Hamlet Shuffled: A Writer's Privilege Abused

Two quick experiments in shaking Hamlet loose from his grave. One sober, one swampy. Both unauthorized.

“What a Piece of Work Is Man” — Cajun Hamlet Style

"Lemme tell you, mon ami, dis creature dey call man? Wooee! He somethin’, I tell ya. Built like a dream, stands tall like a cypress tree, movin' all graceful-like, smart as a swamp fox too—mind sharper than a fillet knife, oui? He talk, he reason, like he got the good Lord whisperin’ straight in his ear.

He look up at the sky, sees de stars, and figures out where he belong—like he tryin’ to talk back to heaven itself. Ain’t nothin’ in this world more fine, more noble—man’s de top of de chain, like the king of crawfish season.

But I tell you what... even wit’ all dat shine and glory? He don’t mean nothin’ to me no more. He could be struttin’ like a rooster, spoutin’ all kinda fancy talk, and I just feel... empty. Like eatin’ gumbo wit’ no roux. Woman too—beautiful, mysterious, like moonlight on de bayou—but still, my heart don’t stir. Dis whole world feels hollow. I see de pageant, but not de joy, non."

And, shifting gears…

”...Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them? To live: to wake;

To wake: perchance to recognize: ay, there's the rub;

For in that wake, what realities may come...”