She has seen it all.
Everything I know and do…
Everything I am…
Everything I’ve done…
And it has all been for her…
She has seen it all.
-
Follow
Following
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
She has seen it all.
Everything I know and do…
Everything I am…
Everything I’ve done…
And it has all been for her…
She has seen it all.
David Emeron: Sonnets 
Question, what has she seen?
LikeLike
Ah well, capital!!! So lovely to see you here again, young miss!
The answer: She has such things as are touched upon in the accompanying sonnet for which the above is the introduction:
https://davidemeron.com/2012/12/10/sonnet-ix/
Also, when taken together the previous sonnets labelled (thus far) from ‘I’ to ‘IX” which might put the above even further in perspective.
(or 1 to 9 in the numbering system used in Ancient Rome–very old fashioned of me, I know, but there is something traditionally heart-warming in the using of such things in the way in which they have for so very long been used)
In any case, If, after you have a look at the aforementioned sonnet–or even the entire sequence of nine (which may, indeed go on beyond ten, I should so state)–you find you are still somewhat vexed as to the meaning of the above, do reply here, and I shall explain in more detail, or perhaps direct you to a post (which I have not yet written, but which I probably ought write) explaining the whole “shootin’ match,” as goes the saying.
Sonnets, particularly when written, however imperfectly, in Elizabethan English (also known as King James English) are not accessible to all readers. They are something of an acquired taste in any case. I often suggest to those who are new to such things, that they might simply read them aloud and experience the sound alone, and allow the meaning to come later.
Still, in many senses, at least after 1600ad or so, English is… well… English, and quite a lot of it is fairly decipherable if one takes a bit of time with it.
This is particularly true in the case of such work of mine, because I am certainly no master of these archaic forms of English, and so use them–often with a fair amount of stumbling and anachronism–because my lovely wife is, with their sound, so enamoured. Although at this point, having done so for many decades, I have myself become rather enamoured with the sound of such language.
LikeLike
Hey David!
Thank you for such a quick response, I appreciate the explanation….I will have to take a look at the rest your sonnets…Again I really do appreciate the reply…you write beautifully…continue..<3
LikeLike
Revisiting this comment, deal lady, I think, perhaps, I teased too much. The direct answer is this:
She has seen everything I have done or am able to do:
Heard me play (on piano, which is my main instrument) my own works, and the works of others I love,
As well as spurious improvisation which she especially loves.
Read and heard my poetry and prose.
Witness whatever technical or scientific things I have done, or built.
Seen everything! Seen it all.
This is in stark contrast to what I have seen of her. Although I have known my sweetheart for a very, very long time, and have seen and heard her do a great many wonderful things, I have never heard her play the cello, or seen her dance classical ballet. I know only from the accounts of others, that both of these were thought to be breathtaking.
I did not and have not seen either one, because I did not know her well enough, at the time she was able to do these wonderful things, to have had occasion to see them.
And, due to a tragic injury see sustained quite young–though not while dancing–unless Heaven is real, I shall never see her dance as above I described. To a person who is not a dancer, this injury would not be thought as crippling, but to a dancer, of course, it was. Therefore she could, after that event, no longer dance, although she does not appear impaired in any other way.
And, due to an early attack of childhood onset MS, (which came and went, mysteriously undiagnosed for many decades until fairly recently) tragically, and strangely, her knowledge of the cello was, untimely, ripped from her memory.
LikeLike