Tuesday, September 20, 2011

You will remember, I think, Banquo?

You know: the fellow the Macbeths had to dinner, unexpectedly, having observed the precaution of assassinating him that afternoon? The guy who braved the witches with his host, and whose heir would reign if steps were not taken? Before Coppola and Puzo, there was Shakespeare; and guys, already leaping into the plays because they must, will find they are always with them as they read their governance. But for me, Banquo means another thing, primordially.

Has anyone not noticed, that the postings since our farewell to the Hotel Albemarle have borne the theme of betrayal? As in Banquo's appearance at the feast, this was completely subconscious and unexpected. What does it mean, for a parting from a great attachment to turn upon one's own choice? We had scarcely begun to draw the bath of that poem; and as we closed the tap and sat there, the poem rising by itself, I wonder if it was shame of our displacement, and not the indifference of the invisible hand of readership demand that drew us from the bath. Maybe, guys will understand our example. I do not.

   If you don't like it, you can get on with it, I said.
   Others can pick and choose if you can't.

T.S. Eliot
The Waste Land
  II A Game of Chess
      ll 152 - 154
op. cit.


  1. Laurent, perhaps Mark approaches the truth of your bathing experience in some manner: Spiritus quidem promptus; caro vero infirma.

  2. Are we sure this does not apply to the 'swim before breakfast'? Not that it matters. Thank you, by the way, for the discovery of this portrait; divided, chopped, and revised by light, one couldn't know if you'd laugh or cry with an attribution. [Readers are encouraged, by the way, to marvel at a poster for the play, at Derek's tumblr around this date - to say nothing of a quotation from Dartmouth, lending further suspicion].