I’ve re-blogged one other poem by S. S. Hicks before. She just gets better and better. This poem hit the spot this morning. 

Put me on a shelf, Somewhere on aisle three, Between peas and collard greens. Pass the can opener, Take a hit. Grind our tops, Scoop out our souls. Label me fuckin’ awesome And you get a straight s…

Source: Unbranded

Hamlet: Now the Stuff Hits the Fam

O God, Horatio, what a wounded name,
Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me!
If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart
Absent thee from felicity a while,
And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain
To tell my story. Hamlet Act 5 Scene 2.

For Hamlet’s plot till now, see Hamlet So Far.

Act 5. Scene 2 (continued). It is the final scene. The swords are ready. The drums beat. The drums begin slowly. Claudius and Gertrude enter the hall and take their seats. The courtiers fill the room.

Claudius looks first at Hamlet and smiles, then at Laertes. He is happy as a lark. Soon his troubles will be over.

“Gentlemen,” he says, “first shake hands, then choose your swords.”

Hamlet turns to Laertes and offers his hand. “I have wronged you. I was out of my mind. Mad. That is no excuse. For the wrong I have done, I am deeply sorry.” Hamlet too knows this day will bring an end to things in the play.

You can feel the tension in the room. Everyone knows what Hamlet and Claudius know. Deep down.

Laertes takes Hamlet’s hand. “I cannot yet forgive you. But I take your words as sincere.”

“Let us get to it then.” Hamlet is no longer doubtful. Hamlet is at peace, knowing that fate will take care of things. In the end, all will be right in the world.

“Give them swords, Osric,” the king commands, anxious to get on with things. Tonight he will sleep well in his bed. No more worries about his stepson.

Hamlet and Laertes choose swords, each feeling his weapon out, trying it to see its workings. The two move into position, preparing to play.

The king calls for goblets of wine. Into one, he drops a pearl. “When you make a hit, Hamlet, this goblet is yours.” He raises a second goblet. “Salut, gentlemen, and begin.”

The two men move around the floor, scoping each other out. Then Hamlet makes a hit.

“One,” he says.

“No, it wasn’t,” Laertes protests.

“It was,” the judge of the match, Osric, decides in Hamlet’s favor.

“Another pearl.” Claudius drops a pearl into Hamlet’s goblet, knowing Hamlet will never own it. “Hand the goblet to Hamlet,” he commands a servant.

“Not now. Not till I have played this hand out.” Hamlet returns to position and waits on Laertes to strike.

The two go at it, then Hamlet makes another strike. Surprised at how well he is doing, Hamlet says, “Another hit.”

“You did get me,” Laertes admits. He too is surprised.

“My son will win,” Claudius says.

Gertrude reaches for Hamlet’s cup. “To your luck and happiness, my son.” She is happy that all is going well with the match. Soon things will return to normal. Hamlet will be as beloved as he was. She drinks from the cup.

Claudius screams, “Don’t drink that, my queen. It is for your son.” Panic is on his face.

“I will drink it if I want.” Gertrude drinks a second drink from the cup. Claudius’ poison moves through her body. She goes to Hamlet and lovingly wipes the sweat from his brow.

Hamlet and Laertes are at it again, moving like two wolves facing down each other over a kill. Laertes moves in and wounds Hamlet with his poison blade. The two scuffle and drop their swords. Hamlet picks up the weapon of Laertes. They fight again and Hamlet slashes Laertes’ arm.

“Come on again,” Hamlet teases Laertes.

The queen falls to the floor. The poison is doing its work.

“Tend to the queen,” Osric calls out to the servants.

“They are both bleeding,” Horatio says of the two fencers.

Osric sees that Laertes too has fallen. “How are you, my lord?”

Panic is in Laertes’ eyes. He is not sure what is happening. “I have done it to myself,” Laertes confesses.

“How’s the queen?” Hamlet wants to know.

“Oh, she fainted,” Claudius says. “Can’t stand the sight of blood. Women, you know.”

Gertrude with her last breaths calls out, “It was the drink. It was poison. I am dying.”

“What evil,” Hamlet yells. “What evil. Lock the door and let no one leave.”

Osric escapes before the door can be locked. Things are not looking good in the chamber. His motto is to save your own skin no matter the cost.

Laertes now comes to his senses. “We are both dead. My blade was tipped with poison. It is the king. The king has done it to us.”

“Soon,” Hamlet says, “it will do its work and we will all be done.”

Hamlet rushes Claudius. He drives the blade deep into the king’s body. Then he grabs the poisoned wine.

“Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damnèd Dane, drink off this potion. Is thy union here? Follow my mother, you son of a bitch.” Hamlet forces the wine down Claudius’ throat.

“He got what he deserved. Forgive me, Hamlet,” Laertes begs. Then he dies.

With tears in his eyes, Hamlet stumbles to Laertes’ wounded body. He raises the dead man’s head and looks into his once alive eyes. “Heaven, and I, forgive you. My, how it might have been. Such friends, you and I.”

