeare is ridiculous. The fee was exactly split between Richard Burbage and Mr. Shakespeare, so we’re looking for people who are likely to have been partners. I’m sure that you’ve noticed that William Shakespeare appears in a number of documents as a partner with Richard Burbage. I’m also fairly sure that you’ve also noticed that John Shakespeare, the royal bitmaker doesn’t show up anywhere else partnered with Richard Burbage. It’s been quite a while since I’ve read what Stopes had to say, but my recollection is that John Shakespeare makes pretty frequent appearances in the accounts of the King and assorted nobles and I see that E.K. Chambers says that he doesn’t start appearing in those accounts until 1617. . . . Here’s yet another reason why Stopes idea doesn’t make any sense. Impresa shields were small and made out of pasteboard, so why would the construction process call for a man who made bits and spurs? What could he have done that would have been worth the relatively grand sum of 44 shillings?

“Actually, we know perfectly well what Mr. Shakespeare was being paid for. The task of creating an impresa shield can be logically divided into two parts; the design and the construction. The Rutland account tells us that Richard Burbage made and painted the shield, so the construction of the shield is entirely accounted for. That leaves only the design. Needless to say, designing a tournament impresa is something we know that poets sometimes did. (Jonson wrote an epigram in which he complained that he had not yet been paid for ‘a gulling imprese for you at tilt’.)

“If we knew nothing at all about Mr. Shakespeare outside of this document, we’d assume that he was probably some sort of poet. . . . Therefore, the Rutland document should count as part of a ‘personal literary paper trail’ connecting Will Shakespeare to the profession of writing.”  (Although I present it merely to show, again, that Shakespeare had a long-term relationship with an actor which strong suggests he, too, was an actor.)

(12) Then there are the records of a 1615 suit by Heminges’s daughter against her father which includes a William Shakespeare with other members of her father’s company as a shareholder in both the Blackfriars’ and Globe playhouses.

(13) Ironically, the next piece of evidence was discovered by an anti-Stratfordian researcher, Paul Altrocchi. It’s a Latin annotation in a copy of the 1590 edition of Camden’s Remains: “et Guglielmo Shakespear Roscio plane nostro.” Whoever wrote it was commenting on something Camden wrote about how Stratford is known entirely because of John of Stratford, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Hugh Clopton, the magistrate of London, its two “foster sons,” as Camden termed then in the Latin of his book. The aim of the annotation, which Alan Nelson translates as “and to William Shakespeare, our very own Roscius,” is clearly to credit Shakespeare with being a third eminent foster son of Stratford, for the word for “foster sons“ (“alumnis”) in Camden is underlined. Since Roscius was a famous Roman actor, the annotation is direct testimony that Shakespeare was an actor. Nelson believes (but isn’t positive) that the handwriting is that of the man who wrote his name in the book as its owner, Richard Hunt, who was vicar of Itchington from around 1620 until (probably) whenever he died; hence the annotation probably dates from between 1620-1650. This is late evidence but from a man born in 1596, give or take a year (according to his college record), so was a contemporary of Shakespeare’s. It thus should count as strong direct evidence for Shakespeare’s having been an actor.

(14) Two further pieces of direct evidence for the existence of the actor, William Shakespeare, are in the 1616 Folio of Ben Jonson’s Works, which contains cast lists for his plays. The cast list for Every Man in His Humor, performed in 1598, includes “Will Shakespeare, Aug. Philips, Hen. Condel, Will. Slye, Will. Kempe, Ric. Burbadge, Ioh. Hemings, Tho. Pope, Chr. Beeston, and Ioh. Duke.” Once again, incidentally, Shakespeare is listed first among his fellows. The cast list for Sejanus, performed in 1603, includes “Ric. Burbadge, Aug. Philips, Will. Sly, Ioh. Lowin, Will. Shake-Speare, Ioh. Hemings, Hen. Condel, and Alex. Cooke.”

(15) Then there is Shakespeare’s will in which he leaves money for rings to three of his “fellowes,” all of whom are documented actors.

(16) In 1623, a William Shakespeare was listed as an actor in the First Folio collection of plays by “William Shakespeare.”

(17) Finally, there is the (direct) evidence of Cuthbert Burbage’s answer in 1635 to a petition in which he declares that he and his brother Richard purchased the lease of the Blackfriars theatre in 1608, in partnership with “men Players, which were Heminges, Condell, Shakspeare, etc.” (Note the spelling of this Shakespeare, by the way.) No question here but that this Shakespeare was an actor.

(16) Hardly worth adding except to be as complete as possible is the fact that various records indicate that a William Shakespeare lived in or near the theatre district for many years. This is the weakest of corroborating evidence for his having been an actor—but still corroborating evidence. It includes notes in the London municipal tax-collectors’ records and the Langley Writ, which details a quarrel in or around the theatre districts of London that Shakespeare got entangled in. At least one of the others named in the writ was involved in the theatre business, I might add.

At this point I believe I have established beyond reasonable doubt that someone named William Shakespeare was an actor with the Lord Chamberlain’s Company and the two companies that company became,one after the other.  I have not established that William Shakespeare, the actor, was also William Shakespeare , the poet.  Of course, the existence of two William Shakespeares who were members of the same acting company, one acting in it, the other writing plays for it, would be a rather unusual coincidence. If that were the case, it seems highly unlikely that no record anywhere would distinguish one from the other. Surely, the First Folio, for instance, would have indicated that the Shakespeare whose name is in the list of actors was not the author. Ergo, it is necessary to find evidence that cancels this possibility. There isn’t much of it, but it seems to me well sufficient.

William Shakespeare, Actor/Poet

Perhaps the most famous—certainly the most discussed—piece of evidence that the writer Shakespeare was an actor is a letter to three playwrights that was part of the notorious pamphlet, Greenes Groatsworth of Wit, which was published in 1592. In a letter quoted in this book, its author warned three of his fellow playwrights not to trust actors, “for there is an upstart Crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his Tygers hart wrapt in a Players hyde, supposes he is as well able to bumbast out a blanke verse as the best of you : and being an absolute Johannes fac totum, is in his owne conceit the onely Shake-scene in a countrie.” The first passage in italics is a quotation (as indicated by its being italicized), though with one word changed (“womans” to “Players”); it is taken from Shakespeare’s 3 Henry VI, which was first published in the First Folio in 1623, but was almost certainly performed before 1592. The line’s belonging to Shakespeare coupled with the pun on his name, “Shake-scene,” make it near-unarguable that the Crow is Shakespeare.

