On Wallowing Naked in December Snow
It's cold today, and cold always makes me think of Bolingbroke.
Shakespeare, rather untidily, moved straight on to Richard II without ever writing the first in the series: Richard I, the one about Richard the Lionheart and Robin Hood, which would have been a big box-office hit. Lots of bows and arrows and crusades and fighting and romance and stealing from the rich to give to the poor. It could have been The Lord of the Rings of its day, but no, Shakespeare missed his chance.
Still, there are some juicy bits in Richard II, and I've always liked it. The plot is: weak king pisses everyone off, speaks some great poetry, gets murdered. (Sorry if I spoiled the ending for you).
It's the one where John of Gaunt describes his country - our country - as "this precious stone set in the silver sea" and okay, it's a cliche, but I still like it.
And, whenever it's cold, I think of Bolingbroke.
The story is, the King sends Bolingbroke into exile, and Bolingbroke's gutted. He can only think of how vile and how shameful it's going to be. Old John of Gaunt tries to cheer him up saying - rather more poetically, granted - look mate, it might not be so bad, try to think positive and look to the future.
And Bolingbroke replies:
Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
And it's the two last lines that I always think of when it's cold.
So Bolingbroke thought that it's impossible to be able to wallow naked in the snow simply by thinking of the summer's heat. I find it hard to imagine, in this kind of weather, that our garden was ever hot, ever like this:
Here's a photo taken in Shakespeare's time. Well, nearly. Summer 2003, before I had a digital camera. Hot, hot day. That smell of sunburned grass. Flowers.
If it snows tonight, I invite you to try out a bit of Naked Wallowing. I think you'll find that Bolingbroke was right.
Shakespeare, rather untidily, moved straight on to Richard II without ever writing the first in the series: Richard I, the one about Richard the Lionheart and Robin Hood, which would have been a big box-office hit. Lots of bows and arrows and crusades and fighting and romance and stealing from the rich to give to the poor. It could have been The Lord of the Rings of its day, but no, Shakespeare missed his chance.
Still, there are some juicy bits in Richard II, and I've always liked it. The plot is: weak king pisses everyone off, speaks some great poetry, gets murdered. (Sorry if I spoiled the ending for you).
It's the one where John of Gaunt describes his country - our country - as "this precious stone set in the silver sea" and okay, it's a cliche, but I still like it.
And, whenever it's cold, I think of Bolingbroke.
The story is, the King sends Bolingbroke into exile, and Bolingbroke's gutted. He can only think of how vile and how shameful it's going to be. Old John of Gaunt tries to cheer him up saying - rather more poetically, granted - look mate, it might not be so bad, try to think positive and look to the future.
And Bolingbroke replies:
Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand
By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
And it's the two last lines that I always think of when it's cold.
So Bolingbroke thought that it's impossible to be able to wallow naked in the snow simply by thinking of the summer's heat. I find it hard to imagine, in this kind of weather, that our garden was ever hot, ever like this:
Here's a photo taken in Shakespeare's time. Well, nearly. Summer 2003, before I had a digital camera. Hot, hot day. That smell of sunburned grass. Flowers.If it snows tonight, I invite you to try out a bit of Naked Wallowing. I think you'll find that Bolingbroke was right.
posted by Daphne at 6:14 pm
5 Comments:
ah, yes, the famous paddling pool scene from Richard II.
"Shall we play the wantons with our woes,
And make some pretty paddling pool?"
I had to learn this at school and when its cold and frosty (like this morning) I think of it , though of course I cannot remember much of it.
When Icicles Hang By The Wall
William Shakespeare
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,
To-whit!
To-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,
To-whit!
To-who!—a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
I'm not sure what Chinese food has to do with paddling pools - I think John has been on the magic mushrooms again.
It's really hard to feel festive here with the temps reaching the low 80's every day but the park residents do their best, bless 'em.
There are more lights on a single property here than in my entire street in Leeds but it's just not the same if you can't see your breath.
Love the photo, Daffy. Never knew your hair was ever THAT long !
Ian
Ah, John, I thought you'd know the Paddling Pool scene, good.
Mr Birdwatcher; thank you - that speech is one of my very favourite bits of Shakespeare - it's great. I always think it's from A Winter's Tale (which hey, it should be) and it just isn't, it's from Love's Labour's Lost. Most confusing.
Ian - glad you recognised me: Emily and I are so alike (!!) You can see your breath in Leeds tonight, all right. Could you explain that phrase "low 80s" - I just can't remember what it means.
Such a cool photo!! (And taken the 'old fashioned' way!) No naked wallowing for me, I'm afraid - it's too dang cold!! Spent today lurking under a woolly hat - the kind with plaits down the sides and a big pink pom-pom on top for extra warmth!
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