Texting Shakespeare

Shakespeare on the cover of The Portable Shakespeare / Photo by RCS / 2024

I texted Shakespeare. He said, “Wherefore art thou?” I said, “I’m in the twenty-first century.” Shakespeare answered, “How can this be? Words forming in the air, before my eyes? Methinks I’m in a confused state, or somehow possessed.” I said, “You’re OK, William, it’s just a text from the future, and it came up in one of those time loop things.” He said, “I sense thou art one who can be trusted.” “Yeah, I guess I am,” I texted. Shakespeare said, “I’m vexed by this in between world I find myself in, somewhere betwixt and between. Hence, not alive, and not dead. O, this mortal coil we carry throughout our lives. First alive, and then departed.” “Picture a place you’d love to be,” I suggested. He said, “I see myself at The Globe, completing my newest play. Putting the finishing touches on the last page. Hearing my plays brought to life, voiced by actors on a stage. Real in the moment, for the audience. Yet so ephemeral” I said, “Five hundred years after you’re gone, your plays and poems will still be read, and performed. On stages around the world, your plays will be acted by theatre troupes such as the ones you knew. Your work will be turned into movies, with actions performed and shown through the magic of projected light in darkened movie theatres.” Shakespeare said, “How dost thou know such things? Art thou in league with demons, who have cast a spell upon you?” “I get it,” I said, “Time and space can be confusing. Trust me when I tell you, your name is known all across the earth, and your writings will be loved for all time.”