Nimemkumbuka Shakespeare

Leo, bila kutegemea, nimemkumbuka Shakespeare. Nimeona niandike neno juu yake, kama nilivyowahi kufanya. Nimekumbuka tulivyosoma maandishi yake tukiwa vijana katika shule ya sekondari.

Katika kiwango kile, tulisoma tamthilia tulizozimudu, kama The Merchant of Venice na Julius Caesar. "High school," ambayo kwangu ilikuwa Mkwawa, tulisoma tamthilia ngumu zaidi, kama Othello na Hamlet. Othello ilikuwa katika silabasi ya "Literature."

Nakumbuka sana kuwa hapo hapo Mkwawa High School tuliangalia filamu ya Hamlet, ambamo aliyeigiza kama Hamlet alikuwa Sir Lawrence Olivier. Huyu ni mmoja wa waigizaji maarufu kabisa wa wahusika wakuu wa Shakespeare. Niliguswa na uigizaji wake kiasi cha kujiaminisha kwamba sitaweza kushuhudia tena uigizaji uliotukuka namna ile. Nilipoteza hamu ya kuangalia filamu yoyote baada ya pale, kwa miaka mingi.

Ninavyomkumbuka Shakespeare, ninajikuta nikikumbuka mambo mengi. Kwa mfano, nakumbuka tafsiri murua za Mwalimu Julius Nyerere za tamthilia mbili za Shakespeare: The Merchant of Venice na Julius Caesar. Nakumbuka pia jinsi Shaaban Robert alivyomsifu Shakespeare, kwamba akili yake ilikuwa kama bahari pana ambayo mawimbi yake yalikuwa yanatua kwenye fukwe zote duniani.

Shaaban Robert alitoboa ukweli; Shakespeare ni mwalimu asiye na mfano. Aliingia katika nafsi za wanadamu akaelezea silika na tabia zao kwa ustadi mkubwa, na alitafakari uhalisi wa maisha yetu akatuonyesha maana na mapungufu yake. Alitukumbusha kwamba dunia ni kama jukwaa la maigizo, ambapo kila mmoja wetu anakuja na kutimiza yanayomhusu na kisha anatoweka.

Ningeweza kusema mengi juu ya Shakespeare. Ninapenda tu kuleta moja ya tungo zake ziitwazo "sonnets." Hii ni "sonnet" namba 2. Labda kuna siku nitapata hamu ya kuutafsiri utumgo huu, kujipima uwezo wangu wa kutafsiri na ufahamu wangu wa ki-Swahili.

Sonnet 2

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow

And dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field,

Thy youth’s proud livery, so gazed on now,

Will be a tattered weed, of small worth held.

Then being asked where all thy beauty lies,

Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,

To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes

Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.

How much more praise deserved thy beauty’s use

If thou couldst answer, “This fair child of mine

Shall sum my count and make my old excuse,”

Proving his beauty by succession thine.

  This were to be new made when thou art old,

  And see thy blood warm when thou feel’st it cold.