Shakespeare’s Heartbeat

There was once a time when I was mad about Shakespeare: Just after high school in Winnipeg I had the pleasure of playing Juliet in a 3-week run of a professional production of Romeo and Juliet.  Later on when I was living in England I visited Shakespeare’s home and grave in Stratford-Upon-Avon. I enthusiastically studied Shakespeare as early as I could including the first folio in theatre school and university.

Shakespeare’s first folio is the 1623 published collection of his works and my teaching Thespians conditioned me to rely on the first folio as my textual guide over the modern editions. The first folio was written in an old version of English but it gave clues and direction on how lines were to be read and interpreted based on the spelling of the words, the rhythm, and the breath.

Juliet’s lines are words full of vowels. Consonants for Romeo. So Shakespeare had a vision for how he wanted the character’s faces to look on stage.

romeo&juliet-speech

The firmest rule I never forgot as an actress: Never eat your words. Not a single one. Every letter, every sound is there for a purpose. Hollywood actors tend to butcher Shakespeare because they speak the lines as we would in a contemporary way. With over-emotional deliveries that garble up the lines – something that Shakespeare never intended. So for that reason, Shakespeare’s works in my opinion don’t belong on film.

The weight and the story is carried in the prose. Every play-on-word is intentional. There are no accidents.

Shakespeare wrote his sonnets in Iambic Pentameter; a kind of rhythmic pattern that consists of five iambs per line:

  • An iamb is a metrical foot that consists of an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed one.  (“daDUM”)
  • Penta means five.
  • Meter refers to a regular rhythmic pattern in poetry.

daDUM     daDUM     daDUM     daDUM     daDUM

It’s the sound and pattern of the heartbeat. Which is why he chose to write Romeo and Juliet in its entirety this way.

Beautiful, right? Let’s take a look:

[Romeo] But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

[Juliet]  For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,

Try reading those lines aloud to yourself and be sure to hear those daDUMs.

The best part for me when composing iambic pentameter poetry is this:

  • I put my hand on my chest and write with the beat of my heart
  • I tap my toes to check the rhythm
  • I write about all the love in my heart. Even if it’s fleeting. Even if it will be gone tomorrow. This moment is everything. Capture it. Now.

Juliet and Romeo met, fell in love, made plans to marry and dropped dead in a span of 48 hours. But it’s in that 48 hours where all the juice happened. Drop everything if you can to capture those emotions, no matter how foolish.

I’m following National Poetry Month’s theme of “The Road” for all the poetry I am doing this month. And to pay tribute to Shakespeare and to his sonnets, I decided to give it a whirl and write my own modern romantic love sonnet about “the road” —  in iambic pentameter. Every line is intentional. There are no accidents:

Spring Steps by Wendy Sinclair

Her heart sinks down into her boots
Every salty step like murder
She sings the bitter-sweet swan songs
All that could not out-live the storm
His body moves like Spring’s first thaw
Scents of creamy lilium
Melodically do dreams do touch 
The skip put back now in her step

 

For more Shakespeare info enjoy this short and wonderful TED Ed:

 

The Road to Poetry

April is National Poetry Month, and the League of Canadian Poets has declared the theme for 2016 as The Road”  —  a subject that couldn’t be closer to my own heart. Existing and emerging poets are urged to explore the roads that brought us here, and the roads most important to our literary journey; Even more, we want to know about the roads in your future, in our future, in the future of poetry in Canada.”

poetry

My journey shown on a road map looks a bit like this: 14 months ago I dusted off my long-abandoned love for creative writing and started taking it for a spin. The path led to a re-kindled love of poetry. So here I am, 35 years old, writing poetry with the same affection I did when I was a teenager and not surprisingly, much of the inner landscape remains the same.

I’m an amateur, there’s no doubt, but I’m wise enough to know that poetry doesn’t need to be judged on whether it’s good or bad —  it is what it is. The point is that it is up there on the list of the greatest comforts and pleasures in my life. I’m sure most poets would agree.

When reading poetry our minds tend to defer judgement of good, bad or successful. Try to think of it instead as the poet handing you a telescope pointed in a direction of a secret paradigm and saying: “Here;  look through this”. If you care to open yourself up to it, the telescope can provoke all five (or six, depending on who you are) senses through its literary devices.

National Poetry Month is a great motivation to get your poetic juices flowing, to find support and community and to celebrate.

Here are a few random shares of my own poetry: The first is an Etheree poem (ten lines of unmetered and unrhymed verse, the first line having one syllable, each succeeding line adding a syllable, with the total syllable count being fifty-five), the second is a free verse, and the third is a custom rhythmic poem.

Silent Screams 
Twist
Body
Inferno
Toes losing grip
Bend, pull, bliss, sweat drips
In my blue eyes burning
Mirror reflection shows flaws
Righteous steadfastness perseveres
The sweet smell of flesh pressed to my mat
Commit to pose and welcome the divine.

The Storytellers
Blue sky, cracked paths
jumbled, blue jays limping
swallowing them up
unforgiving
feather by feather
drop to the drums of hell
birds fry in balled-up spinning
turning into gold
from those nuggets spawn
The Storytellers
wide limbs, shining skin, three eyes
granting lives, twirling fate
and giving brothers and sisters
or none at all
at life’s final breath
they turn us to jays
launching high into heavens
or falling
broken
through
cracks

Shadows
We are prisoners chained in this cave
Knowing nothing of reality
And knowing nothing of any science
The only sound that bounce off these walls
are the echoes of compliance

From the firelight here to the sunlight there

Puppet showman have screens
to cast imperfect copies
of perfect things
it would sting my eyes if I was to see
something truer than what has
been shown to me

Drag my body out into the light
Eyes wince beyond the divided line
Running casts a million dark shadows
Compelled to make it up to the sun
Through the ice tundra and meadows

When I return blind to set you free
You will cast me away and stay chained
Groping your faint sights on my third eye
For I have seen the sun and the moon
Both together in the same sky

From the sunlight here to the firelight there

Puppet showman have screens,
to cast imperfect copies
of perfect things,
it would sting my eyes if I was to see,
something truer than what has
been shown to me

I look forward to dedicating some time this month to the theme of “The Road” and perhaps composing a sonnet or two, and making some tracks in the future of Canadian poetry. Catch up again in a few weeks!