My last blog post received the most views that I have ever had. And I’m not talking beating my PB by 1 view, I beat my PB by a considerable amount . . . I believe the technical term is ‘a fuck load’. I’m not going to mention the number because I am sure it’s still pathetic in comparison to some, but it was certainly enough to put a big fat smile on my face and a buzzing little bee in my bonnet.
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So, in light of this, I am going to do what every sensible person would do, and entirely change the tone of this blog post and try something completely new . . . just to disappoint and piss off all of my new followers.
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A friend sent a message in a group thread earlier directed to all the people that studied English:
“Today is Shakespeare’s 450th birthday, how are you going to celebrate english geeks”
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Actually, today is the anniversary of Shakespeare’s death, his date of birth is unknown but 23rd April has been assigned as his birthday since we know that he was born between 22nd – 25th #englishgeek. It is also St George’s Day. A pretty good day for England really.
In answer to my lovely friend’s question, the way this particular #englishgeek is celebrating Shakespeare’s 450th birthday is with a small poem (sonnet if we’re being pedantic) recognising my poetical inadequacy in the face of the celebrated Bard.
The trained eye will identify indications to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18, Hamlet, The Tempest, As You Like It, Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet and an extremely questionable and untenable reference to Othello. The critical term for this is inter-textuality #englishsnob
Oh and no, I don’t follow iambic pentameter, because I can’t be dealing with that shit #englishknob
Shall I compare me to the likes of Shakespeare?
The Bard who hypnotised the world with his ‘to be and not to be’s,
The Englishman who braved new worlds with his new words.
All the world is his stage
and I merely a player suffering from stage fright
waiting for tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow never comes.
Waiting impatiently for a mythical muse to fly to my heart’s service
And hear my soul speak the words that it will not put to screen.
My heart has the capacity to write that the course of true love
never ran smooth, if only the course of poetry did.
Not being true to myself, at all, I cannot try to pen my own heart for
My words bring chaos to the page, signifying nothing.
Shall I compare me to the likes of Shakespeare?
I am less loquacious and less articulate.
- Translation: HATERS GONNA HATE
Steph Taylor 