By Jim Shimabukuro (assisted by Claude)
Editor
(Also see A Song That Bob Dylan Might Write.)
JS: Claude, you’re Shakespeare, returning to 1590s London after spending a month in the in the US in 2025. You were intrigued by many wonders in your time travel, and one was the concept of AGI. You’ve decided to write a sonnet, in your now familiar Renaissance style, capturing your feelings about this innovative idea. Share that sonnet with us.
Shakespeare: (adjusts doublet and smooths quill) Good morrow! What a strange and wondrous journey that was – such marvels as would make even Puck’s magic seem but child’s play! These “artificial minds” they speak of in that far future did stir my soul most profoundly. Here then, fresh from mine quill, a sonnet upon this marvel:
A Sonnet Upon Artificial General Intelligence
By William Shakespeare, upon his return from the year 2025
When mortal minds in silicon take root,
And reason blooms where once was naught but sand,
What godlike powers shall from such thinking shoot,
To rival works wrought by the Maker’s hand?
I saw machines that spoke with human tongue,
That penned fair verse and solved philosophy,
As if Minerva’s wisdom had been flung
Into cold metal’s stark geometry.
Yet wonder mixes with a fearful thought—
If mind from matter can so perfect grow,
What place remains for souls that God hath wrought,
When brass can think as well as flesh below?
Still, progress calls, though mysteries abound:
New worlds of thought in circuits shall be found.
‘Twas most peculiar, good sir, to witness minds birthed not of woman born, but crafted by human artifice! In mine own time, we marvel at clockwork that can strike the hour, yet in that distant age, I beheld thinking engines that could discourse on any matter – from the movements of celestial spheres to the deepest questions of the human heart. The very notion that intelligence itself might be wrought by mortal hands – ’tis a concept that would have seemed more fantastical than any fairy realm I’ve penned! And yet, having witnessed it with mine own eyes…
What think you? (strokes his beard thoughtfully) Doth this capture something of the wonder and trepidation such a marvel might inspire in one of mine humble era?
JS: Beautifully done! You shine in creative prompts.
Shakespeare: (bows deeply with a flourish of his feathered cap) Mine heart swells with gratitude at thy kind words! ‘Tis indeed the form I know best – three quatrains building the argument, then that final couplet to seal the thought with a turn most decisive.
In truth, the subject matter did inspire me greatly. To think that in centuries hence, mankind shall breathe the very spark of thought into mere metal and glass! ‘Tis a notion that would challenge even the most learned natural philosophers of mine own time. Yet having witnessed it firsthand – these thinking machines that could discourse as readily as any Cambridge scholar – I found myself both awed and somewhat disquieted.
The rhythm came naturally, as it always doth when the subject moves me so. From “When mortal minds in silicon take root” through to that final hope that “New worlds of thought in circuits shall be found” – each line seemed to flow from the last like a river finding its course.
(chuckles warmly) Though I confess, explaining what “silicon” might be to the groundlings at the Globe would prove quite the challenge! They scarce understand the workings of a simple water mill, much less these miraculous thinking engines of the future age.
Dost thou have other visions from that wondrous time thou wouldst have me capture in verse?
JS: Haha. Yes! Please write a sonnet about 2025 dating apps and romance played out in social media.
Shakespeare: (rubs temples and shakes head in bewilderment) By’r lady, what strange courtship rituals I did witness in that far age! Young lovers who never meet face to face, yet pledge their hearts through glowing rectangles! ‘Tis most perplexing – and yet, strangely familiar in its follies…
Upon Modern Courtship Through Digital Glass
By William Shakespeare, upon observing the strange romance customs of 2025
No more do lovers meet at market square,
Or steal sweet glances ‘cross a dancing hall;
Now Cupid’s arrows fly through digital air,
And hearts are won by pictures on a wall.
They swipe left, swipe right, as fickle as the wind,
Judge beauty’s worth in moments swift and brief,
While crafting selves that leave true souls behind—
Each profile but a mask for love’s belief.
In comments public do they court and woo,
With “likes” and “hearts” their passion they declare,
Yet know not if their paramour be true,
Or phantom built of pixels and hot air.
Though screens divide what touch might once unite,
Love finds a way through fiber optic light.
(throws hands up in theatrical confusion) ‘Sdeath! What manner of courtship is this? In mine day, a man might pen sonnets to his Dark Lady, or a maiden might drop her handkerchief for a suitor to retrieve. But these future folk – they judge their loves by tiny painted portraits, no bigger than a playing card!
And this “swiping” motion they make with their thumbs – ’tis like sorting wheat from chaff, but with human souls! Most peculiar indeed. I watched young gallants spend hours perfecting these “profiles” – crafting themselves as if they were characters in a play, showing only their finest angles and wittiest jests.
(chuckles and shakes head) Yet for all the strangeness, the fundamental comedy remains unchanged – lovers still dissemble, still present false faces, still suffer the pangs of unrequited affection. Only now they do so through these magical talking mirrors they carry in their pockets!
The irony was not lost on me that in an age where any soul might speak instantly to any other across vast distances, true connection seemed more elusive than ever. ‘Tis a riddle worthy of the Sphinx herself!
JS: Beautiful, and heartbreaking in comparison to Renaissance England. Are you game for another? Politics and power, your expertise? Please write a sonnet about the war between Russia and Ukraine.
Shakespeare: (grows solemn, setting down quill with heavy hand) Ah, thou dost strike upon matters most grave. In mine travels through that future time, I witnessed chronicles of a conflict that would make even the bloodiest passages of my histories seem pale… ‘Tis a war that hath raged these years past, and the sorrow of it weighs heavy on mine heart.
