Its'a comin'.  Five presentations on Him.  At 1:15 in the South Court Auditorium at the Stephen A. Schwarzman Building at 42nd Street and Fifth Avenue. 

In the meantime, last night at the Columbia Shakespeare Seminar, a friend and I began to explore the idea of an anthology of poems about, not by, Shakespeare. What do you think?  Do you have one to contribute?  Should we create a blog? Facebook page? Create a pamphlet (how deliciously old-fashioned)? If you have a favorite poem about Shakespeare, please let me know.  One by favorite author, Sylvia Townsend Warner, follows.

Dame Judith Anderson as Lady Macbeth"Lady Macbeth's Daughter"

Your flesh sits featly on the bone
As sit the feathers on the swan,
Your brow is bravely broad and tall
As a new-masoned castle wall,
And well you are your father's daughter!
So sang my mother, the Thane's wife of Cawdor.

You shall have beads of gold and amber
And mock the wind in a warm chamber,
A rich relic you shall have
And a priest your soul to shrive,
So much you are your father's daughter!
So sang my mother, the Thane's wife of Cawdor.

You shall have the prayers of the poor,
And eat the red grouse from the moor,
And wipe your hands on a silk napkin
And wed a king's son for your liking
As shall befit your father's daughter -
So sang my mother, the Thane's wife of Cawdor.

The castle walls are slighted down,
The pretty martlets all are flown,
My beads were scattered in the fray,
The king's son stole my relic away.
Barefoot I trudge through mire and sleet
To gather nettles for my meat
And the poor's curses rattle after
Poor me, that am my father's and my mother's daughter.