Mojo, The Bard, & Me

Oh hateful, vaporous, and foggy night!

Since thou art guilty of my cureless crime,

Muster thy mists to meet the eastern light,

Make war against proportion’d course of time;

Or if thou wilt permit the sun to climb

His wonted height, yet ere he go to bed,

Knit poisonous clouds about his golden head. 

-Lucrece

Lucrece                            line 775 

We’ve got Lucrece today, ruminating about how the night can hide her from the world in the light of day since she has been raped. This is just the beginning of her immersion into the depths of her pathos which will ultimately lead to her suicide. It’s a fairly graphic poem, but it does not paint a pretty picture.

Just a few thoughts about some of the language used in this painting.

Guilty of my cureless crime. The night is guilty, and yet she’s taking ownership of the crime which is cureless. What about the rapist? He’s not given any of the blame. It’s the night’s and Lucrece’s fault?

Proportion’d course of time. What’s a simpler way of putting that? The day? Make war against the day? That would seem to be what she’s saying, but it’s certainly an odd way of putting it.

Poisonous clouds. Have you ever seen a poisonous cloud?

Interesting language.

 How about these? Are they poisonous clouds? That little island doesn't look too healthy. It looks like something may have poisoned it. Maybe it was those clouds. Who knows?