Pedantic rantic

Today in my Shakespearean Sonnets class, a gentleman referred to Shakespeare’s language as “Old English.” In response, I attempted to make his brain asplode with my eyes. Thankfully my professor saw me glaring death-darts at the student, and helpfully stepped in with “Actually, Elizabethan English is quite modern. It might be a little beyond the grasp of our tongues, but it’s certainly not as old as English gets.”

And this the week after exploring agenbite of inwit, which isn’t even Old old English, but rather, Middle, and still about 300 years before Shakespeare’s time. If only people took more time to study the history of English

Defense of (bad) Poesie

I feel like I need to justify the two posts immediately below. The second one, with the Spice Girls reference in the title, was initially written about my now-ex-boyfriend and was full of florid metaphysical conceits of the garden as it pertains to fertility. Obviously I scrapped that. Gross. I still kind of liked it though – that part about the roses was initially part of the garden conceit but was a clever pun on the fact that I have Asian flushing syndrome blush a lot and am cute and all that and look nothing like a tomato when sauced.

So my ex and I met working at a restaurant, and he was a bartender (hence the nod to the spirits) and was nothing like a garden at all. Anyway, I began writing this poem to him after being struck by inspiration reading Donne, then was struck with mental constipation about two quatrains in. We broke up in the interim.

Then I started “casually seeing” another bartender. (It is important to note that this is how I get all my drinks for free. Follow my example, kiddies.) Though I’d scrapped most of the sonnet, I still had this one quatrain and the increasing urge to do something with it. Then by grace of U of T’s Topics in Shakespeare: The Sonnets and a goose quill pen my sister got for me at the Globe Theatre, the sonnet was completed. About a different bartender. Bartender The Second. Who is also nothing like a garden. Which is ok now since neither is the poem.

HOWEVER. The first sonnet, directly below this post, with the Scissor Sisters reference in the title, was written today with a pen full of angst. Apparently my friend with benefits, The Bartender II, doesn’t like his coverage plan. Has anybody else ever found a guy who said he was getting too much? I feel like I should stuff him and put him in a museum. Anyway so I wrote this sonnet because I was feeling Shakespearean after class today and there was my quill pen, all shiny in some parts and inky in others. And feathery in most parts. And then this sonnet was created.

And as an addendum: in both poems, substitute the word “love” for something of a more… unromantic ilk. “Love” felt more Shakespearean/Petrarchan (in the case of the first poem) and worked with the metre. Inaccurate, but it makes the poem sound squishier and gives it altogether more sappitude. Which is what I was aiming for, even though it was off target.