The rest of the passage makes it near-unarguable that this Crow is both actor (since he has a player’s hide, and is introduced to indicate why actors can’t be trusted) and playwright ( because he is using his line from 3 Henry VI in competition with three playwrights). That he is spoken of as an upstart in 1592, around when Shakespeare of Stratford would have been starting out as a playwright strengthens the identification of this actor/poet with the Stratford man.

Unsurprisingly, the anti-Stratfordians have mounted a varied and woolly attack on The Groatsworth. Little of it makes much sense, but I’ve covered most of it in an essay I’ve written that’s on the Internet (at /essay-on-greenes-groatsworth-of-wit/. Also there is an essay of mine there (at on Henry Chettle’s preface to Kind-Harts Dreame (at /chettle%e2%80%99s-testimony-regarding-shakespeare/), which directly relates to the Groatsworth, and–I argue—corroborates it.

(2) The second piece of evidence firmly to establish Shakespeare as both actor and playwright by name is from a series of three anonymous plays performed at Cambridge between 1598 or so and 1601 or so called The Pilgrimage to Parnassus, The Return from Parnassus (Part 1), and The Return from Parnassus (Part 2), or the Parnassus Plays. The last of these is most pertinent here because one of its characters directly discusses Shakespeare as a playwright and actor. The character is Will Kempe, in real life a renowned player of comic roles for Shakespeare’s company. In the play he says, “Few of the vniuersity men pen plaies well, they smell too much of that writer Ovid, and that writer Metamorphoses, and talke too much of Proserpina & Iuppiter.  Why heres our fellow Shakespeare puts them all downe, I (aye) and Ben Jonson too . . .”

To me, the passage is pretty straight-forward. Kempe is depicted as a low-brow who mistakes a poem’s title for a poet’s name (but who is sufficiently cultured to at least have heard of Ovid, Proserpina and the rest). He claims that his fellow actor, Shakespeare (whose name is here spelled identically to its appearance at the end of the dedications to Shakespeare’s narrative poems), has substantially excelled (a main meaning of “put down”) the university playwrights, and shown Ben Jonson a trick or two as well. On the surface, then, “Kempe” unequivocably identifies Shakespeare, elsewhere in the Parnassus plays identified as a poet, and here outdoing playwrights and therefore himself a playwright, with the actor from the sticks, “our fellow.” Since “Kempe’s” Shakespeare was not a university man, he–of course–was not Oxford, Marlowe or Bacon.

(3) There is also the following poem, earlier mentioned, by John Davies of Hereford from his Microcosmos (1603):

          Players, I love yee, and your Qualitie,            As ye are Men, that pass time not abus’d:            And some I love for painting, poesie        W.S. R.B.            And say fell fortune cannot be excus’d,            That hath for better uses you refused:            Wit, Courage, good shape, good partes and all goode,            As long as all these goods are no worse us’d,            And though the stage doth staine pure gentle bloode            Yet generous yee are in minde and moode.

This has two marginal notes besides the one with the initials: “Simonides saith, that painting is a dumb Poesy, & Poesy a speaking painting” and “Roscius was said for his excellency in his quality, to be only worthy to come on the stage, and for his honesty to be more worthy then to come thereon (‘then’ being almost certainly a form of ‘than’).”

Like the previous lines quoted from Davies, these seem clearly to speak of the “Players” Richard Burbage (R.B.) and William Shakespeare (W.S), as—respectively—a painter and a poet, Thomas Middleton having written that Burbage was “excellent both player and painter” and all sorts of documents confirming that someone named William Shakespeare was a poet.

(4) Here, again, is the poem by Davies about Shakespeare as “Our English Terence”:

          To Our English Terence, Mr Will. Shake-speare              Some say (good Will). which I, in sport, do sing,            Hadst thou not played some Kingly parts in sport,            Thou hadst been a companion for a King;            And been a King among the meaner sort.            Some others rail; but, rail as they think fit,            Thou hast no railing, but, a reigning Wit:            And honesty thou sowst, which they do reap;            So, to increase their stock which they do keep.

To start with, Davies describes Shakespeare as a dramatist, as Terence was. Then, in line two of his poem, he says that Shakespeare had played some “Kingly parts in sport.” To “play a part” is, of course, what actors do. He did this “in sport,” as Davies writes his poem, which surely indicates that he played the “Kingly parts” as an artist—that is, his playing the parts in sport emphasizes his actions as those of an actor. Strongly supporting this is another of Davies’s “epigrams.” It is to the actor Robert Armin who acted in Shakespeare’s company, and is believed to have played the fools in Shakespeare’s plays after 1599. In it, Davies says of Armin that he “in sport . . . wisely play(s) the fool.” Elsewhere in the poem Davies makes it unambiguous that he considers Armin a player.

(5) Next, there is the First Folio’s introduction by John Heminges and Henry Condell. In it, they say, “We have but collected (his plays), and done an office to the dead, to procure his Orphanes, Guardians: without ambition either of selfe-profit, or fame: onely to keepe the memory of so worthy a Friend, & Fellow alive, as was our SHAKESPEARE, by humble offer of his playes, to your most noble patronage.” Heminges and Condell were actors; therefore, their calling the author, Shake-speare, their fellow, is eye-witness testimony that he, too, was an actor.

(6) Also in the First Folio is a poem by Leonard Digges which commences, “Shake-speare, at length thy pious fellowes (the actors Heminges and Condell) giue/ The world thy Workes . . .” Again, a person who was around at the time and almost certainly knew the people involved testifies that Shakespeare the poet was an actor.

(7) One other poem in the First Folio suggests that Shakespeare the writer was also Shakespeare the actor: Jonson’s eulogy. In it, Jonson speaks of calling up antiquity’s most illustrious playwrights “to heare (Shakespeare’s) Buskin tread,/ And shake a stage,” and goes on to refer to when Shakespeare’s “Sockes were on.” A “buskin” is a kind of boot worn by actors during the performance of tragedies, a “sock” a light slipper worn by actors when performing comedies. I should add, for fairness’s sake, that Jonson was probably using these images figuratively since the context makes it plain that he is calling the ancient poets up to observe the plays of Shakespeare, not Shakespeare’s acting. However, the poem does give Shakespeare actors’ footwear, so at least implies he had something to do with acting.

(8) Then, finally, we have in the 1640 edition of Shakespeare’s Poems the anonymous “An Elegie on the death of that famous Writer and Actor, M. William Shakespeare” (which must have been written before 1637, since it speaks of Ben Jonson, who died in 1637, in the present tense).

