Further to yesterday's post regarding the aesthetic principles that have guide Stephen Sondheim's approach to the writing of lyrics (which can be found in his 2010 book called Finishing the Hat), here is a telling quote that may shed some light on not only his own work but on some of the distinctive qualities of Shakespeare's songs, as well: "Poetry is an art of concision, lyrics of expansion. Poems depend on packed images, on resonance and juxtaposition, on density. Every reader absorbs a poem at his own pace, inflecting it with his own rhythms, stresses and tone. The tempo is dictated less by what the poet intends than by the reader's comprehension." (Before going further, I should mention that Sondheim includes a note regarding his decision to use the pronouns "his", "him", etc. to include both genders, "rather than hacking through a jungle of convoluted syntax...") The point of interest here is the fact that with a song, and particularly if it was written for the theatre, the music can't allow a listener to review and reconsider the words the way that poetry can, and therefore one of Sondheim's basic tenets is "Less is More."

OK, now have another look at the song from Love's Labour's Lost posted yesterday, and see if you find, as I do, that the simplicity and clarity that Sondheim values so highly were also thoroughly understood by Shakespeare. And here's more evidence, in the form of the song sung by Balthasar in act two, scene three of Much Ado About Nothing:

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,

Men were deceivers ever,

One foot in sea and one on shore,

To one thing constant never:

Then sigh not so, but let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into Hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no moe,

Of dumps so dull and heavy;

The fraud of men was ever so,

Since summer first was leavy:

Then sigh not so, but let them go,

And be you blithe and bonny,

Converting all your sounds of woe

Into Hey nonny, nonny.

In Stephen Sondheim's excellent new book entitled, Finishing the Hat (2010), he delineates some of the aesthetic principles that guide his work. Some of these have to do with the differences between poetry and lyric writing, and over the next couple of posts I'm going to see if they apply to Shakespeare's songs, as well. My hunch is that they do, but we'll see. In any event, Shakespeare's songs are often considered as some of the most beautiful to have been written in the language, and I'm looking forward to seeing if I can learn something about the concepts that went into their composition by comparing them with Sondheim's approach. It'll take a bit of time, but I'll try to get it done in the next few days, if I can. In the meantime, for your consideration, here's the song that closes Love's Labour's Lost:

SPRING.

When daisies pied and violets blue

And lady-smocks all silver-white

And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue

Do paint the meadows with delight,

The cuckoo then, on every tree,

Mocks married men; for thus sings he: Cuckoo;

Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,

Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws

And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,

When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,

And maidens bleach their summer smocks

The cuckoo then, on every tree,

Mocks married men; for thus sings he: Cuckoo;

Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear,

Unpleasing to a married ear!

WINTER.

When icicles hang by the wall

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail

And Tom bears logs into the hall

And milk comes frozen home in pail,

When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul,

Then nightly sings the staring owl: Tu-whit;

Tu-who, a merry note,

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow

And coughing drowns the parson's saw

And birds sit brooding in the snow

And Marian's nose looks red and raw,

When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,

Then nightly sings the staring owl: Tu-whit;

Tu-who, a merry note,

While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

Marchette Chute's Shakespeare in London (1965) is one of the most engaging of the biographies. Its portrait of the time is vivid and convincing, and it reminds us of how much is actually known about Shakespeare's life: quite a lot, in fact. She also seems quite certain of what was taught to Shakespeare and his classmates at the Stratford grammar school, even though it's my understanding that no one else is entirely sure of the contents of the curriculum. Chute, however, writes the following: "The curriculum of Stratford grammar school, like that of every other grammar school in England was serious, thorough and dull. There was no attempt whatever to fit the boys for the ordinary life they were going to find when they graduated, for all school theory in England was based on the medieval system. The purpose of schools in the Middle Ages was to turn out learned clerks for church positions, and therefore what the little boys of Renaissance England learned was Latin, more Latin, and still more Latin. About a decade after Shakespeare entered the classroom a London teacher urged that English should also be taught in the schools, but no one paid any attention to so radical a suggestion."

If this were the case, it would at least partially explain why the teachers in Shakespeare's plays, particularly Holofernes in Love's Labour's Lost and Sir Hugh Evans in The Merry Wives of Windsor (with its hilarious impromptu grammar quiz scene) are made the objects of fun, shall we say. But there may have been an upside to this sort of training, for Shakespeare at least: 1. The disciplined and systematic approach to the nuts and bolts of language may have provided grounding for his unmatched sentence construction. As a great teacher I once had the fortune to study with put it, "It's a paradox, but you have to take root to fly." 2. The freedom that Shakespeare must have felt afterward to be working in English, a language that was relatively young at the time (compared to Latin, it still is), and that, for various reasons (his work being a large one), has always managed to escape rules-based constrictions.

