I've been privileged to be part of the poetry workshop class at Aristotle University in Thessaloniki, Greece, courtesy of Skype and Facebook. I taught one session of Professor Katerina Kitsi's class and have also been trying their poetry assignments. One of their latest was to transpose Shakespeare's Sonnet 130 into a different dialect or frame of reference. I'll give you Shakespeare's first and then the version I read via Skype at the class's final Poetry Night.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Hollywood Sonnet
My love’s eyes shine less than Liz Taylor’s did;
Her lips pale next to Angelina Jolie’s.
If breasts were bets, Marilyn’s would hers outbid.
Her hair’s less lush than Vivien Leigh’s.
I have seen Shirley Temple’s cheeks glow bright;
Hers look like Morticia’s by compare.
Starlets sell perfume filled with more delight
Than found in my mistress’s onion air.
I love to hear her sing, but well I know
Adele or Garland hit more pleasing note.
I never saw her in a Mercedes go;
Her Ford Focus bounces instead of floats.
Yet I’d rather sit here, her hand in mine
Than act in films with flawless stars divine.
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
Hollywood Sonnet
My love’s eyes shine less than Liz Taylor’s did;
Her lips pale next to Angelina Jolie’s.
If breasts were bets, Marilyn’s would hers outbid.
Her hair’s less lush than Vivien Leigh’s.
I have seen Shirley Temple’s cheeks glow bright;
Hers look like Morticia’s by compare.
Starlets sell perfume filled with more delight
Than found in my mistress’s onion air.
I love to hear her sing, but well I know
Adele or Garland hit more pleasing note.
I never saw her in a Mercedes go;
Her Ford Focus bounces instead of floats.
Yet I’d rather sit here, her hand in mine
Than act in films with flawless stars divine.
