I just wanted to throw in one last little note about my experience reading Hamlet, before I dive into Richard III.
I have a really good friend who I had kind of been discussing Hamlet with as I read it. We talked a lot about what is it that makes it really tragic, on a deeper level than just “everyone dies”. One of the things we decided was that Ophelia is really one of the most tragic characters. Her death is part of that, but even more so, it’s the fact that she is what other people tell her she is.
I know this idea has been analyzed up one side and down the other by everyone and their dog, but I just kind of had a bit of a cool moment with it this past Sunday. I was showing a bunch of poems that I wrote to my friend, and a couple of my brothers, just gathering input and opinions and such. Someone had launched a discussion about a particular poem called “China Doll”, which goes something like this:
I am the One
with the porcelain skin
And the just-perfect chocolate curls
with the green glassy eyes
and the painted-on lips
and the pasted-on smile at the world
who is shaped to perfection
and dressed to please
and is made out of nothing
but glass
I am the One
who was so clearly made
to sit on a shelf
and be kept far away
from bubbly-rough children
and dirt-covered hands
and from hugs and kisses
and Life
Because, after all
I could break
I am the One
who was made
to be looked at
designed to be flawless
and meant to remain
Untouched
by bubbly-rough children
and dirt-covered hands
and by hugs and kisses
and Love
As we were talking about it, my friend suddenly looks at me with that “aha moment” face, and says, “You know what this poem makes me think of? It makes me think about Ophelia”. At first I was like, “Whaat?”, but then I looked over it again and realized that it kind of expresses a similar kind of pain as I imagine Ophelia struggling with; this idea of being put where you are by someone else, being what they want you to be, and that keeping you from really becoming who you want to be, or feeling the love you want to feel.
I didn’t write this poem with Ophelia in mind, and I know it’s not a perfect fit; but it was cool for me to realize that I can really make connections between feelings I have and ways I express them, and what I find in my study of Shakespeare. (Note: since I wasn't able to do a full blown art gallery for Hamlet, I thought I'd just include one of my favorite pieces. It's a creepy picture, I know, but I love how well it captures the tragic element of Ophelia's story.)
