Mojo, The Bard, & Me

 

Marcus, unknit that sorrow-wreathen knot:

Thy niece and I, poor creatures, want our hands,

And cannot passionate our tenfold grief

With folded arms. This poor right hand of mine

Is left to tyrannize upon my breast;

Who, when my heart, all mad with misery,

Beats in this hollow prison of my flesh,

Then thus I thump it down.

-Titus

Titus Andronicus                             Act III, Scene ii, Line 11

Man, I remember why I found Titus so upsetting. When they’re not hacking people to death, they’re laying this language on me. Just read that out loud to yourself. The language is alive.

Sorrow wreathen knot

Cannot passionate our tenfold grief

Tyrannize upon my breast

Hollow prison of my flesh

Thus I thump it down

Oyy! Read the whole passage again.

And again.

Can you hear the genius of the writer? Please tell me you can. Or maybe you’re just not listening.

No pic today; just words.