It is pretty plain, by now, I think, that William Shakespeare the actor was the same man as William Shakespeare the poet. Many anti-Stratfordians agree to that. What they won’t agree to is that William Shakespeare the actor/poet was William Shakespeare of Stratford-upon-Avon. For them, no references to the former mean much because they don’t include his address or otherwise “really” identify him. It matters not a jot to them that almost no reference to a writer of the time (or any time) identifies that writer with more than his name, except when there are two writers known to have shared a name such as John Davies of Hereford (c.1565 – 1618) and Sir John Davies (1569 – 1626). Ergo, we can’t rule out the possibility that the Stratford man’s sharing the name of the actor/poet is not the result of a bizarre coincidence, part of some kind of intricate conspiracy, or a combination of the two. Ergo, I will need another chapter to put this identity of the two beyond reasonable doubt.

Next Chapter here.
 .

Leave a Reply

Column 112 — July/August 2012 « POETICKS

Column 112 — July/August 2012

 

The Otherstream 19 Years Ago, Part 2

 


Small Press Review,
Volume 44, Numbers 7/8, July/August 2012


Poeticks.com, Webmaster: Bob Grumman http://www.poeticks.com/bob-grummans-small-press-review-columns/june-1993


I’m pleased that you’re reading my column, whoever you are, but–wow–would I love it if you would let me know what you think of it.  You could do it with an anonymous (or signed) post to my blog, address above, or to me at [email protected].  Sorry to pester you like this, but in the almost twenty years I’ve been doing this column, I think only one person neither a friend or relative of mine has ever written me or Small Press Review about it.  I truly believe I could improve the column if I had some kind of idea what people want from it–aside from consideration of their own poems and publications.

One question in particular I’d like feedback on is an idea I’ve been considering: doing some interviews of other people in the world of poetry.  Whom would you like an interview of most, if I started interviewing?  What would you like to know about the interviewee?  Would you yourself like me to interview you?

I have lots of other things I’d like to find out from you, but I think it’s time for me to get into my main topic, which is again a trip into the past.  In my last column, I wrote about my first SPR column; in this one, I’ll breeze through my next three.

The first of these three was about two zines that should by now be on English majors’ required reading lists, or at least on their lists of recommended outside reading.  I doubt either means anything to anyone but those who had poems in them, if even to them, however.  I’m speakng of stained paper archive, #1 April, 1993, edited by Gustave Morin, and Found Street, #2 Spring, 1993, edited by Larry Tomoyasu.

In my column I went into detail about several of the pieces in stained paper archive.  Sample: “one piece, by Greg Evason, features the image of a fork without its handle–but, isolated (and black), it takes on eerie tooth-resonances (sharp black teeth going up, blunt white ones descending), and hints of archaeology, with its emphasis on bone-fragments.  It also suggests something of the power of Motherwell’s imagery.  Sharing the page with the fork is the near-word, ‘nife.’”

In what I wrote abut Found Street I highlighted two minimalist pieces by Brooks Roddan.  One consisted of the bar code, price and other commercial data dot-matrixed onto the record jacket of a recording of a Bach standard (“the Goldberg Variations”) by Glenn Gould.  Its title said it all: “The Genius of Glenn Gould.”  Roddan’s other piece was even simpler: just an upright black rectangle.  But, from its title, “Rebellion,” we know that the rectangle is also an I, isolated from the many but squarely, resolutely, and broad-shoulderedly committed to its cause.  I make a point of mentioning Roddan because he’s one more highly talented artist I wrote about once, then (apparently) never again.

Tomoyasu himself contributes a fine full-color cover drawing called “End Art,” in which a Shahnesque man is shown running out of a mixture of music-score and verbal text with a grandfather-clock/coffin under one arm.  Elsewhere in the issue is a typical Tomoyasu illuscriptation consisting of the words “Jesus Door” and the image of an upside-down headless doll.  There are many other intriguing works in this issue of Found Street, including a droll pair of cartoon faces (or awkward mittens, or cow udders, or who-knows-what) by well-known mail artist, Ray Johnson; the two faces or whatever are identical except that one is labeled, “Ray Johnson,” the other “Jasper Johns.”

I spent all of my third column on John M. Bennett’s Lost & Found Times, #31.  Along the way I got into a discussion of “the many difficult-seeming poems in the issue.  Some of these seem dada for the sake of being dada, and I sympathize with those who would reject them out of hand.  But I’m not convinced that any of them is dada only.  What they have that such poems lack are two or more of the following: (1) flow; (2) an archetypal hum;  (3) a wide range of vocabulary and imagery; and (4) a low cliche-to-fresh-phraseology ratio.  By ‘flow’ I mean mostly such old-fashioned qualities as rhythm and melodiousness; by ‘archetypal hum’ I mean intimations of some large universal archetype like Spring, Ocean, or the Mating Instinct.

Take, for instance, the very first poem in LAFT, Michael Dec’s, ‘Fish Nut.’  Its first two lines, ‘A bicycle in paradise – blue vinyl boots a fluorescent ceiling/ nails popping out,’ indicate a level beyond raw dada.  It at least flirts with archetypality (due to the reference to paradise), and it flows pleasantly through b-sounds, l-sounds, s-sounds.  It’s without either cliches or unusually fresh phraseology but its vocabulary and imagery start vivid and widen as the poem continues–and it eventually makes sense as an evocation of Macbethan futility, its final two lines being, ‘The tomorrow and tomorrow/ Think yrself into a corner.’”  As I look back on this, I don’t know how persuasive I was, but I tried!  At the very least, I showed a way of experiencing a poem that can be productive.

Nice to find I also wrote up a collage by Malok that was in LAFT. Twenty years later I’m happy to say he’s still active . . . but unhappy to add that he’s still ridiculously unknown.

My fourth column was taken up entirely with Core: A symposium on Contemporary Visual Poetry, a collection of responses by 60 visual poets to a questionnaire sent by John Byrum and Crag Hill to 200 visual poets throughout the world.  I’m pleased to report that almost all of those answering the questionnaire, like Karl Kempton, Guy R. Beining, Jake Berry, Kathy Ernst, Geof Huth, Richard Kostelanetz, are still active.

My favorite answers were by Andrew Russ, who–under a pseudonym–defined poetry as a capital I, and visual poetry as a dotted capital I, then answered the rest of the questionnaire with various arrangements of i’s–and eyes.

Sad to say, Core seems not to have had much effect. It will one day be considered an important resource for scholars when they finally tire of writing about long-dead poets and their clones.

.

Leave a Reply

Column042 — January/February 2000 « POETICKS

Column042 — January/February 2000



The Arrival of The New Millennium



Small Press Review,
Volume 32, Numbers 1/2, January/February 2000




Three-Element Stories, by Richard Kostelanetz.
224 pp (with matter on one side of a page only);
Archae Editions, Box 444, Prince St.,
New York NY 10012-0008. $?, ppd.

