Hamlet Unbound

Standard

Dear Reader, 

The following attempt is based on Hamlet’s famous and eternal monologue (W. Shakespeare) with add-ons based on contemporary Greek Reality. The original monologue is @ the end of this post.

I could not resist when I re-read today the verses and feel the essence of the prototype on transferring – my humble apologies- these verses to the Greek drama (or tragicomedy). Firmly hope that it’s not hubris to Mr William S. but an outcry of what we live in Greece. At the end Hamlet without the Prince, resembles a Prometheus without the Eagle. Surely enough Denmark of the North is different from the wanna-be Denmark of the South. One way or another when the curtain falls redemption and catharsis are apparent. As of me and my country, gentlemen …It is accomplished! 

Hamlet Unbound

To Refer * or to Remember**; one, none, or both;  that is the question:

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
And Hellenes agonistes to grasp the essence of a hair cut,

fight to save a way of life that others thought to be a fraud
The slings and arrows of outrageous leverage fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and ephialtes,
And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep, to weep or to negotiate?
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
the heart-ache, and the thousand fiscal shocks
that flesh is heir to: ’tis a Union’s consummation
devoutly to be wished? To die, to sleep, to pay king’s ransom and negotiate;

To sleep, perchance to dream default – ay, there’s the rub of speculation:
For in that weeping sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal fiscal coil,
Must give us pause – there’s the respect of creditor
That makes calamity of so long procrast’ loan  life.
For citizens would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely interest,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary indebted life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered shiny marble country from whose bourn
No citizen returns, puzzles the will and tax the air,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resistance

Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. Soft you now,
The fair and poor Ellas! Nymph and mother, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered by my kids!
Be all my past and future overlap the present of an unknown origin
and give our offsprings a vision and a loaf of flower bread.

the rotten heart of Europe needs love and no money transfusion

Remember to Refer. Vox Populi!

by Admin

*Referendum  ** Memorandum

*****************************************************
(The original monologue: Hamlet by William Shakespeare) 

from Wikipedia
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause – there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remembered


Advertisements

Σχολιάστε

Εισάγετε τα παρακάτω στοιχεία ή επιλέξτε ένα εικονίδιο για να συνδεθείτε:

Λογότυπο WordPress.com

Σχολιάζετε χρησιμοποιώντας τον λογαριασμό WordPress.com. Αποσύνδεση / Αλλαγή )

Φωτογραφία Twitter

Σχολιάζετε χρησιμοποιώντας τον λογαριασμό Twitter. Αποσύνδεση / Αλλαγή )

Φωτογραφία Facebook

Σχολιάζετε χρησιμοποιώντας τον λογαριασμό Facebook. Αποσύνδεση / Αλλαγή )

Φωτογραφία Google+

Σχολιάζετε χρησιμοποιώντας τον λογαριασμό Google+. Αποσύνδεση / Αλλαγή )

Σύνδεση με %s