Art from the Outskirts

Archived from November 18, 2008

“Sonnet 130″ by William Shakespeare

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

To all those who have ever been in love with an “average” woman or have realized a person is special beyond his or her looks, station in life, or bank account - this piece is for you. In a railing and ardently Outskirtish protest of the romanticism of the poetry of his time, Shakespeare’s mistress is real to her core with wiry hair which mangles her visage and a voice that could only be loved by those who love her (and possibly William Hung of American Idol fame).

She is certainly no crooner:

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;

Her complexion appears to be deep and dark:

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
…I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;

…and her grace all but missing but her love remains steadfast, though her beauty is merely fleeting:

I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

Here’s to real and true love without limits!

Love from the Outskirts!

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