Koja, #2, Fall 1998; edited by Mikhail Magazinnik.
60 pp; 7314 21st Ave., Brooklyn NY 11204.
Website: http://www.monkeyfish.com/koja. $12/2 issues.

Mailer Leaves Ham, by John M. Bennett.
159 pp; Pantograph Press Box 9643, Berkeley CA 94709. $9.95.

 


 

This column is entering the third millenium 20 July 1999. I’m not excited. Incidentally, for you fans of writer’s block, mine had me for the past two days: I had a headache most of the first day for some reason, then impulsively decided to rest the next although I felt okay. All this after I’d done a column-a-day for two straight days. I suspect that my guilt over not having said anything of value during that streak was to blame. I’m too puritanically work-ethicky (lots of Presbyterians back to the 1600’s on my mother’s side of the family) to be able for very long to just wing it in my writing. So, to make sure this installment of my column is up there with The New York Times and PBS for Admirable Content, here’s the interior blurb I had in John M. Bennett’s recent Mailer Leaves Ham:

weighs off) course blub (garden spasm) downs me unblurbable MAILER LEAVES HAM unblurs him’s jugular rep’ dance by-pissing (salt cerebrum ((sifty eye ups “bulb” tops like’s at// you Jackson’s priesty, of chorus, deeps (of all, achieving more craft-extending major poetry in a single volume than there are hints of major poetry in any fifty of the craft-rehashing books the Literary Establishment has for twenty-five years been ignoring Bennett’s work in favor of

Others blurbed there, too: Jim Leftwich, Sheila E. Murphy, Peter Ganick, Al Ackerman, F. A. Nettlebeck and Bennett, himself. All seemed spot on (except, needless to say, Bennett, in spite of all my instruction). Here’s Leftwich: “We read within a narrative of visual noise.” Ackerman: “. . . a wholly original and unmistakable voice steers right through your hair’s big dog drool pool ped, and no more important book of poems will appear this year, actually.” (Ackerman, of course, knew that Knopf had rescheduled mine and C. Mulrooney’s collection, The Sorrow of Commaless Spittoons for Spring 2007.)

Ganick: “. . . daring neologisms, dangling parentheses and quotation-marks, strange vizpo transductions of renaissance texts with ancient woodcuts, and his finely tuned blocks of poetry/prose.” Murphy: “. . . transromantic moments via repetition, fractal shifts, and concentrated stutterance . . . allowing very physical renditions of affection that distill the hearing space from mid-stream frequencies singing fluids of the body to full flower.” Nettlebeck: “. . . the true word warrior in a field of the intermediate and scared.” Bennett (who isn’t entirely in the dark about it all, some of my instruction having taken hold): “(My) body is what is in organic contact with all that is and my writing is an attempt to know that all; to create it. Thus the reversal, concentric, and inside-out structures of these poems, the multiple simultaneous ‘meanings’.”

The first five lines of my blurb took off from one of Bennett’s poems, with many of his words kept in, but I’m no longer sure which poem. It was a serious prank, as, I believe, are many of Bennett’s poems–i.e., Bennett’s work is not without a sense of humor about the world and itself. Its aim was twofold: to describe my attempt to fashion a blurb and to list some of what I’ve found, or think I’ve found, in Bennett, to wit: (1) punnery like “weighs off” for “way off” course (versus the opposite of “off course,” “of course”); (2) the lyric in combat with the anti-lyric (“garden spasm”); (3) Murphy’s “fractal shifts” as from “blub” to “unblurbable” to “unblurs” to “bulb,” which also plays off of (4) Bennett’s cyclicity, the early “blub” becoming the later “bulb,” and off of (5) his occasional coarse slanginess at expressing primal humanness (e.g., “blubbing”)–which returns us to (2), the anti-lyrical “blub” become the flower-or-light-related “bulb”; (6) a lot more I’d better not get into because I still owe some words to the two Richard Kostelanetz books, and the magazine, Koja, that I promised last installment to discuss here. One last clue, though: “Jackson” is Jackson Pollock and Jackson, Michigan, where I and Bennett and Ackerman met each other in person for the first time. Oh, and kudos to Pantograph which, with Mailer Leaves Ham and titles by people like Ivan Arguelles, Susan Smith Nash and Jack Foley, all deserving to be on any sane list of this century’s leading poets, has pretty clearly become the leading otherstream publisher in this country.

Now to Kostelanetz. His Three-Element Stories consists of three-word (or equivalent) stories, their elements scattered across the page in resonantly reader-editable disarray, among them the lyrical “abroad/ afar/ anon . . .” and the doubly minimalist, “A/ J/ R”; his other book, for which I have no publisher or price, so didn’t list at the top, is called Tran(i/s)mations, with its “i” super-imposed on its first “s.” It works the word-game in which a word is changed into other words, a letter at a time. One such sequence goes through over thirty such changes to get amusingly from “zoo” to “men” (but, oops, has at least one typo, and at least one duplicated word).

Koja has on its cover a wonderful sur-fractal nude male by Igor Satanovsky that is also suggestive of reaching fingers. Inside, a droll visual poem by Irving Weiss, “The Trojan Horse,” in which a giant A is depicted with all kinds of tiny lower-case letters partly sticking out of it, appropriately introduces the magazine’s contents. Also within are “Playboy Dream for 1995/January-December/,” a list of women’s measurements in various-sized letters by Mike Magazinnik that looks like a model’s hour-glass figure; and an absurdist short story, “The First Newton Law,” by Alex Galper, which ends after its hero, a high school physics teacher, has made an unruly boy recite Newton’s laws to the class while the teacher sodomizes him. We leave the teacher contentedly musing on how unforgettable he has made Newton’s first law to the class: “A good teacher could really make a difference. He really liked his job.” Koja is an uneven mix but wide-ranging, and definitely up-and-coming.

 

Leave a Reply

Personal Literary Evidence for Shakespeare « POETICKS

Personal Literary Evidence for Shakespeare

The Literary Evidence from Shakespeare’s Lifetime Identifying Him as an Author

Anti-Stratfordians are notorious for wanting to know “why no one ever called Shakespeare a writer until he’d been dead for seven years.” The latest to do so in a book (at the time of this writing) is Diana Price, who presents a subtle version of the question in her Shakespeare’s
Unorthodox Biography
. She phrases the question thus: why have we no contemporaneous personal literary evidence (CPLE) that Shakespeare was a writer? She then surveys the literary evidence concerning him and 24 other writers of the time, dividing it into “personal” (by no unambiguous definition she has been willing explicitly to state) and “impersonal.” Result: she has found some of the former for each of her 25 subjects but Shakespeare. She seems not to have convinced any real scholars of the usefulness of her discovery, but has gotten her fellow rejectors pretty excited, so I thought I ought to present a sane overview of the evidence for Shakespeare from his lifetime. I divide it among the following nine groupings.

