Writing like Shakespeare
Just write like Shakespeare,
my father once told me,
a bit of advice that paralyzed me
for years. But now, alone in my study
this leafy May morning as my cats
watch me as though I am someone
who might have met Shakespeare,
traded witty lines with him
in a noisy London pub, I see
my father smiling sadly.
He's in his study, his huge desk
littered with notes for a novel,
a play, a poem he may or may not
write. He waits for Shakespeare
to emerge from Harvard
Classics that crowd his walls.
No one arrives but minor poets,
bit players, just maids, waiters,
a porter who pisses on the floor.
Finally a messenger comes to say
Shakespeare has been delayed,
he's busy entertaining courtiers,
rich noblemen, a queen and, later,
a king. He'd like to see my father,
knows those notes my father writes
might be important, but Rosalind
is lost in the forest, Lear in the fog,
he's got problems of his own.
He keeps seeing ghosts, has to stop
Hamlet from dying before his time,
force Malvolio into those yellow socks,
Anthony into Cleo's arms, Juliet
into her tomb. These things take time,
Shakespeare says, and he's sure
my father will understand.
--Donna Spector