I don’t think I’ve ever seen Horatio played
As the foreigner he seems to be.
He has no idea what the customs of this land are.
He has different sets of niceties, it seems. He gets to
Ask questions about the rules of this world
That no one else does.
Is this why Hamlet trusts him more than any one else?
He’s an outsider. He has no vested interest in the king
Or his rules. He’s just there to see the Danish sites
And maybe as a bonus, he gets to hang out
With the Prince.
I want to see a Horatio who messes up the Danish formalities,
Who looks radically different from the court he’s a guest of.
Maybe with a camera to take pictures of the Danish sites?
Author: erainbowd
The king doth wake tonight and takes his rouse, Keeps wassail, and the swaggering upspring reels And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down The kettle drum and trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his pledge.
Faces all over the room are getting pinker
Redder
Deepening the shade with each bray of the trumpets.
The room is descending into a place where everyone
Is warmer and louder and less upright.
Several courtiers have gone horizontal.
The king has two men on either side of him
Maybe to hand him his Rhenish or maybe just
To keep him in his kingly posture.
Every time he brings his cup to his lips
The crowd goes wild – a refined room of nobles
Becoming a 20th century fraternity house
(Complete with the streaker midway through the night.)
Someone has hung his under garments on the nose
Of the wild boar stuffed on the wall.
The servants had to stop a duke from pissing in the corner several times
over the course of the night.
The savvy observer wonders if the king is actually drinking Rhenish.
He remains cool and calm
Putting on the show of drinking and loud macho camaraderie
But he seems vividly in control.
No article of his kingly costume has gone askew.
What does this mean, my lord?
What is the meaning of trumpets?
What do drums signify?
Harpsichord means Harpsichord
Ukulele, Ukulele
But those two bass notes mean a shark is coming.
Those three young voices singing in ascendance
Mean magical help is on its way.
When we hear those sharp strings striking
In quick succession,
We know it means a knife is doing quick work.
Music in the middle of the night in Denmark
Means that the king is up drinking, apparently.
It then draws near the season Wherein the spirit held his want to walk.
The winter of the day draws near
Or rather, the winter of the night.
The autumn was a short brisk one
Around twilight.
The summer, a bright afternoon.
When spring broke in the morning
Through the blinds
It made the hour bloom
As each minute opened its blossoms.
I heard it not.
They told me this life would be hard.
They said, “Talent isn’t enough.” They said
Only a few would find a way, that it
Would likely break my heart. They
Suggested I find some other thing to chase,
To set my sights on some other dream.
There was something about the odds
Something about the hardships
Something about the poverty
Something about the roller coaster
Something about perpetual rejection
Something about sacrifice and compromise.
They very definitely warned me.
Indeed?
Taking the word apart
Like a finished jigsaw puzzle
Breaking it off into chunks
Folding it up to put in the box
Taking piece from interlocking piece,
I find the pieces point to something about
The whole.
When someone tells us something remarkable,
We do not say “in-word?”
or “In truth?” or “in thought?”
No, for the real truth about something,
We look to ACTION
We look to what has been done
We will always trust that first.
No, it is struck.
Gong.
Tibetan bowl.
The enemy.
Rug.
Bell.
Grandfather clock.
The face of the hysterical person.
The set. The Hour.
Tibetan bowl.
The enemy.
Rug.
Bell.
Grandfather clock.
The face of the hysterical person.
The set. The Hour.
I think it lacks of twelve.
Twelve
Missing something
Missing its essential Twelveness.
It feels itself becoming itself
Becoming twelve
But there’s a hole there.
If only it had that little bit, that little missing piece,
Twelve would be the full embodiment of Twelve –
It would be all of its potential.
It would be the oak tree, not just
The acorn’s roots and branches.
There are words here.
What hour now?
Waiting is like this –
Watching the clock –
The now not being
Nearly as important
As what’s about to happen
Or not nearly as tolerable.
Sometimes knowing the time
Is a help – the reminder that
This too shall pass. And sometimes
It murders the moment,
Killing the present with the future.
It is a nipping and an eager air.
Horatio’s air is the energetic younger brother
To Hamlet’s shrewd biting air.
They travel together. The elder air, cagey and searching
For the optimum spot to sink its teeth in and the younger
Bops along next to him, just grazing the skin anywhere he can find some,
Like a puppy playing next to a fierce guard dog.
The Hamlet Project 