(A) Literary Evidence from Shakespeare’s Lifetime That Is Beyond Reasonable Doubt Personal

(B) Literary Evidence from Shakespeare’s Lifetime That Is Almost Certainly Personal

(C) Literary Evidence from Shakespeare’s Lifetime That Is Probably Personal

(D) Literary Evidence from Shakespeare’s Lifetime Slightly More Likely Than Not To Be Personal

(E) Literary Evidence from Shakespeare’s Lifetime Equally Likely to Be Personal or Not Personal

(F) Literary Evidence from Shakespeare’s Lifetime Slightly More Likely Than Not Not To Be Personal

(G) Literary Evidence That Is Probably Not Personal

(H) Literary Evidence from Shakespeare’s Lifetime That Is Almost Certainly Not Personal

(I) Literary Evidence from Shakespeare’s Lifetime That Is Beyond Reasonable Doubt Not Personal

Any fair-minded anti-Stratfordian, and there are a few, will have to admit that such a division is more revealing, if less propagandistically effective, than the simple black&white personal/ impersonal one that Price uses. Not all the evidence is so easily classified of as she pretends.

I also differ from Price in that I use “personal” to mean “testimony by someone who can be shown beyond reasonable doubt to have personally known the person he is testifying about.” Price misuses the term to mean only “testimony by someone who states as he gives it that he personally knows the person he is testifying about.” (I should add that she is not fastidious about sticking to this definition when it suits her agenda not to.) All that concerns her is explicitly personal vidence, a category of just about no value except to propagandists. I
also specify that I am concerned with evidence from the lifetime of the alleged writer concerned only instead of fudging things so I can use evidence from after his death when convenient, as she does.

(A) Literary Evidence from Shakespeare’s Lifetime That Is Beyond Reasonable Doubt Personal

I found no evidence for Shakespeare that I feel belongs in this category, for it is for only the most unarguably certain evidence a writer could leave behind, such as signed, holographic manuscripts, or letters in the hand of an alleged writer concerning his writing, with no evidence extant against their identification as his.. I would admit a some of the evidence Diana Price has found for other playwrights of Shakespeare’s time.

There is no such evidence for a substantial minority of the 24 writers in Price’s study, and only scraps for almost all the rest, just about none having left behind more than one complete manuscript copy of a play, for instance, and only a few leaving behind so much as one
complete manuscript copy of a play.

(B) Literary Evidence That Is Almost Certainly Personal from Shakespeare’s Lifetime

(1)    the dedication to Venus and Adonis, 1593

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD. RIGHT HONORABLE, I KNOW not how I shall offend in dedicating my unpolished lines to your lordship, nor how the world will censure me for choosing so strong a prop to support so weak a burden only, if your honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour. But if the first heir of my invention prove deformed, I shall be sorry it had so noble a god-father, and never after ear so barren a land, for fear it yield me still so bad a harvest. I leave it to your honourable survey, and your honour to your heart’s content; which I wish may always answer your own wish and the world’s hopeful expectation.

Your honour’s in all duty,
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

(a) Here we have a dedication in which William Shakespeare personally states that he wrote the poem, Venus and Adonis. One can argue that he didn’t really write it, but one can use that argument against any record someone claims is personal literary evidence for some author. Aside from that, a false or mistaken personal record is still a personal record.

(b) This dedication is also the testimony of its publisher, Richard Field, that William Shakespeare wrote Venus and Adonis. Since it is near certain that Field personally know William Shakespeare, because (to repeat): (i) their fathers knew each other, Shakespeare’s father having appraised Richard’s father’s inventory sometime around 1590; (ii) Richard and William were from the same small town of some 1500 to 2000 inhabitants, and close enough in age that they would have gone to the same one-classroom school together; (iii) both had literary interests, even if we assume William was only an actor; and (iv) William had a character in Cymbeline, needing a false name, use the pseudonym Richard du Champ, French for “Richard Field.”

(c) Several other writers left records stating that William Shakespeare wrote Venus and Adonis, and no good evidence that he did not write both it and its dedication.

(2)    dedication to The Rape of Lucrece

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLY, Earl of Southampton, and Baron of Tichfield. The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end; whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours; what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would show greater; meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with all happiness.

Your lordship’s in all duty,
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

This dedication, published in 1594, is personal literary evidence from his lifetime not only for the same three reasons Shakespeare’s dedication to Venus and Adonis is, but for a subtle third reason: it includes implicitly but near-certainly the personal testimony for Shakespeare of a third witness. It states the Shakespeare had a “warrant” from Southampton, which most reasonable people take to have been patronage, won by Venus and Adonis. That Southampton
liked that poem is close to unarguable because Shakespeare had said in his first dedication that he would not compose a second poem if Southampton did not like the first, and here we have a second poem from him.

Whatever the “warrant” was, though, Shakespeare got it, and it had to be delivered to him. One would think Southampton himself personally gave it to him, but even if not—as  anti-Stratfordians argue—someone had to give Shakespeare—as a writer—the warrant in person. In other words, either Southampton recognized Shakespeare in person as a writer or his go-between did.

(3)    Francis Meres’s Testimony

Meres (1598): “As the soul of Euphorbus was thought to live in Pythagoras: so the sweete wittie soul of Ovid lives in mellifluous and honey-tongued Shakespeare, witness his Venus and Adonis, his Lucrece, his sugared Sonnets among his private friends, etc.”

How would Meres know about the sonnets among Shakespeare’s private friends without being a private friend himself—or by knowing a private friend who was thus a go-between personally recognizing Shakespeare as a poet the way the deliverer of the warrant in (b) was?

(4) Sir George Buc’s Testimony (which I found out about from Alan Nelson)

The Folger Shakespeare Library copy of George a Greene contains an annotation in the hand of George Buc (1560-1622), who was Master of the Revels from 1610 to 1622:

Written by ………… a minister, who ac[ted] the pin{n}ers part in it himself. Teste W. Shakespea[re] Ergo, George Buc knew Shakespeare personally, which makes the following Stationers Register entry of Nov. 26, 1607 almost-certainly  personal literary evidence from Shake- speare’s lifetime that he was a writer: “26 Novembris. Nathanial Butter John Busby. Entred for their Copie under thandes of Sir George Buck knight and Thwardens A booke called. Master William Shakespeare his historye of Kinge Lear, as yt was played before the Kinges maiestie at Whitehall vppon Sainct Stephens night at Christmas Last, by his maiesties servantes playinge vsually at the Globe on the Banksyde vjd.”

