Sanford's Sonnets Interpreted

"You are glorious"... so begins the politically tragic epic love poem of Mark and Maria, two star cross'd lovers torn apart "not only because of distance but situation" and conflicting households -- the house of the Married Republican and the house of the Apparently Single.

Once the e-mails between the South Carolina governor and his South American mistress were released, the small majority of people who cared waited with bated breath for something hopefully as pervy as former Detroit mayor Kwame Kilpatrick's SMS scandal. But sexting ain't got nothing on Shakespeare. If the whole "rising star of the Republican Party" thing doesn't work out for Mark Sanford, the guy has a great shot at being the next Nicholas Sparks.

In an e-mail to his Maria obtained by The State newspaper, Sanford evokes the pastoral imagery of Christopher Marlowe. "To me, and I suspect no one else on earth, there is something wonderful about listening to country music playing in the cab, air conditioner running, the hum of a huge diesel engine in the background, the tranquility that comes with being in a virtual wilderness of trees and marsh, the day breaking and vibrant pink coming alive in the morning clouds -- and getting to build something with each scoop of dirt... Enough about my love of heavy equipment and woods at sunrise." No, please, don't stop the double entendres!

Then he starts to borrow a little sumthin' from Sonnet 18, "Do you really comprehend how beautiful your smile is? Have you been told lately how warm your eyes are and how they softly glow with the special nature of your soul..."

And Byron's "She Walks in Beauty," "You have a level of sophistication that is so fitting with your beauty. I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificently gentle kisses, or that I love your tan lines or that I love the curves of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) in the faded glow of night's light -- but hey, that would be going into the sexual details." Oh, so, now you wanna get all shy on us? Stingy.

The thing is, for me Sanford's sex scandal seems so much less salacious with the added weight of all this mushiness. Is he a married man that fell in love or lust or what? Reading through those corny e-mails felt intrusive -- uncomfortable -- not laughable (well not entirely laughable). The whole thing reminded me of a poem by Britain's poet laureate, Carol Ann Duffy. In "Text," she writes:

The codes we send
arrive with a broken chord.

I try to picture your hands,
their image is blurred

Nothing my thumbs press
will ever be heard.