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| At the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, circa 1979 |
Happy Birthday, William!
Or may I call you Will after
all this time? I've never
cared if you were squat or tall,
a glovemaker or an errant spouse ever
since I joined, at age 10,
the giddy band of fans who
for centuries have frolicked in the woods
where your fairies, queens and shepherds
plot and toil and kiss. Again and again we slip
our feet into the shoes of your thwarted
lovers and velvet-lined villains. We revel
in the snap and sting of Beatrice's wit
and the fire and ice of Hamlet's
loneliness. And on our tongues, your
phrases perpetually dance --
In my heart of hearts
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow --
as familiar as lawn, as jay, as
sun, with the beat of each line moving us
forward, calling us to create, whether
in ink or on this earth (this precious stone
set on the silver sea) our own version of
a brave new world.
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