(5) Thomas Heywood’s Testimony

The following, by Thomas Heywood is from “Epistle to the printer after An Apology for Actors” (1612): “Here likewise, I must necessarily insert a manifest injury done me in that worke, by taking the two Epistles of Paris to Helen, and Helen to Paris, and printing them in a lesse volume, vnder the name of another, which may put the world in opinion I might steale them from him; and hee to doe himselfe right, hath since published them in his owne name: but as I must acknowledge my lines not worthy his patronage, vnder whom he hath publisht them, so the Author I know much offended with M. *Jaggard* that (altogether vnknowne to him) presumed to make so bold with his name.”

The work Heywood is referring to is Jaggard’s 1612 edition of The Passionate Pilgrim, a collection of poems, the title page of which said it was by William Shakespeare, but which contained poems known or thought to be by others, including the two poems by Heywood that
Heywood gives the titles of, which were in Heywood’s Troia Britannica (1609).

Because the anti-Stratfordians have had trouble reading it (Diana Price, for instance, claims on pages 130 and 131 of her book that the passage’s “wording is dense, filled with troublesome pronouns” and therefore can’t count as evidence for Shakespeare), let me repeat it,
accompanied by my paraphrase (in caps).

Here likewise, I must necessarily insert a manifest injury done me in

I FEEL I MUST TELL YOU HOW I WAS HARMED IN

that work, by taking the two Epistles of Paris to Helen, and Helen to

THAT VOLUME BY THE INCLUSION IN IT OF TWO OF MY POEMS (WHICH I NAME)

Paris, and printing them in a less volume, under the name of another,

AND PRINTING THEM IN A LESS SIGNIFICANT VOLUME ATTRIBUTED TO SOMEONE ELSE

which may put the world in opinion I might steal them from him; and he

AN ACT WHICH MAY MAKE IT LOOK TO EVERYONE LIKE I STOLE THE POEMS FROM THAT OTHER PERSON AND HE

to do himself right, hath since published them in his own name: but as

TO INDICATE THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER HAS SINCE PRINTED THEM AS HIS, BUT SINCE

I must acknowledge my lines not worthy his patronage, under whom he

I AM COMPELLED TO ADMIT THAT MY POEMS ARE NOT GOOD ENOUGH TO BE GIVEN SOME SORT OF REWARD, BACKED, OR THE LIKE, BY THAT OTHER PERSON, WHOSE NAME JAGGARD

(Note: “patronage” to modern ears, is a bit dense as a figure of speech, and the “he” that refers to Jaggard is sloppily used, but not so sloppily as to prevent any reasonable person from figuring out its referent, or for any other reading of the passage to work)

hath published them, so the Author I know much offended with M.

HAS PUBLISHED THEM UNDER. THE WRITER WHOSE NAME WAS SO USED HAS, I KNOW, BECOME VERY ANNOYED AS A RESULT WITH MR.

Jaggard (that altogether un known to him) presumed to make so bold

JAGGARD (WHO WITHOUT THE WRITER’S KNOWLEDGE) AUDACIOUSLY MADE FREE

with his name. These, and the like dishonesties I know you to be clear

WITH THE NAME OF THAT WRITER. I’M SURE YOU COULD NOT BE GUILTY OF SUCH KINDS OF UNETHICAL BEHAVIOR

of; and I could wish but to be the happy Author of so worthy a work as

AND IT WOULD PLEASE ME IF ONLY I WERE THE FORTUNATE WRITER OF A WORK GOOD ENOUGH TO

I could willingly commit to your care and workmanship.

TURN OVER TO YOU (THE PRINTER THIS TEXT IS ADDRESSED TO).

This passage is as clear as anything written back then (and no anti-Stratfordian at HLAS has shown where my paraphrase gets it wrong). To say it is too ambiguous to count as a personal reference to Shakespeare is ridiculous, if not insane. Heywood in effect names him, for only Shakespeare’s name is on The *Passionate Pilgrim*; he calls him an author, and reveals personal information about him. That he knew him personally is corroborated by a later poem Heywood wrote in which he said that Shakespeare was not haughty, and known to all as just “Will.”  Even if you decide Heywood did not personally know Will, he had to have gotten his information about him from someone who did know him personally and that he was upset with Jaggard’s misuse of his name.

(C) Literary Evidence That Is Probably Personal from Shakespeare’s Lifetime

(1) Greene’s Testimony

The author of Greenes Groatsworth of Witte (1592), whether Robert Greene, as I believe, or Henry Chettle, as others do, states that William Shakespeare, the actor, was a playwright (since he is said to conceitedly believe that one of his lines makes him as good a composer of blank verse as Christopher Marlowe and two other playwriting associates of Greene’s).  (See my essay on the Groatsworth for details.) That Greene (or whoever it was who was calling himself Greene) not only knows of this actor and that he was writing plays (or parts of plays), but pronounces him conceited, and a jack-of-all trades with some certainty strongly suggests that Greene personally knew him—as does Greene’s centrality in the London writing trade, just about everyone in which he seemed to know. But Shakespeare is only identified by his acting vocation, authorship of a line from Henry VI, Part 3 (said to be his in the First Folio and not attributed to anyone else anywhere else), and the nonce term, “Shake-scene,” to refer to Shakespeare, not explicitly. Hence, I put it in this category rather than into B.

(2) Henry Chettle’s Testimony

I contend that in his preface to Kind-Harts Dreame (1592), Henry Chettle identifies Shakespeare as a playwright he has met in person and found to be a swell guy. He doesn’t give this playwright’s name, but in speaking of him, he is clearly speaking of the Crow of Greenes
Groatsworth of Wit
(i.e., Shakespeare), for he is apologizing for offensive statements in the Groatsworth that could only have been directed at the Crow, the only one insulted therein who was an actor, or—for that matter—had both an art and a vocation.

(3) John Davies’s Testimony

In 1603, John Davies of Hereford writes of his love of actors, including a W.S. (coupled with an R.B.) whom Davies also loved for poetry and who, except for anti-Stratfordians, is almost certainly Shakespeare.  Two years later he also refers positively to actors, particularly “R.B.
and W.S.,” in a poem. I mention this to indicate the probability that he actually knew W.S. and R.B. personally, because of his fondness for actors in general, and them in particular.

In 1610, a more explicit poem by Davies about Shakespeare was published:

To Our English Terence, Mr Will. Shake-speare

Some say (good Will). which I, in sport, do sing,
Hadst thou not played some Kingly parts in sport,
Thou hadst been a companion for a King;
And been a King among the meaner sort.
Some others rail; but, rail as they think fit,
Thou hast no railing, but, a reigning Wit:
And honesty thou sowst, which they do reap;
So, to increase their stock which they do keep.

