To Paraphrase…

or not to Paraphrase. That is the question.

I’ve been reading a bit of Shakespeare, and the language is a bit dated, so I’m paraphrasing it with contemporary lingo.

I give you
Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day by William Shakespeare
with paraphrasing

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
You’re hot
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Scorchin’ even when you’ve got a hangover
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
‘ere, the winds blowin’ them things on the branches all over the place
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
it’s like, if you blink summer’s gone
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
One minute it’s too ‘ot’
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
The next it goes all cloudy
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
Stuff never looks nice for long
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
It all gets ugly one way or another
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
I don’t reckon you’ll ever get old.
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
or ugly
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
an’ you’re not gonna die
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
‘cos, like, I’ve written this poem about you
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
as long as there are people about
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
They’ll read this poem, so you’ll be, like, alive still.

Reading them separately, this is how they look:

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

You’re hot
Scorchin’ even when you’ve got a hangover
‘ere, the wind’s blowin’ them things on the branches all over the place
it’s like, if you blink summer’s gone
One minute I’m sweatin’ like a pig
The next it goes all cloudy
Stuff never looks nice for long
It all gets ugly one way or another
I don’t reckon you’ll ever get old.
or ugly
an’ you’re not goin’ to die
‘cos, like, I’ve written this poem about you
as long as there are people about
They’ll read this poem, so you’ll be, like, alive still.

© Jane Paterson Basil