Hamlet falls to the floor. “Horatio, I am dead.”

Horatio sees that there is poison left in the goblet. He lifts the poison cup to drink.

Hamlet grabs the goblet from Horatio’s hand. “No, you cannot. You must live to tell my story.”

The sound of Fortinbras’ troops are invading the castle.

Hamlet continues, “It is my will that Fortinbras be the new king. He will rule well. Now I am dead.” And so he is.

Horatio blesses the prince who once was, “Good night, sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!”

Now the play is done. The tale has been told. Prince Hamlet sleeps peacefully with the knowledge that justice was done.

It’s been a long slog, this “Hamlet”. The actors have said their lines. Now it’s home for them. Only the furniture is left on the stage. Soon even that will be gone for the halls of Elsinore are empty. Then only the ghosts walk through the rooms, searching for their former lives, wondering when their haunting will be done and they can move on. To another world.

Uncle Bardie’s Movie of the Week: The Big Fellow

Once a week on Monday, Uncle Bardie shares a movie with his Readers he gives a big two thumbs up. It will simply be a short excerpt or a trailer. From time to time, a reflection on the movie will appear below the video. So pop some popcorn and give yourself a treat. This week’s movie celebrates Saint Patrick’s Day. It is “Michael Collins” (1996):

For seven hundred years, the English had ruled Ireland. For seven hundred years, the English had taken Irish land and given it to English aristocrats. For seven hundred years, the English had starved the Irish. For almost four hundred years, the English did everything they could to stamp out Irish Catholicism.

In the eighteenth century, Jonathan Swift wrote about the English treatment in his great satirical treatise, “A Modest Proposal”. To escape the starvation of the Great Hunger in the nineteenth century, Irish left their homeland in the millions for a better life in America and Australia and other refuges.

Still the English would continue to rule the Emerald Isle but for one man. Michael Collins. Michael Collins made a successful revolution against the English.

Like Denzel Washington with Malcolm X, Liam Neeson has done the impossible. He has brought a great man out of the mythologies and down to earth.

The Lute Player and the Grand Inquisitor

Some are good with the harp, some with the guitar, some with the lute. They say that Mozart had the gift of music. The same thing was said of Seamus O’Shaunessy. He too had the gift of music and he had it with the lute. From the very day he was born, he strummed his Da’s lute and gave the strings a golden voice.

How did he come by such a fine gift? One story went that his Da made a deal with the leprechauns in the days when the lad was no lad. His Da chased that proverbial pot of gold all the way to the end of the rainbow. He hid it, leaving the leprechauns without a pot to piss in. For when the leprechauns pissed, they pissed gold.

“As soon as you give the lad-to-be the fingers of Apollo,” his Da laid down the law to the fairies, “I will release your pot of gold.

What choice did the wee folk have? So they surrendered to the bribery. They gave the man’s lad-to-be his gift. And he released their pot.

When Seamus played his music, women swooned. Men thought they had died and gone to heaven. And his Da was as proud as Saint Patrick was when he chased the snakes off the Emerald Isle and converted the Irish.

The rumor went about that Seamus had the fingers of an angel when he played that lute. Kings and Emperors begged him to play.

“Just for a little while,” he told each.

As the old wise women used to say, “T’ain’t nary a free ride.” With the blessing of music came a curse. Seamus had wandering boots. He did his two week run at one court, then he was on to other parts unknown.

Then the pope asked if he would play for his court. “Of course, Your Holiness, I would be honored.”

The first night he stood before the pope and played, he strummed his lute for two hours. The pope and the cardinals were all enchanted. They believed it was an angel come down to earth. That is, until the Grand Inquisitor pointed out, “He is bewitching you. He is a witch.”

“It can’t be,” one of the cardinals responded to the acquisition. “This is a holy place.”

The Grand Inquisitor was adamant. “I believe it is Satan himself.”

The pope intervened, “There’s only one way to find out.”

The court knew what that meant. They would throw him into a lake. If he floated, he was the devil. If he sank and drowned, he was innocent.

Well, the lute player was not the devil or a witch. He was not innocent either. He was a foxy chap, being an Irishman. So the next morning, the papal court gathered at the lakeside. The Grand Inquisitor brought the lute player before the court.

“Your Holiness, I am innocent,” Seamus pleaded. “I only want to bring beauty into the world.”

“It is true,” His Holiness pronounced, “that your music is beautiful. But it enchants. It makes us forget ourselves. It takes us to places we have never been.”

“That is the mission of music,” the lute player answered the great man. “To enchant us. To give us a little piece of heaven.”

“Blasphemy,” the Grand Inquisitor screamed.

“I am afraid that he is right,” the pope pronounced. “I am sorry, my son.”

Then the lute player came back with the unexpected. “If music is not from God, why does the Scriptures say different of David. ‘So whensoever the evil spirit from the Lord was upon Saul, David took his harp, and played with his hand, and Saul was refreshed, and was better, for the evil spirit departed from him.’” Then the lute player asked the Grand Inquisitor, “Are you saying that King David, the Lord’s own anointed, was truly a disciple of the devil, or a witch?”