"What is the end of study?" is the question that Berowne puts to the king of Navarre in the opening scene of Love's Labour's Lost. Not only is it challenging to answer, and not only can it lead to many more questions of an epistemological nature, but it can also be interpreted in two diverging ways due to the fact that two senses of the word "end" suit it equally well. In the first, the word can signify a terminal point - and the question becomes something along the lines of, When have we studied enough? And in the second, it would refer to a purpose - and we get something like, What is the point of study? Of course, my opinion is simple: The answers to both of these questions are provided by the model of Shakespeare's career. Has knowledge ever been put to better use?

Reading complex matter is a bit like riding a horse at a high speed. Any misunderstood word can become an obstacle, and lead to an unplanned dismount. We have a tendency to think of reading as simply passing our vision through a series of words, and that after doing so, we'll "get it". But this isn't accurate. To improve at anything requires that we slow down and exaggerate the process. In terms of reading, this means that we must build the meaning of the material one piece at a time - letters, words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs, etc. And because Shakespeare is both the most demanding and the most substantial literature, it is the best place to build these skills. Its complexity forces everyone to read like a beginner.

Love's Labour's Lost is known for its wordplay and the complexity of its syntax. This fits in with one of its primary themes: language itself, its use and misuse. For example, many of the characters speak in ways that are intended to hide their true natures, and much of the play's abundant humour comes from these discrepancies and watching them be found out. But there is a lot of work to be done to get to it - fortunately - as it is the most intellectually rewarding work to be found.

One of the most fascinating moments in Love's Labour's Lost, a play that concerns the place of scholarship in a productive life, is Berowne's seemingly simple question: "What is the end of study?" Berowne, along with two other young noblemen, has agreed to join the King of Navarre in making his court "a little Academe" by studying hard and living ascetically for a three year period - "plain living and high thinking", in the words of Wordsworth, but he finds the terms increasingly frightening as the day approaches:

So much, dear liege, I have already sworn,

That is, to live and study here three years.

But there are other strict observances;

As, not to see a woman in that term,

Which I hope well is not enrolled there;

And one day in a week to touch no food

And but one meal on every day beside,

The which I hope is not enrolled there;

And then, to sleep but three hours in the night,

And not be seen to wink of all the day—

When I was wont to think no harm all night

And make a dark night too of half the day—

Which I hope well is not enrolled there:

O, these are barren tasks, too hard to keep,

Not to see ladies, study, fast, not sleep!

To which the King's reply is essentially: Too bad, you already agreed (I'm paraphrasing, of course; here's the full scene: http://www.opensourceshakespeare.org/views/plays/play_view.php?WorkID=loveslabours&Act=1&Scene=1&Scope=scene). And then comes the question above, which not only hovers over the rest of the play, but can haunt an audience member for some time afterward. More on this tomorrow.

Last night, I saw Love's Labour's Lost in a splendid production put on by the drama students of Dawson College. The performances were exuberant, filled with discovery and humour; I can't remember the last time I heard an audience laugh out loud so frequently during a play. And what a funny play it is, in both common senses of the word. It's not one of Shakespeare's most popular, I think it's safe to say. In fact, William Hazlitt once wrote, "If we were to part with any of the author's comedies, it should be this". I learned of this unfortunate moment (in an otherwise fine career), and much more about the play's history and contents, in H.R. Woudhuysen's excellent introduction to the Arden Shakespeare edition (1998), which I'll be writing about in the next couple of posts. For now, let me recommend this: the next time that you hear of a student production of a Shakespeare play - go see it. I wish William Hazlitt had seen this one.

I'm currently re-reading the three plays that are going to be performed in Montreal this November (links below), and it occurred to me that perhaps I've found the answer (for me, anyway) to the age-old question regarding Shakespeare: Is it better to read, or to see, one of his plays? Answer: It's better to read it. Why? Because it requires more from us. I often think back to an insight from one of Marshall McLuhan's essays, wherein he contrasted "hot" and "cool" media as follows: the more that a medium demands from the participant, the "hotter" it is. One of the brilliant aspects of Shakespeare (or any great drama, in fact) is that it opens up so many possible ways of interacting and being creative. Actors, directors, set designers, composers, teachers, critics - anyone who has spent time working with Shakespeare - will often consider it a highlight of their career, a point where their creativity was at its peak. That is very hot media. And reading the play gives our creativity and imaginations the greatest possible challenge. All of this being said, don't get the idea that I would dissuade anyone from seeing the plays live. I can't wait to see them myself. Once again, here are the links:

Measure for Measure - http://www.mcgill.ca/english/moyse/

Love's Labour's Lost - http://www.dawsoncollege.qc.ca/theatre-box-office/performances

Henry V - http://www.persephoneproductions.org/