Forsooth!

Enter Blogger.

 

BLOGGER            Will Shakespeare’s birthday was just yesterday

A day that (horrors!) has just by me passed

And I have sev’ral things that I could say

I guess I’d better get and say them fast.

(Aside, before this tale can get a start:

Four hundred fifty years, he would have been!

And I somehow had missed this date, and so

Had major media outlets. It’s a sin.)

                                          Blogger clears his throat.

Not all the people thrill to Shakespeare’s work

In part because the language is obtuse.

Well, clearly! It’s five centuries removed

From current-speak; our ears it can confuse

Unless we have a native guide or two

To help us understand and ‘preciate

Just what old Will was on about back then;

I did; about him I’ll now bloviate.

In junior high, specific’ly grade eight

(Teach them? For you my admiration grows),

By any other name, our “native guide”

Would not, thus, have gone by the name Tornrose.

In those days, Shakespeare wasn’t on the list

Of authors taught to middle school rugrats.

But Tornrose, always thinking, thought perhaps

He ought to lay the groundwork for all that.

So every Monday afternoon, from fall to spring,

He offered up a session, free of charge,

For interested students to come by

And though the roster wasn’t very large

‘Twas probably just fine; for five of us

Accepted his fine offer and we met

An hour a week to read and write and laugh

And clearly I retain the mem’ry yet.

The first part of the session, we’d recite

The writing we had done since parting ways

The week before; critique, admire and hone

Our poems, stories, narrative essays.

But then! Away with those unfinished drafts!

The moment came to lay aside our quills

And read a bit, collectively, the works

That helped ol’ Shakespeare eat, and pay his bills.

To each his own, a copy of “MacBeth”

Or other play, and parts within to read,

To dramatize (not memorize!) these tales

Which rightly made Will famous, yes indeed.

“Is this a dagger?” students hollered, and

We also got to say “Out, out, damn spot”

Encouraged by our teacher when we did!

(No punishment for cursing, indeed not.)

And so, while modern movie fans depend

On Branagh to reveal the Shakespeare brand,

For Serge and Cindy, Kathy, Helen, me:

We had a “pers’nal trainer”, on demand.

Whenever I approach the Bard’s fine work

(You can predict the path this story goes)

I always think upon my English teach’,

The justly-famous Russell T. Tornrose.

                                       Flourish. He exits.