Born before the mediated perspectives we now so cherish, Yorick the resurrected character of a noble’s jester, conjures – tomb lounging; a post-death activity presumedly common among the ruling classes. Fancy stuff deposited in the deep for infinity.
Yorick, a medieval skeleton [ or do you say “early-modern” ? early-modern seems a bit clinical, austere, academic don’t you think? ] … any way, a jester’s skeleton who imagined what ( he thought ) his late gentleman’s tomb ought to look like: the vast riches aggressively accumulated and laid to rest with pharaonic nobility.
Upon visiting, that tragic luxury seems missing, it is just a bit to vacant.
The story of those [ lacking ] bits of the material life are suitable fodder for a comic playwright. The historical perspective an archeologist might gain poking through this tomb, is limited. But the post-modern world we are supposedly living in (and any playwright adapted to these times) might find these items less than violently raucous commercially-adaptable comic; they do seem slow, rural, even benign. The tomb lacks the medieval shower of gilt and bronze and the modern proliferation of golf clubs, drones, and digital gadgets, so where would the story be found? With Yorick?
Historical tragedies and conjured comedies seem to agree it is probably best to reflect on them in the upper strata, here and now. Linked burdens and various (yet to be forgiven) vintage incendiary devices are the treasures of many a tomb.
So, did you get last weeks riddle? maybe while you were dangling and clanging your Key Chain??
Wouldn’t it be nice if every riddle was so easily solved (or dismissed).
Yorick is out wandering the prairie; just imagine marbled cerulean above and dappled green, really really green below. Such is trusted this time of year.
Nature and judicious tending typically remove the mystery of growing. But the reaping, (where lies can’t confuse the numbers) is a puzzle, months from resolution.
Yorick again offers a love-poem for commonplace THINGS…
The answer next Saturday here at anachronisticanarchist.com.
What is She doing?
(But first this inquiry) Does He have a right (is that the right word(?)- it is such a big word – to visit? Would it be best to just stay away? She is, after all, trying to grasp and maybe emote some timeless grace.
Close to the river, the thickets (as good as any other background for mortality) limit her (as they do him); and maybe – maybe is such a big word don’t you think, (maybe?) – maybe She wants some quiet from the chaos of emotives and bomb-throwers, and enfant terribles, and maybe just (and is this the smallest maybe) maybe from He and his craziness?
Now that He has passed the conspicuous discrepancy (He, faulted, walked the straight and narrow – to her) shouldn’t He be acceptable? Maybe (as one might think) maybe, to be with her at the river…maybe? Maybe He has his own flowing grace or simple crazed value.
Or maybe it doesn’t matter, maybe She just wants to ponder a while, stare (or gaze) through this moment …
… or maybe wait …
… wait …wait, (that is also … such a big word).