‘If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
The age to come would say “This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne’er touched earthly faces”‘
This is the sonnet of the day. Well, actually, the stanza of the day. I’ve spent a lovely part of the day with various sonnets, getting angry, getting upset, or lovesick, or… lovebetter, I suppose.
I have decided on a colour coding system, as well as a method of linking them:
Each sonnet first has a character list. Some, like sonnet 119, only technically has one character.
“I”. I’ve also decided that the characters can’t be gendered unless they’re already gendered. So
“I” is never male or female at this point. “I” is such a full character, it’s entirely likely “I” is (I may start to refer to “I” in the first person. Don’t be alarmed) could be three or four people of different genders.
There are obviously sexual references, and some more subtle sexual references. They’re coloured dark blue. Anything relating to nature is dark green, while anything pertaining to human nature is light green. Body parts are pink, love is (of course) red, the “child” “I” speak of is light blue,
as is any reference to creation. However, the child is also a character, and I’m treating “it” as such.
I can’t tell you in words just how happy it makes me to spend a morning, just a morning, reading a sonnet (sometimes for the first time aloud), analysing it as a miniature monologue and reading it again with the knowledge I’ve gained as the character. It’s a huge amount of fun, as a writer, an academic and as an actor.
I wish everyone could see what I could see. Through their own eyes. And then tell me what they think of it. Perspective. Asking people to look, and then asking them to think. Think with
me. It’s such a colourful world out there. All these sonnets, with all these colours. When my whole wall is covered in colours, it might just show me a sense of the fullness and the roundness and the being-ness of a human being.
Technically, all of these poems should be light green. Together they make up a snippet of human nature. Isn’t that amazing? All the poems that flutter on my wall when a breeze comes in. Aren’t they simply amazing. I wish you could see it. It’s like the poetry’s alive on my wall. Alive in my room. Without doing anything at all to the poems, this could be installation art of the finest degree.
I think I just found my set.