Reposting THE BARD IN MANGLISH ~ Julius Caesar (Act I, Scene 2)

Who said kennot? You orways tink defler Shakespeare wankain hard to understand, so waffor you bodder to read de bladibarger? No ploblem lah – now oridi terangslated into Proper Manglish, so seemple oni. Got no space to print de hole ting, eggcerpt enough lah. Dis one from Julius Caesar. Vely famous one dis play  - got murder, got politics, but sorry lah, no sex (becos in Italy ah, got Mona Lisa but no Mona Fandey, remember her ornot, Rosmah’s infamous step-aunty?) Wen people see you reading dis dey weel tink you got cowture wan. Orait man!

Shakespearean                            Manglish

Caesar: Let me have men about me that are fat; sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o’ nights. Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look; he thinks too much. Such men are dangerous.	Caesar: Aiseh betayuall fatty bom-bom makan all de taim one; Brylcreem your hair lah, and at night sleeping like a pig oni. Defler Cassius orways looking so skeeny like one year never eat; orways tinking too much. Aitelyu ah, dis kain of fler helluva dangerous.
Antony: Fear him not, Caesar, he’s not dangerous; he is a noble Roman, and well given.	Antony: Aiyah, Caesar, no nid to skad him one, hauken defler dangerous? He got class one, orways spik nicely and wearing stylo one.
Caesar: Would he were fatter! But I fear him not, Yet if my name were liable to fear, I do not know the man I should avoid so soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much. He is a great observer, and he looks quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays, as thou dost, Antony; he hears no music, seldom he smiles, and as if he mock’d himself, and scorn’d his spirit that could be mov’d to smile at anything. Such men as he be never at heart’s ease whiles they behold a greater than themselves, and therefore they are evry dangerous. I rather tell thee what is to be fear’d than what I fear; for always I am Caesar. Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf, and tell me truly what thou think’st of him.	Caesar: I oni weesh we can call him fatso! But ackchwurly I not skad him. Say oni lah, sahposing I am a takut fler, I woon go near dat bamboo-stick Cassius. Orways reading book, see everyting wankain oni, aitelyu nobody can blarf de bladibarger one. Never fool araun, not like you lah, Antony; he never lissen music. Seldom oni smailing, and wen he smail, like buaya oni, tweested lah, I tink maybe defler doan like himself or wat, as if oni stoopid ijiot like to smail one. Flers like dat ah, kennot relak one – until dey bekum Nombor Satu. Dat’s why aiseh very dangerous. Oni telling you why you must wochaut lah – not to say I am skad of any barger; hauken Caesar skad, I arsk you? Eh, you come over here, my left ear got lobang kennot hear properly. Den you tell me frankly spikking wat yuting of defler.
[Sennet. Exeunt Caesar & his Train.] Casca: You pulled me by the cloak. Would you speak with me?	[Kompang. Caesar & his Member semua keluar.] Casca: Why you catch my sarong? You wan to tok, tok lah, doan pull my baju ok?
Brutus: Ay, Casca; tell me what hath chanc’d today, that Caesar looks so sad	Brutus: Ya, Casca; wat happen just now ah, why Caesar looking wankain teruk oni?
Casca: Why, you were with him, were you not?	Casca: I thot you saw oso wat, waffor you arsk me?
Brutus: I should not then ask Casca what had chanc’d.	Brutus: No, man, dat’s why arsking you.
Casca: Why, there was a crown offer’d him; and being offer’d him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus; and then the people fell a-shouting.	Casca: Aiyah, people gif him chan to wear de Agong’s hat, but defler push away with his hand, like dis; and den de people bising lah.
Brutus: What was the second noise for?	Brutus: Seckand taim why dey shout?
Casca: Why, for that too.	Casca: Same ting lah.
Cassius: They shouted thrice; what was the last cry for?	Cassius: Shouting tree taims wat, I hear; so wat happen ah?
Casca: Why, for that too.	Casca: Same story lah, yutingwat.
Brutus: Was the crown offer’d him thrice?	Brutus: Wah, tree taims ah, dey awfer him Agong’s hat?
Casca: Ay, marry, was’t, and he put it by thrice, every time gentler than other; and at every putting by mine honest neighbours shouted.	Casca: Yala, no joke, man; and defler say dowan tree taims, everytaim more slowly lah, tarik harga lah; and ofcoslah everytaim he do like dat, our rakyat setia bising oni.
Cassius: Who offer’d him the crown?	Cassius: Who awfer him de Agong’s hat?
Casca: Why, Antony.	Casca: Who else, Antony lah.
Brutus: Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.	Brutus: Plis gif us blow-by-blow akaun, saudara Casca.
Casca: I can as well be hang’d as tell the manner of it; it was mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown – yet ‘twas not a crown neither, ‘twas one of these coronets – and, as I told you, he put it by once; but for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offer’d it to him again; then he put it by again; but to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offer’d it the third time; he put it the third time by; and still as he refus’d it, the rabblement hooted, and clapp’d their chopt hands, and threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Caesar refus’d the crown, that it almost choked Caesar; for he swooned and fell down at it.  And for mine own part I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air.	Casca: Aiyah, wasting taim oni, all for show one lah, yuting I doan know ah. Dat barger Mark Antony gif him see de Agong’s hat –ackchwurly not the real ting lah, fancy baseball cap oni – and like aiseh, first taim he push aside lah; but look like secretly ah, defler wannit lah. Den again he awfer him; den again he push aside; but frankly spikking ah, defler dam reluktan to let go, man. And den de turd taim he awfer; and still de barger refuse. So de stoopid rakyat start bellowing like kerbau, and clapping like bladifools lah, and dey all chuck their smelly songkoks in the air, and bising like baboon kena belacan until Caesar awmos kennot stand; defler pengsan, man, and fall down lah.  I myself ah, I dare not to open my maut and laugh oso – arfturds I kena sial punya angin.
Cassius: But soft, I pray you. What, did Caesar swoon?	Cassius: Alamak, you min de barsket Caesar pengsan ah?
Casca: He fell down in the market-place, and foam’d at mouth, and was speechless.	Casca: He collapse infrun of KLSE, boy, his maut got white-white ting coming out, and kennot spik oridi.
Brutus: ‘Tis very like. He hath the falling sickness.	Brutus: I am not surprais lah. Defler got weak heart wat.
Cassius: No, Caesar hath it not; but you, and I, and honest Casca, we have the falling sickness.	Cassius: Aitelyu frankly one, not Caesar lah; but I, and you, and our goodfren Casca, we are de bladibargers who got weak hearts.
Casca: I know not what you mean by that, but I am sure Caesar fell down. If the rag-tag people did not clap him and hiss him, according as he pleas’d and displeas’d them, as they use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true man.	Casca: Doan tokkok lah, I doan booshit you, aitelyu Caesar conked out, boy. Aiyo, dose bladi peasants tink it’s all wayang kulit show, cheering and booing like chewren see cartoon oni, you doan belif me you can tell me to go and fark spaider.

