September-17

/ Sean Fraser

The Tempest Act V. Scene I. [Fragment]
William Shakespeare (26 April 1564 (baptised) – 23 April 1616)

Now does my project gather to a head:
My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and time
Goes upright with his carriage. How’s the day?

On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord,
You said our work should cease.

I did say so,
When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit,
How fares the king and’s followers?

Confined together
In the same fashion as you gave in charge,
Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir,
In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell;
They cannot budge till your release. The king,
His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted,
And the remainder mourning over them,
Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly
Him that you term’d, sir, “The good old lord, Gonzalo;”
His tears run down his beard, like winter’s drops
From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works ’em,
That if you now beheld them, your affections
Would become tender.

Dost thou think so, spirit?

Mine would, sir, were I human.

And mine shall.
Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling
Of their afflictions, and shall not myself,
One of their kind, that relish all as sharply,
Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art?
Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick,
Yet with my nobler reason ’gainst my fury
Do I take part: the rarer action is
In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent,
The sole drift of my purpose doth extend
Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel:
My charms I’ll break, their senses I’ll restore,
And they shall be themselves.

I’ll fetch them, sir.

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves;
And ye that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him
When he comes back; you demi-puppets that
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid—
Weak masters though ye be—I have bedimm’d
The noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds.
And ’twixt the green sea and the azured vault
Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire, and rifted Jove’s stout oak
With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck’d up
The pine and cedar: graves at my command
Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let ’em forth
By my so potent art. But this rough magic
I here abjure; and, when I have required
Some heavenly music,—which even now I do,—
To work mine end upon their senses, that
This airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And deeper than did ever plummet sound
I’ll drown my book. Solemn music.

A solemn air, and the best comforter
To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains,
Now useless, boil’d within thy skull! There stand,
For you are spell-stopp’d.
Holy Gonzalo, honourable man,
Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine,
Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace;
And as the morning steals upon the night,
Melting the darkness, so their rising senses
Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle
Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo,
My true preserver, and a loyal sir
To him thou follow’st! I will pay thy graces
Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly
Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter:
Thy brother was a furtherer in the act.
Thou art pinch’d for’t now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood,
You, brother mine, that entertain’d ambition,
Expell’d remorse and nature; who, with Sebastian,—
Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,—
Would here have kill’d your king; I do forgive thee,
Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding
Begins to swell; and the approaching tide
Will shortly fill the reasonable shore,
That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them
That yet looks on me, or would know me: Ariel,
Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell:
I will discase me, and myself present
As I was sometime Milan: quickly, spirit;
Thou shalt ere long be free.

41 thoughts on “September-17”

  1. A Spell-stopp’d – Not Moonshine, Not Noontide

    This unnatural cure cruelly dissolves the spirit, not the afflictions. Fall. Melting the passion, your skull brimful of foul fumes. Plummet. Mourning the ebbing of magic and art. Drown. In your tears of dismay. Cease. The furies are strong, but you are kill’d.

    @feclarkart

    Liked by 4 people

  4. Not one of them

    By my magic, I have waked the brooks and reeds.
    I have called forth the winds.
    My project, to make an art of nature.
    I was but air,
    were I human, flesh and blood, and one of their kind,
    I would become tender, forgive, take part in feeling
    and turn the green sea azure, the earth made free.

    Liked by 5 people

  6. ‘bury the penitent’

    you break my senses
    (your unsettled charms)
    so my tears run down over their wrongs
    to pay at my command

    to release the dread
    you relish
    I shake their weak masters
    from the groves

    as fancy is mine–
    deeper
    than any grave

    Liked by 5 people

  7. The Charm Dissolves

    In virtue than in vengeance, being penitent,
    I will discase me, and myself present.
    Not a frown further, which now I do, Ariel.
    My charms boil’d within thy skull
    To work mine end upon their senses, that
    To an unsettled fancy my purpose doth extend
    That your affections would become tender.
    Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling,
    Unnatural though thou art, an understanding?
    Now does my project gather to a head
    Yet with my nobler reason I have bedimm’d
    The drift of my purpose for you are spell-stopp’d.
    That unsettled fancy what inward pinches; therefore
    My charms I’ll break, ye senses I’ll restore.
    Thou shalt ere long be free.

