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Bardic Bones

Who dug the dust? Who didn’t spare the stones?
Who churned the earth that festered with a curse?
Who had the gall to judder bardic bones,
To steal the skull from him who gilded verse?
These rumours rouse a mirthless moorland scene
Of cauldron-gathered hags of rasping song
Abubble with the juice of newt, a spleen,
A spider’s fang and lizard’s sticky tongue.
Alas, poor Playwright! Such a ghastly blow
Is apt to leave a fairy queen bereft.
This ghoulish deed, it stoops Othello low
With eyes of envy-green that boast of theft
From consecrated soil in moon-soaked view—
A tragic tale so dark, it must be true.

Such dark and tragic tales are always true—
Will’s shovelled shell has fired my Muse’s core,
Now simmering with scenes of vibrant hue
Ablaze with Lear’s portentous clifftop roar.
Her dreams are wreathed in essence of the Swan
Whisked from inkless rest and quill-free peace.
Like Hamlet, she has pangs to ponder on—
To be or not—to soldier on or cease?
She summons words that burn with Tybalt’s rage,
With Portia’s flair, and wit that smacks of Puck.
She knows for wordsmiths all the world’s a page—
It’s time rhapsodic rhyme and rhythm struck.
I’m set to shuffle off my lyric lull—
My Muse is in the thrall of Shakespeare’s skull.

Poetic fate is shaped by Shakespeare’s skull—
His dazzling orb has blessed phrenetic waves
With sparkle bold enough to buff the dull
Prosaic plod of soporific staves.
I feel a surge of sorcery at play—
A wizard’s spell has scorched my eager ear
With seas of iambs on this magic day
Awash with monster flourishes of cheer.
Linguistic gifts that glister in my mind
Are bright enough to blind Malvolio
With yellow-stocking zest—the sunshine kind—
To swell a hungry poet’s folio.
My Muse knows very well who jarred those bones—
She dug the dust and didn’t spare the stones.

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Poet’s Note

Shakespeare’s tombstone, located in Holy Trinity Church in Stratford-upon-Avon, bears the following inscription:

Good friend, for Jesus’ sake forbear,
To dig the dust enclosed here.
Blest be the man that spares these stones,
And cursed be he that moves my bones.

A 19th-century story claimed that Shakespeare’s skull was stolen from his grave in the late 18th century. In 2016, a ground-penetrating radar scan of his grave suggested that the skull might be missing. The church has not allowed an excavation to confirm or disprove the theory.

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Susan Jarvis Bryant is a poet originally from the U.K., now living on the Gulf Coast of Texas.

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4 Responses

  1. Roy Eugene Peterson

    Susan, fantastic poetry with sublime words and phrases that stirred the imagination and thrilled my soul. Your visions and thoughts resound within my own skull with which I am certain no one will bother to separate from my “unarticulated” state. The words came in waves of pleasure that washed over me and demanded pouring over many times. I stand in awe of your skills and mastery of English of all kinds. Thank you for this special edifying treat that should be placed somewhere near Shakespeare’s grave as an homage and a tribute.

    Reply
  2. Mark Stellinga

    I’m betting big you’re one of Willie’s descendants, Susan :-), and one of the most talented! What a wonderfully original concept to pen on! If I thought I could manage a proper PhD-comment I’d give it a shot, but we all know better. All the same – you get a resounding A+ from me for this outstanding triplicate-sonnet, one of the very best pieces of yours I’ve enjoyed over the past few years. FLAWLESS!

    Reply
  3. Gigi Ryan

    Dear Susan,
    Your “Bardic Bones” is a feast for the mind. You have left me speechless and full. Thank you.
    Gigi

    Reply
  4. Joseph S. Salemi

    This is an amazing set of sonnets, bejeweled with references to Shakespeare’s work and crafted with exquisite syntax around an essentially comic conceit (the missing skull).

    I understand that Milton’s skull was also stolen some decades after his death, and never recovered. That of Sir Thomas Browne was also appropriated. It’s true that the presence of a polished human skull was considered an appropriate accessory in one’s study or library, as a kind of sobering memento mori token. But most of such skulls were found in deserted areas or fields or worked-over churchyards where they were plentiful (recall the scene in Hamlet with Yorick’s skull), and not taken from tombs. After 1350, all of Europe was knee-deep in skulls.

    Reply

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