I'm feeling rather abstracted today, thinking about the poems I'm writing about the power of poetry (or other writing) to transform us, to give us things we can't otherwise have, or be.
And along with this I'm wondering, as I often have, about Prospero, in The Tempest, and why he chose to drown his books, give up his spells, go back to the everyday world. Some say it was Shakespeare himself laying down his pen, giving up the magic of the theater and the enchanted worlds he created on stage and on paper, and if so that makes me doubly sad, to think of losing the ability to conjure what one needs beyond the here and now.
Or does there come a time when one gives up needing to conjure, write, dream? I can't imagine it, if so.
image: Christie B. Cochrell, Berries and Sweet Peas
Very thoughtful post, Christie.
ReplyDeleteI'm a professional actor, and sometimes I have wondered: "Will I really be acting all my life?". I came to the following answer: "I'll keep acting until I feel I can learn something from it. When I feel acting gave me all it could give me, I'll stop acting.".
Maybe I'll just write then ;)
Who knows, maybe Shakespeare realized that, at that point, he really could not give the world more than he had already given.
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