shapes and sounds

What is the most powerful thing you can imagine? Nuclear weapons? Stars? Planets? Emotions?

It'll come as no surprise to anyone when I reveal that I truly believe there are few things as powerful as language. It's the kind of thing I'd say in a job interview, but it also happens to be true.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God.

John 1: 1-2

I love language. It fascinates me, it intimidates me, it terrifies me. Many of you already know this - so why am I describing my fixation all over again? Well, shocking as it may seem, not everyone shares my view. Some people actually see truth in that old saying, "Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never harm me." But why?

In my opinion it has a lot to do with the diet of limp, flavourless drivel we are spoon-fed and which we spoon-feed those around us. Honestly, I am no language ludite wishing we still spoke Jacobite english. I recognise that language evolves and I embrace the fact. It shows that language is an organic thing - and something living is always more powerful than something inert.

As a teacher I can see the reason behind simplifying language and what can happen when people use language to exclude certain members of our community. But I also see the need to constantly challenge our understanding of the world though increasingly complex questioning.

For everyone who partakes only of milk is unskilled in the world of righteousness, for he is a babe. But solid food belongs to those who are of full age, that is, those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern both good and evil.

Hebrews 5:13-14

The more we simplify the language the more we remove the colour and the power of those words. Let me give you an example from the world of education. Take a look at this monologue. You may have read it before; it is the moment Romeo first sets eye on Juliet - a moment that changes his character profoundly:

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!


It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night 
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear;

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!

So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, 


As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 
The measure done,

I'll watch her place of stand, 
And, touching hers,

make blessed my rude hand. 


Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! 


For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

Now read the modern translation from a text book I picked up in a classroom this morning:

Oh, torches look dim beside her! She embellishes night time like a rich jewel in an Ethiopian’s ear – too beautiful for everyday use, too valuable for this world. She stands out like a snow-white dove amongst the crows.

Once the dance is over I’ll see where she stands and make my rough hand blessed by touching hers. Did my heart know real love till now? My eyes need look no further: I hadn’t seen true beauty till tonight.

I do understand why it is helpful to simply the language for young students (and atleast this translation didn’t cut most of the speech completely the way Baz Luhrmann did in his film version.) The most common complaint I hear in school about Shakespeare is that they “don’t understand what he’s on about.” It is testament to the power of the language that they, without perhaps always understanding the meaning of every word, could still experience the control and power contained in them.

And therein lies the evidence for my views of language. The power contained is threefold – the message carried, the knowledge shared, and the very living words themselves. You must surely agree with that if not with my final assertion that the greatest of these three powers is the third. I won’t force you to believe that the shape of words, the sound of words, this is where the beauty lies as much as in the message. In fact you are more than welcome to disagree about the power of words at all. I will happily consider your argument – as soon as you work out how to present it without language.

Be in no doubt

Doubt thou the stars are fire!
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.

Hamlet: Act 2, Scene 2

from page to stage

“Some things are just designed to be read aloud I guess.”

That was a comment from one of my year 12s earlier. And it was one of several events which restored my faith in Literature this week – well, maybe ‘restored’ is the wrong word; maybe ‘reaffirmed.’

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18. Don’t tell anyone but I’m a sucker for a good sonnet. Even one as popular as #18 - Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day. Normally I try to forgo the popular choice in favour of a path less trod but I like this one.
Of course I got the usual groans when I handed out copies to my year 12 literature class. They tell me they’re not Shakespeare fans. They tell me that they find his language a barrier rather than a selling point. They tell me he is rammed down their throats so much that they can hardly breathe and they feel under undue pressure – that if they don’t like the bard they believe they are seen as lesser beings. I try to understand, but I can’t empathise. After they read through this particular poem, making first impression annotations, their mood was no better.
“It’s gay!” announced one of my more vocal girls. “If some lad said something like that to me I’d finish with him there and then.” There was general murmured approval and so she continued, “I’d worry greatly about his sexuality.”
“Because he writes poetry?”
“Because he wrote a poem about a type of love that doesn’t exist. It’s sickly sweet and unrealistic”
I found it hard to argue against that – so instead I took them through the poem a bit at a time and looked at the mechanics – I find this an uninspiring task but it has to be done. And finally, as a parting gesture I read it aloud – well, I didn’t read it; I recited it. Eye contact makes a big difference you know. I gave it everything. I put my all in to it. I gie ‘er Dixie.
I’m not going to tell you I am a good reader, I am under no illusion that my public speaking is anything other than average; but twelve lines in I paused, looked them in the eye, and read the last couple of lines,
As long as men can breath, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, [dramatic gesture towards the poem projected on the wall behind me]
And this, gives life to thee.
Then silence. Everyone was looking at me - it was unnerving. The silence seemed to last an age. Then a collective exhale. They were rapt. I think I may even have heard a slight "awww" coming from one of the rugby players sitting at the back of the room.
Of course it was all ruined when I pointed out it was written to a young man and the rest of the lesson descended into a debate about whether Shakespeare was gay or not. Well at least I had them for a moment.
Do they love Shakespeare now? Not even a bit. But they enjoyed that one little bit of Shakespeare. I think it helps when you understand that he understands us. Wow that last sentence was pretentious – superb!