    Liked by 5 people

  8. Time Fragment 6166541.1

    ——————————Moonshine——————————steals
    ————————————————the sleeper’s ————————reason
    ————as melting ——————————————drops
    ————————————————————————————of time————————fill the shore
    with hills ———————of printless —————sands
    —————— and——————ebbing tides —————of azured sea——————release——————————the hour
    ————————to midnight winds
    ————————————————————————that shake—————distracted ————green ————of oak ———————and pine
    —————and cedar
    ———————————in the sour earth groves
    ——————————————————————————on which
    ————————————————————————————————they stand.

    Liked by 4 people

  9. The Tempest

    The fury of Spirits ’gainst the human afflictions that they with Nature foul

    Nature on darkness swell of the azured Vault

    by boil’d air in vengeance rising
    by melting earth in vengeance rising
    by mutinous sea in vengeance rising

    in fathoms of time

    art honourable Spirits expell’d;

    and, Man they shall be themselves
    in this grave of Earth so made
    all prisoners confined

    for the heavenly Graces and Virtue

    shalt fly.

    Liked by 3 people

  11. dear verstype poets, I love your work this month! strangely, for the first time ever, I’ve not been able to cut it into anything – maybe I know the piece too well and can only see/hear it whole, it’s curious – so I tried a different method and auto-translated it across 3 languages then back to english – the lines are exactly as returned, and in sequence, but selected to best hold the piece together – I realise this goes outside the terms of the jigsaw project, but I wanted to share it with you anyway because it’s an interesting method and I quite like the result

    The Tempest (fragment) auto-translated from English to Italian to Polish to Urdu to English

    Storm (piece)

    Now he collects his plan in his head.
    My attention is not broken; my souls are obeyed.
    The movement in the basin starts

    Dirty sorrow and sadness; but at the top
    Her tears are shocking her ring like winter
    Barrel gutter Your attention is so strong that it works

    This is a contract.
    You are just, feel, feel
    With their diseases

    Although I fast with their high mistakes,
    However, because of my biggest reason, I get angry
    I’m part of it: angry action

    My steps will be lost, their custom may be restored,
    And they will be alone.
    And you, on the sand with your legs naked

    This is Demi Doll
    The oil acids from the moon,
    It enjoys the north of Mushrooms

    Listen to a formal craft. Which help –
    In the afternoon the sun called many winds
    It is located near the green and the sea

    Battle Fight: Fear of fear
    With its own patch; Strong head
    I shouted and the guns were fired

    Pine and wall: Graves of my order
    They picked up the crosses, let them go and let them go
    My art is very powerful. But this is very bad magic

    This stress is for me, I break my person
    Burst some forms in the earth
    And more sound than ever

    I have trouble with my book. Ceramic music
    In case of unstable fantasies, treat your mind
    Because you are a magician

    Canto gonzo, dependent man
    My eyes, too beautiful for your show
    autumn. Spreads attention

    The combination of the dark, so their insects grow
    Start pursuing false smoke that they hold
    Their reason is clear. Good luck

    Both the words in the word and action. More cruel
    These inner pads are very strong
    He will kill his king. I miss you

    It begins to swing; and the wave is coming closer
    It will reduce the appropriate beaches to fill

    Get a hat and a mouse in my cell:
    I drowned myself

    For a while like: in hurry, in the spirit;

    You will have time to get free.

    Liked by 4 people

    • Yes, I do find it curious you could not use the words. And, Yes— that is a wonderful technique; I used Rimbaud with (original) French > Japanese > English > Chinese > [Et al] and used whatever the translator had. It’s a remarkable method.

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      • thanks sean, I very much appreciate your stretching the categories – I do think of these pieces as cut-ups but also mash-ups 😉
        – are the rimbaud pieces on your website?

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      • They were: site’s gone. I did mine as amusements into how far removed words would become; Bing was best. [Any Language] > Welsh > Japanese rendered very far removed from the original source poems.

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  13. ‘vengeance (virtue)’

    sole drift of midnight
    my unsettled fire
    most cruelly you use me
    (inward remorse
    would kill your spirit?)
    a kind touch
    rarer than your reason
    Have I given?
    (passion. purpose. restore.)
    I chase the ignorant to darkness
    you said
    your affection begins to swell
    rising tide–I will drown
    in kindlier looks
    ‘gainst my fury
    (tender feeling. passion. touch.)
    I am home

    Liked by 2 people

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