My brother, Will

Tomorrow, April 23, 2006 marks the 442nd birth anniversary, as well as the 390th death anniversary of the man who, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, is the most quoted writer in the history of the English-speaking world. Everyone wishes to claim William Shakespeare as their own (myself not excluded) in whatever ways suit or please them the most. The best I have ever heard was from my dad, who claimed that Shakespeare was actually Sheshappa Iyer, an accomplished poet from southern India with a flair for languages, who migrated to England and assumed a new identity.

I have mentioned elsewhere on this website why I consider him my brother, but I have never actually mentioned the sort of relationship I share with him, and I think it apt at this point, to raise my glass of orange juice, toast the old fellow and say a few words:

The annals of history and speculation
Are replete with debates about your life,
They say you were born, you wrote and you died
And had a woman twice your age for a wife.

I confess I read you sceptically at first
(You were after all, an intimidating tome)
I was puzzled, scandalised, but always entertained
By your incomparable wit and genial tone.

There were others I believed as talented as you
And in Marlowe's case, forgive me, undoubtedly more
But in matters of being human, dear brother
You were anything but a novice and a bore.

I live four centuries into your future
And have nothing of your prodigious skill
So forgive my lapses in this dilettante verse
And pray I bear more than the eponymous will.

Happy Birthday, Swan of Avon!