All the court looked at the Grand Inquisitor. His Holiness then asked, “Well?”

The Inquisitor in all his days of inquisitioning had never come across a question of Scripture he could not answer. It had taken an Irishman to corner him into a quandary. If he answered that he was a witch or a devil, he would be condemned as a blasphemer. If he answered nay, then it must be true that the Irishman was not a witch or a devil.

“Your Holiness, it is obvious he is a son of Satan,” Mr. Inquisition said.

“Obvious to whom?” the Irishman asked. “It is obvious that you are the son of the devil, are you not?”

“I am not a son of that demon,” Inquiz responded.

“I think you’re lying,” the Irishman said. “Why don’t we find out?”

Grand looked at the Pope, His Holiness looked at Grand. The Pope shook his head and beckoned the Swiss Guard to do their thing.

The Swiss Guard seized the Grand Inquisitor and threw the man into the lake. The Grand Inquisitor did not float. He sank and drowned.

The pope rose, shook his head in sorrow and pronounced, “Too bad. We are going to have to come up with a better test. I loose more cardinals that way.”

Here’s wishing one and all a happy St. Patrick’s Day.


Hamlet Does His Laundry

Does it not, think thee, stand me now upon—
He that hath killed my king and whored my mother,
Popped in between th’ election and my hopes,
Thrown out his angle for my proper life
(And with such cozenage!)—is ’t not perfect conscience
To quit him with this arm? And is ’t not to be damned
To let this canker of our nature come
In further evil? Hamlet Act 5 Scene 2.

For Hamlet’s plot till now, see Hamlet So Far.

Act 5 Scene 2. I could easily subtitle this one: The Stuff Hits the Fan. But we’re not there yet. First Hamlet must do laundry. Everybody knows that you can’t go to a duel in dirty clothes.

Hamlet retreats to the basement. That part of Castle Elsinore where the dragons are hidden. But Hamlet has dealt with dragons. On the ship to England, he stole into Rosencrantz and Guildenstern’s cabin. He read Claudius’ order to chop off his head. So he wrote a new order. It would be Rosenstern’s heads to roll.

“How did you seal the document?” Horatio asks.

“I had my father’s seal,” Hamlet says as he slips out of his clothes. As he stands in his altogether, he throws his doublet, his breeches, his underwear, his collar and his ruff into the washing machine. “The next day our ship was attacked. I escaped to the pirate’s ship. The pirates befriended me as they felt I was escaping from capture. Thus I returned here.”

“So Rosencrantz and Guildenstern went off to their death?”

“They got what they deserved. It is indeed dangerous for lesser men to play with great events.”

“What a king Claudius is,” Horatio concludes.

“Wouldn’t I be damned to let this canker of our nature come in further evil?”

“He will soon know of England and his pawns,” Horatio comments.

“It will be short. The interim’s mine.” Hamlet then moves his laundry to the dryer.

Osric, a courtier, enters the room. “We are so glad you’re back, my lord. The whole court is.”

“Thank you. It’s good to home,” Hamlet lies.

“If you have a moment,” Osric says, “I have a message to convey to you from the king.”

“I can’t wait to hear all the king has to say.”

“His Magnanimousness has placed a large bet on you.”

“Now why would he want to go and do that?” Hamlet asks Horatio. Turns back to Osric and gestures. “You can return your hat to your head as a gentleman should.”

“It’s okay just where it is at the moment. I feel I am in the company of friends. Am I not?”

“Oh, yes you are,” Hamlet says enthusiastically. “Oh, yes you are.” He winks at Horatio.

“A gentleman has arrived at court,” Osric imparts more information. “A fine swordsman this Laertes is.”

“I know him very well. And he has many good qualities.”

“The king believes you are the better man,” Osric assures the prince. “In fencing. So he has wagered a bet that you will defeat this Laertes in a match. In a dozen passes, he will make three hits less than you.”

“What if I say no?” Of course, Hamlet won’t say no. Not only is he confident that he will win the bet, but he will also find a way to do Claudius in.

“The king, and Laertes, would be so disappointed. And myself as well. The court hasn’t of late had much entertainment. Things have been a bit gray around here.” Guess that’s what it’s like when you have no HBO or Internet.

“Then let’s entertain the troops,” Hamlet says, “I’ll finish my laundry. Then take a walk for exercise.”

“I will let His Magnanimousness know. He will be overjoyed.” Osric places his hat on his head and leaves.

“Gee, you just can’t get good courtiers these days. Such riff-raff,” Hamlet says, referring to Osric.

‘Tis true,” Horatio agrees. “A courtier is riff-raff by any other name.”

“Looks like my doublet is done.” Hamlet goes to the dryer and takes out his clothes. “Thank God, I am feeling a bit if a chill.” A fast dresser, Hamlet is all dressed up and ready for a duel before Horatio can say two shakes of a spear.