For most of last year I've been using DailyLit, a wonderful service that emails you books in little chunks. I've found that I read on my Blackberry them while sitting with my daughter as she drifts off to sleep, or while walking to work and in other quiet moments during the day. There's quite a variety of books available, so you're bound to find something worth your time.
Just today I received Sonnet 154 of 154, from the collected sonnets of William Shakespeare. I'm counting this a book finished in 2009 although most of it was read in 2008, just because.
I'm not sure of my overall impression of the sonnets, spread out as it was over half a year, but I did find myself looking forward to each day's new arrival, so the extended exercise didn't turn me off. I'm still most moved by Sonnet 116 for personal reasons, and wonder if each sonnet bears more meaning in memory of the context in which one encounters it than for its intrinsic meaning.
I see from Wikipedia that Simon Callow has done an unabridged reading of the whole 154 sonnets. Interesting...
Just today I received Sonnet 154 of 154, from the collected sonnets of William Shakespeare. I'm counting this a book finished in 2009 although most of it was read in 2008, just because.
I'm not sure of my overall impression of the sonnets, spread out as it was over half a year, but I did find myself looking forward to each day's new arrival, so the extended exercise didn't turn me off. I'm still most moved by Sonnet 116 for personal reasons, and wonder if each sonnet bears more meaning in memory of the context in which one encounters it than for its intrinsic meaning.
I see from Wikipedia that Simon Callow has done an unabridged reading of the whole 154 sonnets. Interesting...
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I memorized the first one, Robert Frost's The Silken Tent, ten years ago and can still remember it:
She is as in a field a silken tent
At midday when a sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew, and all the ropes relent,
So that in guys she lightly stands at ease;
And her supporting central cedar pole,
Which is her pinnacle to heavenward,
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But, strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless gentle ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the circle round;
And only by one's going slightly taut
Through the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware.
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