Antares © 1995-2018

Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Caesar! | Pukimamak! Mukhriz dan Muh.... mampuslah!

[First posted 5 October 2012. Reposted 5 March 2014, 19 April 2015 & 15 March 2018]

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PLAYING THE FOOL (reprise)

Antares as the Fool @ 1982 (photo montage by Hari Ho)

In 1982 my friend Maureen Ten (who has since relocated to Sydney) decided she wanted to stage a freewheeling version of William Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. She insisted that I take on the role of Feste, Olivia’s Fool, and I immediately agreed, since I have always had a soft spot for Maureen.

Rehearsals dragged on for months and more than a few began to regret committing themselves to this project – but finally the play opened and ran for less than a week at the British Council Hall. It was a resounding success!

People loved it, some returning for a second or even third performance. I suppose it was the unexpected blend of styles that made the whole thing flow better than it felt to the cast, while rehearsing it in fragments. Maureen kept pretty much true to the spirit of Shakespeare but playfully allowed individual performers’ quirks free rein. Needless to say, the utterly muhibbah and motley cast managed to insert a great deal of local flavor and humor into the production.

As Feste, I had to come up with tunes for three songs. I was still in my Bob Dylan phase, down to my frizzy hairdo, so I played the songs on my guitar with a bit of harmonica – accompanied by a bit of flute played by an expat named John Moore on two of the songs.

Recently, I felt prompted to resurrect my songs from Twelfth Night and, thanks to Google, easily found the words online. While re-learning to sing them, I was struck by the apparent simplicity, yet nonchalant profundity, of Feste’s first song:

What is love? ‘Tis not hereafter;

Present mirth hath present laughter;

What’s to come is still unsure:

In delay there lies not plenty;

Then come kiss me sweet and twenty,

Youth’s a stuff will not endure.

O mistress mine, where are you roaming?

O stay and hear; your true love’s coming,

That can sing both high and low:

Trip no further, pretty sweeting;

Journeys end in lovers meeting,

Every wise man’s son doth know.

Feste poses the age-old question, “What is love?” – and then proceeds at once to answer: Love’s reality dwells in the moment, in the now, not in some imaginary future. Just as one laughs at a joke immediately - not minutes or hours or days later – the moment is all we truly know, the future is unknowable and predictions are unreliable. To hesitate and postpone brings no reward – be spontaneous, obey your impulse, do it now, while you still can, before the years weigh down on you.

Feste then addresses his Muse directly: whatever your heart desires is right before you, not some other place – and true love encompasses the entire spectrum, from the sublime to the ridiculous. All yearning, all desire ultimately leads to union (sacred and/or profane) and meaning and purpose converge when One finds the Other. This arcane knowledge has survived countless generations: it's always NOW and it's only about LOVE!

That’s powerful wisdom compressed into what could easily pass for just a frivolous ditty sung by a Fool. No wonder the Bard of Avon still speaks to the human spirit after so many centuries. In that one simple song is all the sage advice one need ever heed. Eckhart Tolle says more or less the same thing in his ground-breaking book, The Power of Now, but not quite as elegantly or concisely.

[First posted 4 February 2012, reposted 5 July 2018]