Another joyful Sonnet Walk weekend in Bury St Edmunds!

On Saturday 21 and Sunday 22 May 2011, Bury St Edmunds was once again descended upon by gangs of carnation-clutching Sonnet seekers as part of the Bury St Edmunds festival.

As they followed a special guided route around the town centre, audience members encountered a variety of performers who entertained them with renditions of Shakespeare’s sonnets.

Below, you’ll find more information on the “sonneteers” and the sonnets they performed as well as comments from this year’s audience.

Thanks to all involved for making it such a special experience.

Produced and directed by Abigail Anderson in association with the Theatre Royal.

Young Theatre Company directed and organised by Sally Waters and Amy Wyllie

Setting for Sonnet 3 composed by Glen Dempsey.
Setting for Sonnet 23 composed by Birgitta Kenyon.

In addition to the performers a great many people have contributed to the Sonnet Walk in a variety of ways, so a huge thank you to: Sharron Stowe, Nick Wells of the Bury Festival, David Lynch of David’s, Geoffrey Pickess, Chris Warton and all at the Masons Arms, Marian Shaw, Emma Martin, Steve Willerton of Brown and Co., Sue Scrivener, the staff at the Apex and at the Theatre Royal, Jean Pickering Senior Ranger of Abbey Gardens, Daisy Robb, and last but not least, Carrie Fitton.

Flowers supplied by Flowers for all Occasions: 01284 828829

Tracy Elster was performing in Hanchet Square.

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deal heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Sonnet 29

Nick Paley and Claire Dunnell Paley were performing in the Courtyard of The Masons Arms.

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.

Sonnet 57

The Treblemakers; Cameron Crabtree, Glen Dempsey, Jonny Elstone, Matt Elstone and Luke Stowe performed at David’s, Langton Place.

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear’d womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age shall see
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember’d not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

Sonnet 3

Joe Hufton performed at 25 Church Walks.

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and cheque’d even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

Sonnet 15

Karen Woods performed at Angel Corner.

Mine eye hath play’d the painter and hath stell’d
Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart;
My body is the frame wherein ’tis held,
And perspective it is the painter’s art.
For through the painter must you see his skill,
To find where your true image pictured lies;
Which in my bosom’s shop is hanging still,
That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes.
Now see what good turns eyes for eyes have done:
Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me
Are windows to my breast, where-through the sun
Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee;
Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art;
They draw but what they see, know not the heart.

Sonnet 24

The Theatre Royal Young Company; Tom Houlton, Harriet Kent, Olivia Lewis, Valerie Lewis, Michael Lithco, Edwin Marr, Zoe Moore, Maylott Robinson and Callum Stephen performed at the Abbey Gardens picnic.

My love is as a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,
The uncertain sickly appetite to please.
My reason, the physician to my love,
Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,
Hath left me, and I desperate now approve
Desire is death, which physic did except.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care,
And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;
My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,
At random from the truth vainly express’d;
For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright,
Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

Sonnet 147

David Peart was performing at the Water Garden, Abbey Gardens.

When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor’d youth,
Unlearned in the world’s false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress’d.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love’s best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter’d be.

Sonnet 138

Patrick Marlowe was performing at Great Churchyard.

If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp’d by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O, then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
‘Had my friend’s Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I’ll read, his for his love.’

Sonnet 32

Amy Noonan was performing at St Mary’s Square.

Lord of my love, to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit,
To thee I send this written embassage,
To witness duty, not to show my wit:
Duty so great, which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare, in wanting words to show it,
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul’s thought, all naked, will bestow it;
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
Points on me graciously with fair aspect
And puts apparel on my tatter’d loving,
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:
Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee;
Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me.

Sonnet 26

Birgitta Kenyon and Hannah Colthorpe with members of The Voice Squad performed at the Theatre Royal.

As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart.
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,
O’ercharged with burden of mine own love’s might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more express’d.
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.

Sonnet 23

Here is just a selection of the wonderful comments we received about this year’s Bury St Edmund’s Sonnet Walk:

This could hardly be improved upon – wonderful to see so many young performers.

Jane Patton

An incredible way to listen to some of Shakespeare’s sonnets. The whole tour was such a variety of different approaches to love and loss.

Thoroughly enjoyable, far better than I imagined. Lovely sonnets and good fun.

What a great way to participate, and do something different.

Gisela

Fantastic! We thoroughly enjoyed it. Our two young daughters (age 4 + 5) were entertained through it all. Well done everyone!

Sam, Mary, Anne, Grace and Mae

Splendid sonnets in sunny St Edmunds. A great cocktail of experiences.

Amazing experience. I saw my town with new eyes.

Interesting, absorbing, informative, professional and emotional. Thank you.

Brilliant walk, seen parts of Bury I never knew existed. Absolutely electric and absorbing.

Wonderful to see such a wide age range of the players and what an amazing performance from them all – fabulous.

I came out of curiosity. It was wonderful!

Maria Oliver

A wonderful production from start to finish, full of surprises.”

What an experience with so many surprising people and moments. Well done Bury St Edmunds – a truly wonderful festival!

Val Nash

Probably the most unusual walk I’ve ever been on – very informative.

Alan

I have had a very good day, v. informative, fun and interesting. Awesome!

Alfie

Superb – really enjoyed it. Laughing one moment – crying the next! Thank you all.

It was just wonderful! I was an emotional wreck at the end but loved it all.

It was absolutely brilliant. We loved the whole experience – have been debating our favourite but can’t decide as we loved them all.

Shakespeare in the Streets brings you Shakespeare – and Bury – as you’ve never seen them before! Along a specially plotted route, taking in some of the hidden (and not so hidden) gems of Bury’s rich history, our audiences encountered performers bringing Shakespeare alive in ways which were funny, fresh and surprising.

Our Sonnet Walks in Bury St Edmunds were directed by Abigail Anderson.

Produced by Abigail Anderson and Sharron Stowe for the Bury Festival in association with the Theatre Royal.

Setting for Sonnet 8 composed by Birgitta Kenyon.

In addition to the performers a great many people have contributed to the Sonnet Walk in a variety of ways, so a huge thank you to: Nick Wells of the Bury Festival, Geoffrey Pickess, Tania at Aviary Ices, Sue Scrivener, Marian and the residents of Church Walks, Sally Waters and Amy Wyllie, Paul Golynia at the Theatre Royal and Carrie Fitton. Carnations supplied buy Flowers for all Occassions.

The photo credits for this event are are variously: Sharron Stowe and Carrie Fitton.

Greg Hanson performed in The Guildhall

As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart.
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,
O’ercharged with burden of mine own love’s might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more express’d.
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.

Sonnet 23

Harriet Garbas performed at The Bridal Studio on Guildhall Street

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Sonnet 116