Today I am thinking about a profound lesson I learned as a student at Ricks College. I am thinking about the sacred text that prompted this lesson, its lines inspired, certainly, by the spirit. These lines, written by a prophet of an earlier age, spoke to my heart. They reminded me of the natural (wo)man’s tendencies. They prompted me to reflect.
But no, none of this happened in a religion class. And the text wasn’t scripture. Well, not officially canonized scripture recognized by Rome, Salt Lake City or Oral Roberts University, but how can we not include William Shakespeare in the pantheon of prophet writers? He did not claim to see the future, but he most certainly saw the age in which he lived and observed human nature so profoundly that his words continue to teach and reveal hundreds of years later.
There are many verses from the Book of Shakespeare that have taught and inspired me, of course. But this sonnet is special, mostly because of who I was and where I was in my life when I learned it, specifically a rather naive eighteen year old college freshman, far from home. I was a young woman on the cusp of adulthood who wanted to know more, to be more. I wanted to experience relationships, though I must confess that my conception at the time was certainly the stuff of derivative fairy tales. Still, my mind was open, though my life experience was still somewhat paltry.
And my mouth was open, singing these words with my fellow Ricks College A Capella choir members. The musical arrangement was lovely and lilting with delicate interplay between the bass, tenor, alto and soprano lines, but I was even more struck by the lyrics. We sang through the piece, one that would be performed during an upcoming concert, then discussed it for a short time. I read through the words again, letting them sit silently on my tongue like marbles.
I had enough self-awareness to know that I had not yet fully experienced the emotional conditions this poem glimpsed at, but I also knew that such moments would come. Now, more than two decades later, I can think of many, many moments, really rather more than I would care to admit, in which I have felt these pangs.
SONNET 29
When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.
I now know firsthand what this state of mind – “with what I most enjoy contented least” – feels like. I understand what it feels like to offer prayers that feel like “bootless cries,” appeals to a “deaf heaven” without kick or power. I have desired the “art” and “scope” of other people, learning for myself the dismal dissatisfaction that comes from incessantly comparing myself to others.
Sometimes, even now, when I am especially sad, a tiny voice in my mind whispers, “I all alone beweep my outcast state.” The cadence of that line can bring up the corners of my mouth into a hint of a smile.
I know this poem and this poem knows me. It expresses the pity and sadness and loneliness that each of us will stumble into at some point, the way we covet everyone else’s (better) situation. But the speaker is redeemed when he remembers the person he loves. In that moment, he feels again wealthy and satisfied. His relationship is more valuable than power or money. He is content.
I even know what that feels like.
I have been teaching this poem for years to high school and college students, students who understand about as much as I did when I was their age, but who want, as I did, to know more. I have no idea if the phrases from poetry will comfort them as they do me, but I hope so.
Dear, dear Rufus Wainwright, a talented and gutsy singer/songwriter captures the poem’s tone beautifully in this song, also titled “Sonnet 29.” Can I just say that I love that he woke up one morning and thought, “Yeah, I’ll put Shakespeare to music.” And then doing just that. (His album “Love Speaks” has more than just this sonnet on it, by the way.)
Nice post.
“He did not claim to see the future, but he most certainly saw the age in which he lived and observed human nature so profoundly that his words continue to teach and reveal hundreds of years later.” Best definition of a prophet I’ve heard!
Oh good stuff. I haven’t read this in ages. It’s like a great blues song in which you, the listener, know someone else knows what you thought only you knew.
I’m also reminded yet again how often Shakespeare ignored the dictates of strict iambic pentameter, counting a couple of 11 syllable lines here, yet nothing is harmed by this, nor is it noticed except by my rapping thumb.