By the Thumbings of a Prick: The Tweets of Donald Trump as Shakespearean Sonnets

By AJ Smith and Ryan Bracey

Shakespeare said that "brevity is the soul of wit." On Twitter, Donald Trump has routinely disproven The Bard's theory. Trump's Tweets have been an object of ridicule and horrid fascination for the duration of his presidency. But, in their own way, there exists within them a bit of poetry. There is something, shall we say, Shak

• Language: English
• Publisher: This is Livin' Press
• Release date: Nov 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780998281926

Book preview

Prologue

FRIENDS, AMERICANS, COUNTRYMEN, LEND ME YOUR EYES . . .

I am, in my general state of being, a wholly unpolitical person. At least, not in the way many Americans tend to be in today’s socio-political climate. I’ve mostly managed to neither a Republican nor a Democrat be, for I’ve found that affiliation oft loses both itself and friend. I don’t mean to insinuate some sort of infuriating Centrism, but I do tend to try to recognize both the benefits and pitfalls of this nation’s two political parties. In a way, I view this as virtuous; of course, virtue turns to vice, being misapplied, and so I recognize that such political apathy is not necessarily what will turn the wheels of progress in a nation divided. Nevertheless, for better or worse, that’s me.

All that being said, I come to bury Trump, not to praise him.

But not necessarily for his politics. I struggle to grasp a true understanding, and thus opinion, of how tariffs work. I recognize that border security is a complex problem. On foreign policy, I am no Fortinbras. The primary source of my particular brand of what some may call Trump Derangement Syndrome is, first and foremost, his Tweeting.

I teach high school English, and I’ve spent years preaching on what I consider to be my central ethos for an education focused on written words, words, words: if you cannot form a coherent thought, write down that thought, write it well, and write it convincingly, you will not be taken seriously regardless of your chosen pursuit. What chance do I have of persuading my pupils of this if the president has all the rhetorical sophistication of a Falstaff?

Obviously, many of you might declare that Trump is not, in actuality, taken seriously, or that those that do take him as such are simply the ignorant masses, more easily played upon than a pipe. Or worse yet, that his ignorance is feigned; that though they be madness, there is method in his Tweets; that beneath his 280-character drivelings he is a master orator; that the Devil can cite scripture for his purpose. All that given, he still somehow Tweeted his way into the White House despite words that are razors to my wounded heart.

I don’t even necessarily blame Trump. We elected a reality show! The fault, as we all know, is not in our TV stars, but in ourselves.

So my mission statement is this: if we are to be cursed with this bastardization of public discourse decorum, let’s have some fun with it. Or better yet, let’s help out The Donald. Enclosed here, I have taken 154 of my favorite Trump Tweets and remodeled them after Shakespeare’s 154 Sonnets—I call them Donnets. You will notice the first line of each Donnet bears a similarity to the first line of the corresponding sonnet from Shakespeare’s 1609 quarto. Yes, I do intend this as a means of denouncing 45 (Out, damned president!), but I do hope even those of you donning MAGA red can appreciate the sheer absurdity of his social media blowharding. Think of it this way: maybe, if we can present his ideas with some semblance of sophistication (and of course flawless iambic pentameter), then we can convey what you perceive to be his excellent policies in a way that might salvage his approval rating.

And I suppose my preface would not be complete without noting that I am in no way ignorant to the threat that several of the more human rights-based aspects of Trump’s presidency pose to a great many Americans (and human beings in general). My goal is not to dismiss these, to make a mockery of them, or to suggest that a simple cleaning up of his verbiage will thusly clean up his morality. I understand that mirth cannot move a soul in agony. To you true resisters out there, keep fighting the good fight, but in the meantime, also remember that many a true word is spoken in jest.

But whether your hat proudly pronounces a desire to return America to greatness or is a pussy-lipped declaration of resistance, I must admit that there is an ulterior motive afoot: we all need more Shakespeare in our lives. For some of you, I hope this is a welcome addition to an already budding collection of Bard-related literature and décor. For others, I hope it is a fun way for you to introduce—or reintroduce—yourself to something slightly Shakespearean.

So with thy patient eyes attend; what here was missed, these Donnets shall strive to mend.

˜ AJ Smith

Donnet I

For fairest runners I desire support,

That, thereby, their campaigns shall never die.

(Unless their stances, to mine, run athwart

And reason dictates I support deny.)

My LOVE for countrymen I do declare,

And theirs for me is felt in equal part:

Appreciation for a job done fair,

Thus trust to those whom I my trust impart.

The trouble then is where to hours find?

My soul hath burdened been by foreign weights;

Iran and China each with words unkind;

Concern for funds within my fifty states.

Yet find me not by worry drowned, instead

I surf upon a giant wave of red!

Donnet II

When coldest winter shall besiege thy brow,

If thou residest in an Eastern state,

Perhaps heat’s omen thou wilt wish for now,

To warm thee on this celebrated date.

As thou the ball observest in descent,

With numbers counted down from ten to one,

In winds Boreas blown, wilt thou lament

The prudeness of a promised slutty sun.

This guarantee, which made a fool of thee,

Is, worse yet, but a drain upon our purse,

While foreign lands spend not their currency

To sickly globe with legislation nurse.

As thou to lips thy frozen bev’rage sup,

Do careful be to thyself bundle up!

Donnet III

Look in that glass,