An Interview With Shakespeare - Poem by Sashka Salvatore
Wherefore hast thou dwelt in the lethal years
And have thy steady feet brought thee to drenching tears?
The skulls and worms creeping beneath
As thou had Hamlet speak –
Does the truth doth dwell?
Or is it all save a swarthy well?
My fairest child, I welcome thee
To the soil where he, Hamlet himself, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,
And my own two feet have not sturdy been –
They have walked the winding paths
Of scorching fields with screeching larks
Or perhaps a stirring, pallid lute,
With pondering fingers and inexorable tunes?
Fastidious being I deem myself,
But of this I cannot tell
With discernment fine, for I am not apt to it –
Thus, of this answer I thee deprive.
On to the next one, we proceed,
For ample thy answer is to me,
And without further rankling thou must convey
The lies of erroneous fate –
Speak of the one living not as a body or a soul,
But a ghost, a mere ghoul, an apparition
Of people’s insatiable lips –
The one standing behind thy deeds,
With parchment torn, and a feather stained with ink,
Whilst thine of cleanness stink.
“This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”
Words of Polonius tainting thy lips?
I’ve not witnessed any greatness in the man’s sordid virtues,
And his limited mind so spoken is a dreadful misuse,
An honest answer I seek!
The art of riddles and solutions hath not been kind to me,
So I implore thee – of simple truth now speak!
“Truth is truth to the end of reckoning.’’
“You speak an infinite deal of nothing.”
But I will try to make serenity once more swirl into my thoughts
And I will ask of thee what truly baffles me –
Romeo and Juliet. I’ve not yet recognised thine in Romeo’s countenance,
But still I wonder – hath there existed a Juliet as wonderous
And dwindled from thy fingers as Romeo’s did?
Do not deprive me of this answer, thee wretched thing, speak!
Speak now, for I dare thee!
I cannot take one more moment of ignorance that is neither blissful
Nor for fools! T'is for passionate dreamers, full
Of everlasting dreams, hopes and schemes and unsettling ghouls.
Only this one and I will not utter another sound.
To thy unrest I shall leave thee.
“I do oppose my patience to his (thy) fury, and am arm’d to suffer with a quietness of spirit, the very tyranny and rage of his (thine) .”
But alas! I will not deprive thee. The truth?
So be it. But t'is the truth only to thyself. My truth is vivid,
Carved into mind, flesh and soul, while thine
Will be a mere swirl, a twirl, a ghoul, timid.
More beauteous than the Moon upon Easter when it reflects the Lord’s ardent light;
More beauteous than the sun and sky upon sunset splattered with
All fiery colours of gold, orange, violet and pink, uncanny to human sight.
She shone brighter than each star that dared take its place upon the nightly sky
Next to her beauty and in darkness shrivelled when it allowed its unworthy glow
To fall upon her pallid cheeks.
The good and the bad intertwined in harmony in the eyes
Brighter than the morning waves, which so blissfully gazed
Inflaming all before them – the glamour of painful rage of love and hell.
Her hair hid satin and silk woven by the sun;
Floating ever so lightly, twirling in a run
To make a waterfall of her curls.
Her skin - more wan than the beams of moon,
And only if the rays of sun would sink into it –
That is when her beauty could be seen.
The terrors of night followed her, yet she floated haughtily above them.
And that was my Juliet.
The words tarry in my throat as in that horrid dreaming state
When one can neither shout nor scream and is left to imaginary fate.
I do not wish from thee to sunder, but I have caused already
Havoc and plunder, so a farewell I bid thee, kind sir,
The greatest of minds, not wishing to further more stir
Thy ground unsteady.
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