To start with, Davies describes Shakespeare as a dramatist, as Terence was. In the body of the poem, he speaks of Shakespeare’s reigning wit, and reveals his knowledge of comments about Shakespeare. This, for me, is suggestion enough that Davies knew Shakespeare, but the fact that the poem is one in a sequence of poems Davies wrote about various of his friends, all of them complimentary, though one or two are teasingly mocking, as well, makes it probably, for me, that Davies personally knew Shakespeare.

(4) the impresa

A 1613 record (“Item, 31 Martii 1613 to Mr. Shakespeare in gold about my Lord’s impresa xlivs. To Richard Burbage for painting and making it, in gold xlivs.”) is further evidence that a William Shakespeare was an actor, albeit only weakly circumstantial since the “Shakspeare” here not only is not identified as an actor but may have been some other Shakespeare, such as John Shakespeare, the royal bitmaker Charlotte Stopes turned up in her researches. But Burbage and Shakespeare were associated together too many times for it to be likely that here Burbage was for the first and apparently only time associated with some other Shakespeare than Will, and that the other Shakespeare was constructing some kind of clever/arty picture/motto
combination of just the kind that Shakespeare the writer imaged so often in his plays and that Burbage would have had the talent to paint.

Rob Zigler agrees. In an Internet newsgroup post to someone arguing the contrary, he says, “To put it bluntly, the idea that the payee was not William Shakespeare is ridiculous. The fee was exactly split between Richard Burbage and Mr. Shakespeare, so we’re looking for people who are likely to have been partners. I’m sure that you’ve noticed that William Shakespeare appears in a number of documents as a partner with Richard Burbage. I’m also fairly sure that you’ve also noticed that John Shakespeare, the royal bitmaker doesn’t show up anywhere else partnered with Richard Burbage. It’s been quite a while since I’ve read what Stopes had to say, but my recollection is that John Shakespeare makes pretty frequent appearances in the accounts of the King and assorted nobles and I see that E.K. Chambers says that he doesn’t start appearing in those accounts until 1617 Here’s yet another reason why Stopes idea doesn’t make any sense. Impresa shields were small and made out of pasteboard, so why would the construction process call for a man who made bits and spurs? What could he have done that would have been worth the relatively grand sum of 44 shillings?

“Actually, we know perfectly well what Mr. Shakespeare was being paid for. The task of creating an impresa shield can be logically divided into two parts; the design and the construction. The Rutland account tells us that Richard Burbage made and painted the shield, so the construction of the shield is entirely accounted for. That leaves only the design. Needless to say, designing a tournament impresa is something we know that poets sometimes did. (Jonson wrote an epigram complaining of not having yet been paid for ‘a gulling imprese for you at tilt’.)

“If we knew nothing at all about Mr. Shakespeare outside of this document, we’d assume that he was probably some sort of poet. . . .  Therefore, the Rutland document should count as part of a personal literary paper trail connecting Will Shakespeare to the profession of acting.” And, weakly, to the profession of writing, we can add.

(5) The Testimony of the Title-Pages

Throughout Shakespeare’s lifetime title-pages of published plays attributed those plays to him. They are obviously literary evidence that he wrote them. I consider them probably personal because it doesn’t seem possible to me that none of the many publishers who published his plays and testified that he wrote them by placing his name on their title-pages knew him personally. Diana Price, in fact, is sure that nearly all of them did—except as a play-broker, rather than as a playwright. Nonetheless, if they knew him personally, their testimony on the title-pages of the books they published must be considered personal literary evidence. This must hold, also, for the title-pages of published plays they put his name or initials on that scholars are close to unanimous in considering not to have been Shakespeare’s work: if a
publisher personally knew Shakespeare, and publically stated that he was the author of a particular book, then his testimony is personal literary evidence that that was the case (however easily counter evidence might outweigh it). Interestingly, since no known published
play of the times had the name of a non-writer on its title-page, even Shakespeare’s name on the thtile-page of a play he did not write is strong evidence that he was a writer.

(D) Literary Evidence Slightly More Likely Than Not To Be Personal from Shakespeare’s Lifetime

(1) The Testimony of John Weever

Here is John Weever’s sonnet on Shakespeare, which appeared in his Epigrammes (1599):

Honey-tongued Shakespeare, when I saw thine issue
I swore Apollo got them, and none other,
Their rosy-tainted features clothed in tissue,
Some heaven-born goddess said to be their mother.
Rose-cheekt Adonis with his amber tresses,
Fair fire-hot Venus charming him to love her,
Chaste Lucretia virgine-like her dresses,
Proud lust-stung Tarquine seeking still to prove her:
Romea-Richard; more, whose names I know not,
Their sugred tongues, and power attractive beauty
Say they are Saints, although that Sts they show not
For thousands vows to them subjective dutie:
They burn in love thy childre Shakespear het the
Go, wo thy Muse more Nymphish brood beget them.

According to E.A.J. Honigmann, “Weever made (this poem) a ‘Shakespearian’ sonnet; of around 160 epigrams in his collection, most of them between four and twenty lines in length, one, and only one, is fourteen lines long and rhymes abab, cdcd, efef, gg. This can only mean one thing – that Weaver had seen some of Shakespeare’s sonnets, and wished to signal to others in the know that he had enjoyed this privilege.” That would make him one of the friends Shakespeare circulated his sonnets among. Pure speculation, yes, but possibly correct.

(2) The Testimony of Antony Scoloker

In his preface to “Diaphantus; or, the Passions of Love” (1604), Antony Scoloker writes: “(an epistle to the reader) should be like the Never-too-well read Arcadia, where the Prose and verce (Matters and Words) are like his Mistresses eyes, one still excelling another and without Corivall: or to come home to the vulgars Element, like Friendly Shakespeare’s Tragedies, where the Commedian rides, when the Tragedian stands on tip-toe: Faith it should please all, like Prince Hamlet.”

If Scoloker was referring to Shakespeare’s personality, his use of the adjective “friendly” to describe him would indicate that he personally knew him (or that someone else who personally knew him had told Skoloker he was friendly); but since Scoloker here could be referring to Shakespeare’s “friendly” style as a writer, I don’t feel I can assume that he knew Shakespeare the man. (There are two conflicting questions for me: why insert an adjective about a man’s disposition in a paragraph otherwise entirely about writing; and why use the adjective in front of Shakespeare’s name rather than in front of “tragedies” if it is supposed to describe the latter?)

(3) The Testimony of John Webster

In 1612 – John Webster writes “To his beloved friend Maister Thomas Heyood” for “Apology for Actors.”

