Showing posts with label Shakespeare. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shakespeare. Show all posts

Monday, November 23, 2020

Donald Crowhurst: Just Like You

 

Looking beyond the vanishing point

An error in judgment or a weakness in character such as pride or arrogance helps bring about the hero's downfall. – Characteristics of Greek Tragedy, Quizlet

As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport - Shakespeare


Wealth. Fame. Status.
Under similar circumstances, perhaps you would have done the same. That’s what makes Donald Crowhurst a family member. He wasn’t outrageous or evil. Nor was he cruel or violent. He was just like you, a tightrope walker mercifully unaware of the ever-present chasm. Just a slight breeze, just enough to puff out a jib, is all that’s needed to slip.

In 1969, he slipped into the living hell of a dark mind; at first, intellectualizing his behavior, and then, when the center would no longer hold, diving into the womb of salvation and peace, a hundred miles deep in the North Atlantic.

End of the Voyage

He needed the money for his family, for his dreams, and The Sunday Times Golden Globe Race, a singled-handed, round-the-world race, offered everything. Wealth. Fame. Status. Yet, he had to win. It would take near genius-level cheating, but we all have different talents.

Wait, here’s an idea to draw less attention: what about a hail-fellow-well-met second place? The gods must have been bemused to let such a forlorn, sad man drift and bob across the whirling waves. What a character this Crowhurst was. Let’s blow his bark into first place. And that was it - the tipping point.

Gone was a father, a husband, a kind heart and a good sailor. How fragile and weak and courageous and strong. Exactly like you.




Wednesday, December 16, 2015

Richard Burton: The Voice cleaved from a coal face

Buffalo Bill’s
Chronicles of wasted time
defunct...
Jesus
he was a handsome man
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blue-eyed boy
Mister Death
-              - e.e. cummings

“I was merely the medium through which the words went.”Richard Burton

Listen Yorick: The love, beauty, fame. and death
The Voice was cleaved from a coal face deep beneath Welsh meadows always rich as the grass is green. It was born to be heard, that played language as an errant storm god racing the wind in pursuit of love, beauty, fame and death.



Richard Burton
The Voice....the voice
Absolve him of the drinking, the carousing, the nightclubs, the women, the reckless embrace of a mythic gift, and listen just as Shakespeare completes Hamlet’s soliloquy and hands the paper, still wet with ink, to Burton, to the one who can force the green fuse of life up through the roiling blood of his lungs and out into the world forever breathing.