Hamlet
Ashley Fellhauer
I think Prince Hamlet needed glasses.
A quintessence of dust, he saw
Looking out to the blurry lines of soldiers disappearing
Into the faded greens of Denmark’s moors
And mountainous nondescript shadows where castles stood.
What a piece of work is mankind, he said,
Living in a haze of not-to-be.
And all the kids reading Nietzsche would agree,
Painting life as an articulate meaninglessness (in grayscale) –
But I think Hamlet secretly admired Shakespeare’s deliberacy,
And might’ve dreamt in paint-by-numbers landscapes.
Knowing all too well the angst of nondefinition –
Second grade, and “read the next line on the board, please,”
And squinting and shuffling,
And the ruffling and rumbling of my peers behind me
As I struggled to make sense of the ghosts of the lines and scribbles.
My myopic mother didn’t believe the teacher’s concerns –
She couldn’t see that I couldn’t see –
But the nurse signed me a bright green note,
And my dad took me to an optometrist,
And I’ve seen the world through something else ever since.
But I’m afraid Hamlet’s dad wasn’t really around,
And the sixteenth century didn’t quite have high-index lenses,
So Hamlet would never see the outline of Polonius behind the curtain,
Couldn’t make out the blooming violets growing among the graves,
And he didn’t see his uncle’s poison on Laertes’ blade
Until it pierced him.
I think Prince Hamlet needed glasses.
If only life could have been clearer to him –
If he could have witnessed fully the colors of the players’ crafts,
If he could have focused his eyes on Ophelia’s longing glances,
If he could have actually seen the heaven and hell of this philosophy –
I think his story could have had a happier ending.
Ashley Fellhauer
I think Prince Hamlet needed glasses.
A quintessence of dust, he saw
Looking out to the blurry lines of soldiers disappearing
Into the faded greens of Denmark’s moors
And mountainous nondescript shadows where castles stood.
What a piece of work is mankind, he said,
Living in a haze of not-to-be.
And all the kids reading Nietzsche would agree,
Painting life as an articulate meaninglessness (in grayscale) –
But I think Hamlet secretly admired Shakespeare’s deliberacy,
And might’ve dreamt in paint-by-numbers landscapes.
Knowing all too well the angst of nondefinition –
Second grade, and “read the next line on the board, please,”
And squinting and shuffling,
And the ruffling and rumbling of my peers behind me
As I struggled to make sense of the ghosts of the lines and scribbles.
My myopic mother didn’t believe the teacher’s concerns –
She couldn’t see that I couldn’t see –
But the nurse signed me a bright green note,
And my dad took me to an optometrist,
And I’ve seen the world through something else ever since.
But I’m afraid Hamlet’s dad wasn’t really around,
And the sixteenth century didn’t quite have high-index lenses,
So Hamlet would never see the outline of Polonius behind the curtain,
Couldn’t make out the blooming violets growing among the graves,
And he didn’t see his uncle’s poison on Laertes’ blade
Until it pierced him.
I think Prince Hamlet needed glasses.
If only life could have been clearer to him –
If he could have witnessed fully the colors of the players’ crafts,
If he could have focused his eyes on Ophelia’s longing glances,
If he could have actually seen the heaven and hell of this philosophy –
I think his story could have had a happier ending.