( Let me pause here to ask why Price counts Webster’s verse as CPLE for both Heywood and himself. On its face it suppports the claim that Webster knew Heywood and thought Heywood was the author of “Apology for Actors.” But how does it persuade us that Webster was himself an author? If Shakespeare’s dedications to V&A and RoL don’t count, Webster’s name at the bottom of a printed verse is no  evidence of his authorship. There is no indication that Webster’s rough draft manuscript for the verse survives, nor does Heywood’s bio show any reciprocal record of esteem for Webster. This is not the only case where a commendatory verse gets counted twice in the CPLE data. I have to say it sounds like stuffing the ballot box.)

Now, to continue:

John Webster, 1612 (“To the reader” prefacing The White Devil):

Detraction is the sworn friend to ignorance; for mine own part I have ever truly cheris’d my good opinion of other men’s worthy labors: especially of that full and height’ned style of Master Chapman; the labor’d and understanding works of Master Jonson; the no less worthy composures of the both worthily excellent Master Beaumont and Master Fletcher; and lastly, without wrong last to be named, the right happy and copious industry of M. Shakespeare, M. Dekker, and M. Heywood; wishing that what I write may be read by their light; protesting that, in the strength of mine own judgment, I know them so worthy that, though I rest silent in my own work, yet to most of theirs I dare, without flattery, fix that of Martial: non norunt, haec monumenta mori [“these monuments know not how to die”].

On the surface, Webster’s praise is impersonal–the kind that is appropriate when “there was no personal relationship,” as Price’s husband put it in an HLAS discussion. Webster praises everyone’s “worthy labors”; the “style” of Chapman; the “works” of Jonson; the “composures” of Beaumont and Fletcher; the “industry” of the last three. I mention it here, however, because of its reference to Webster’s “beloved friend” Heywood, without a single adjective to indicate he was a friend of Webster’s. In other words, Price’s policy of counting only testimony that is explicitly personal as personal evidence is improper. So, by including Shakespeare in the company of a certain friend of his, Webster may, ever so slightly, be indicating that
Shakespeare, too, was his friend.

(4) The Testimony of Leonard Digges

In 1613 Leonard Digges compared the sonnets of Lope de Vega to those of “our Will Shakespeare,” which is a pretty friendly way to refer to Shakespeare—and Digges was not only a close neighbor of Shakespeare’s in both Aldermarston and in London, his father-in-law was remembered by Shakespeare in his will, and served as one of the two overseers of that will. But Digges could have meant “England’s” by “our.” I’m also not sure that “Will” wasn’t the name everyone knew Shakespeare by, not just his friends. Given a choice between calling this piece of evidence personal or impersonal, I’d call it personal. Fortunately, with a sane way of arranging such items in a continuum, I don’t have to do that here.

(E) Literary Evidence Equally Likely to Be Personal or Not Personal from Shakespeare’s Lifetime

This category would include just about all the literary evidence from Shakespeare’s lifetime that is not explicitly personal nor consigned to the preceding categories. I don’t believe there is any known piece of evidence for Shakespeare that can confidently be described as certainly or even probably impersonal. Edward Alleyn, for instance, referred to Shakespeare as a poet; was the reference personal? I, for one, would suspect it probably was since it seems unlikely two such important figures in the London theatre world of the time would not have met, but we lack sufficient data to say one way or the other. The same seems true for all the other evidence for Shakespeare. So this category is the last on my nine that I will concern myself with here. And I won’t bother to list the pieces of evidence that would go into it, for I have covered most of them in the main body of my book, Shakespeare and the Rigidniks.

2 Responses to “Personal Literary Evidence for Shakespeare”

  1. william S. says:

    Hi Bob,

    I’ve never seen or heard of your book sh and the rigidniks and will lovingly peruse and promote its contents. I’m off for a google of it and then I’ll post it.

    My favourite evidence for Sh is from Sir Richard Baker who mentions those that were writers and actors too. Unfortunately it shows up 30 years after his death so inadmissible for the conspiracists.

    FUnny as Baker is a direct contemporary and frequented the London playhouses when he studied there.

    cheers,
    Will

  2. Bob Grumman says:

    Thanks for the comment, Will. You should know, though, that my Shakespeare and the Rigidniks is a hard copy that I must mail to you if you want a copy. E.mail a request to [email protected] and I’ll send you a copy. Free, but will need postage from you if you’re overseas.

    all best, Bob

Leave a Reply

Entry 592 — Some n0thingness from Karl Kempton « POETICKS

Entry 592 — Some n0thingness from Karl Kempton

I wasn’t sure what to put in this entry, I’m so blah.  Fortunately I remembered I  had just gotten a package of poems from Karl Kempton, reflections, among which were many worthy of re-publication here, such as this:

mindless x ( ) = less mind

The origin poem for all the poems in the collection is “american basho”:

old pond

frog

splash

!

Too blah to give the collection the critique it merits, I’ll just say that it seems to me a zen meditation on . . . well, the zero/hole/opening/ letter o in Basho’s old pond, the latter representing the mind . . . unless it represents something beyond that.  Karl and I have metaphysical differences, and sometimes I’m not too sure what he means, but his ideas are always worth thinking, or meta-thinking, about.

 * * *

Monday, 12 December 2011, 2 P.M.  Tough day.  A routine visit to my general practitioner at 9:40.  I’m doing fine according to the various tests I underwent a week ago.  Then marketing followed by the delivery of ”The Odysseus Suite” (signed by the artist!) to my friend Linda as a birthday present.  After dropping off the frozen lasagna Linda had given me, and the things I’d bought at the supermarket at my house, I went off again to (1) deposit a check, (2) leave a framed copy of my “A Christmas Mathemaku” at the Arts & Humanities Council’s office, and buy some items at my drugstore.  I was home by a little after one, too tired to do much.  But I scanned the Carlyle Baker work I posted in yesterday’s blog entry to take care of daily blogging chore.  Dropping the mathemaku off at the A&H Council office took care of the only other duty I’m still trying to take care of daily, my exhibition-related duty.  Now for a nap, if I can manage to fall asleep.

.

Leave a Reply

Meretricious Poems, Reading & Writing – Poeticks.com

Meretricious Poems

Hello and welcome to www.poeticks.com. Our team is currently working on improving the website. We apologize for the inconvenience. When you come back and visit us again, you will be a beautifully designed site that is easy to navigate. It will also load faster and is mobile compliant. You will love browsing through the pages. As far as content, we will be distributing advice and information on poems, reading, and writing – something we are truly passionate about. If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to let us know. We hope to see you again soon! Thank you.