Ophelia's Urgent Lament For Herself, The Calling Out:Her Fifth And Final Soliloquy Poem by Dennis Ryan

Monday afternoon, January 9,2012; revised Tuesday morning, Jan.10,2012;
revised again Wednesday morning January 11,2012; Thursday morning,
January 31,2019 at 11: 36 a.m.

"A dog, sir?A Pekinese parfait? "
- Robin Williams as Mr. Keating in the film Dead Poets Society

"I say let Mr. Keating fry.You can't save him, but you can save yourselves."
- the student Cameron speaking to his classmates in Dead Poets Society

Silence.The morrow.Am I in heaven or hell?
I know not.The deed is done!My brother,
Hamlet dead, the queen, her erstwhile husband too!
Oh, woe!What have I done? That other part of me—
What have you done?Have you no—?No!No idea of right?
No.Not to mention you-I loved him—I loved him.
And he you-me?He loved me.What are you-I?
Whatever is expedient.This is me, I.
Must we remember for eternity?Of course not.
"Never mind" you say? "What's done is done.
It doesn't matter."Yes, that's right.Wash my hands?
But the before and after—the consequence—
never experienced until too late—the death
of my dear father!No, to hell, this cannot be right,
believe, say what you will! And for whatever reason,
they, my parents are not here. ‘Tis strange.Only my private
to attend, and where is she to tell my story to?Attendu...
Do you hear it?The sound of a dog barking?
It's coming from the graveyard, the grave-maker
over there.The clown?A dog, sir? "Oh, flower of May,
earth from which bursts forth blue violets, " Laertes
had said—I heard him from inside here.My voice gone,
I could not receive him, he jumping onto the bier,
hugging my corpse!And then Hamlet right behind,
just back from England by way of a "Spanish plot"—
"la trama y el complot"—he remembered Yorick
telling his jokes, gamboling about—the grave digger
dug the plot they lay me in."Parcela."You, dear Hamlet,
hugging my corpse just as tightly... Must I remember?
You whispered "terreno".Then "The cat will mew..."
Damn you!Could you not have thought of something
more appropriate upon my demise!You cared for me,
say what you will, say what you might.‘Tis true,
but ‘tis time I counseled my private on this sordid mess
for a second time—my betrayal, grievances, grieving.
Where is she?In chapel?At vespers?Let us pray
for them all, murderers included.Alack, no one there?
I see them lying close on the floor—there, there, there,
and there: the queen, king, my dear brother, Hamlet!
Then Horatio, still alive, having listened to Hamlet
speak as he died.I sense nothing good coming from this...
Enter Fortinbras, his retinue?All Nor—Norway, for us?
To whom do we give present thanks?My private, attend!
Come, sit you down so, and listen to my history—it's all
I've left to tell.I call myself out from here, down under.