22 Aug 2013: “wee’l go to Supper i’th’ morning.”

Shakespeare (2)

Workout after all: first thing, 6 AM, 20 minutes after only 3 hours of sleep since my eyes popped open at the usual time. 100 lowrise steps (down from last time owing to lack of sleep), 500 supine motions 250 with weights, and as a treat, 25 dance moves, second session this week up from 10, kept low to see if they cause hip or other pain. Cool! Will retire at 8:30 PM tonight.

Make no noise, make no noise, draw the Cur-taines:
So, so, wee’l go to Supper i’th’ morning.
And Ile go to bed at noone.

William Shakespeare, King Lear

ODE, in the Sonnet Form, for the Anti-Shakespearean Wight

According to British poet and critic Annie Martirosyan writing in Huffpost UK, what I have called “Shakespeare Denial” (the denial of the proven fact that the author of the plays and poems commonly thought to be William Shakespeare of Stratford was that wight) suffers a body blow in the failure of that foolish 2010 film Anonymous and in the new book that’s reviewed by Martirosyan so expertly. Here’s my “sonnet in form, mock funerary ode in feeling” for the “anti-Shakespearean wight”.

For even as a strong oak tree survives
The storm of winter and the summer rain
The harbinger of the winter of our lives
The cruelty of spring its promise and pain
Our Shakespeare he’s survived Devil’s night
The capering and gibbering of apes
When many a sad failed cashiered wight
Seeks “the bubble reputation” in rapes.
Rapes first of truth on the all-easy Web,
Then of the reputation of former friends
And as sanity and life doth through self-abuse ebb
His cause of destruction ends.
Carried by two paid mourners to his grave
Sigh a prayer for him Our Lord to save.

Grieving the Death of My Son Using the St Matthew Passion


Bach’s St Matthew Passion is a work of genius and here’s an excellent YouTube Samizdat version, probably I should not listen to it since it’s de minimis illegal and in listening to it one walks on holy ground. And does it cheapen the death of my son?

When my kind brother said
Your son is dead
Why did the sun keep shining?
And God said, Ed, give me a break tho’ your heart it is breaking
What on earth do you want Me to do
If it had started raining as if on cue
You’d complain too.
I was trying to make you feel good, you stupid bastard
Your life is long and your life is hard.

Edward G. Nilges 23 August 2013 Moral Rights asserted.

But if you do, you scamp, listen as the guilt ridden grown-ups of the main choir practically scream “Seht! Wohin? Auf unsre Schuld!” As they do, it’s as if a mob of kids crept giggling onto the stage and started singing and dancing for it’s where the Knaben-chor (boy’s choir) cuts in.

Change Record

23 Aug 2013 Altered “Rapes first of the truth on the all-easy Web,” to “Rapes first of truth on the all-easy Web,” to improve pentameter scansion

23 Aug 2013 Added St Matthew Passion link and poetry credit

23 Aug 2013 Added two last lines to second poem (“And God said”)


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