Today is the day (supposedly, as scholars still argue that Shakespeare wasn’t Shakepeare at all) that William Shakespeare was born in Stratford-on-Avon (it is also my friend Peter’s birthday–happy birthday to him, too!). I am a lover of Shakespeare–a Shakepearephile. In school, I took something like half a dozen separate courses on Shakespeare and I wasn’t even a Shakespearean scholar. Clearly, there is still plenty more to learn and love.

A few years ago I took a tour of the rebuilt Globe Theater in London. It was amazing. I would like to see a performance there some day. If you have not seen it and have the opportunity, then I would urge you to visit.

http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=read08-20&o=1&p=8&l=as1&asins=0974391921&fc1=000000&=1&lc1=0000ff&bc1=000000&lt1=_blank&IS2=1&f=ifr&bg1=ffffff&f=ifrAnd if you are looking for something to buy today, in honor of Shakespeare’s birthday, I can heartily recommend Michelle Cameron’s In the Shadow of the Globe–a narrative poem taking the reader into life of William Shakespeare. Michelle Cameron is a gifted writer and you will not be disappointed by what she has accomplished in this book. In fact, you will be amazed. I’ve also heard the Will in the World is quite good. I’ve not read it yet myself, but the friend of mine who did praised it.

And now, for your reading pleasure, I offer you the bard’s words:

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.