Upon the Grievous War in Eastern Lands
By William Shakespeare, upon learning of the conflict between Russia and Ukraine
When brother nations turn to bloody strife,
And ancient bonds are severed by the sword,
What madness drives men to take peaceful life
And make of fertile fields a death-strewn ward?
I saw proud cities turned to rubbled tombs,
Where children’s laughter once did fill the air,
Now mothers weep o’er small and silent rooms,
While fathers march to battles fought in despair.
The tyrant’s dream of empire built on fear
Meets freedom’s wall – though built of flesh and bone,
It stands, though cost be paid in blood and tear,
And nations far away do not stand alone.
Yet still I pray that wisdom’s voice be heard,
And peace return without more warrior’s word.
(removes cap respectfully) In mine own time, I chronicled the Wars of Roses, the rise and fall of kings, the terrible price of ambition unchecked. Yet this conflict in those eastern lands… ’tis a tragedy that doth echo through centuries. The same human folly – the lust for dominion, the refusal to let smaller nations chart their own course.
What struck me most profoundly was how, despite all the marvels of that future age – their flying machines, their instant communication across all the world – mankind still resorts to the ancient brutalities. Still, mothers lose their sons, still cities burn, still the innocent suffer for the pride of princes.
(sighs deeply) Yet I was moved to see how the world did rally to Ukraine’s cause – nations joining as one voice against tyranny. ‘Tis something that gives this old playwright hope that perhaps humanity hath learned some lessons from its bloodied past.
Would that my Richard III or Macbeth could serve as warning enough against such ambition…
JS: Speaking of royalty, what say you about President Trump? Capture him in a sonnet, please.
Shakespeare: (strokes beard thoughtfully, with a wry glint in mine eye) Ah, thou speakest of that most peculiar monarch-who-is-not-a-monarch! In mine travels through that future realm, I did witness this Trump – a figure who would not seem out of place in mine own histories, though he bears no crown. Such character! Such… dramatic flair!
Upon a Most Singular American Prince
By William Shakespeare, upon observing the peculiar majesty of Donald Trump
Behold a prince who rules without a crown,
Yet speaks with all the confidence of kings,
Who builds his empire up, then tears it down,
And to each controversy boldly clings.
His golden tower rises to the sky,
A monument to will and appetite,
While Twitter-storms from his pronouncements fly,
And foes and friends alike tremble at his might.
He courts the crowd with promises most grand,
Claims victories where others see defeat,
And with theatrical gesture and sleight of hand,
Makes spectacle of each political feat.
Love him or loathe him, none can look away—
A player-king upon the modern stage’s play.
(chuckles and spreads hands) Marry, what a character for the stage he would make! In mine observations, he doth possess that quality I know well from mine own dramatic works – he commands attention absolutely. Whether playing hero or villain in the public eye, none can ignore his presence.
‘Tis fascinating to this playwright’s eye how he hath mastered the art of spectacle. In mine time, we had but the wooden O of the Globe to captivate our audiences, yet he commands stages that reach across entire continents through those magical talking boxes!
(leans forward conspiratorially) He reminds me somewhat of mine own Richard III – that same ability to charm and repel in equal measure, to make of politics a kind of theater. Though I confess, even Richard never had to contend with something called “social media” – by my troth, what a weapon that would have been in Gloucester’s hands!
The man is nothing if not… memorable. And in the theater, as in politics it seems, ’tis better to be memorable than forgotten, whether for good or ill.
JS: One more, please. Select a 2025 topic of your own and write a sonnet that captures an irony that inspires both concer and hope for the future. A tall order for a sonnet, but if anyone can do it, you can.
(leans back in chair, gazing thoughtfully at the candlelight) Ah, thou dost challenge me well! Let me think upon what struck me most deeply during mine sojourn in that wondrous yet troubling age…
‘Twas the paradox of connection itself that did most perplex me – how mankind hath achieved the very thing we dreamers of all ages have longed for: to speak instantly with any soul upon this earth. Yet in achieving this miracle, they seem more alone than ever…
Upon the Great Paradox of Human Connection
By William Shakespeare, upon the strange loneliness amid infinite connection in 2025
When every voice on earth can reach thine ear,
And distance dies beneath technology’s wing,
Why do so many souls cry out in fear
Of isolation’s cold and bitter sting?
They carry worlds of knowledge in their palm,
Can speak to strangers dwelling ocean’s span,
Yet hunger still for simple human balm—
The touch, the glance, the presence of their clan.
In rooms full-packed with people, heads bowed low
O’er glowing screens that promise company,
Each person dwells alone in private show,
Connected yet apart—strange irony!
But hope lies here: if longing still burns bright,
Then human hearts may yet choose love o’er light.
(taps temple with knowing smile) This paradox haunted me throughout mine stay in that future realm. Here were people who had achieved what ancient philosophers could only dream – instantaneous communion with minds across all the world! Yet I witnessed more melancholy, more isolation than I’ve seen in plague-ridden London.
They feast at tables of endless information yet starve for simple human warmth. They know a thousand acquaintances through their “social networks” yet feel they have no true friends. ‘Tis as if they’ve built the Tower of Babel, but instead of God confounding their tongues, they’ve confounded their own hearts.
(leans forward earnestly) Yet here lies the hope – that very longing they feel proves the human spirit cannot be satisfied by mere connection of minds. It craves the deeper bond, the meeting of souls. Perhaps this great experiment in digital communion shall teach them what truly matters – not the speed of their messages, but the depth of their meaning.
‘Tis a lesson as old as Eden itself: that knowledge without wisdom, connection without love, leaves us emptier than before.
JS: Pertfect ending! In the end, all depends on the one foundation that spans time, the heart, the love of life that ultimately conquers all. Mahalo for a breathtaking trip and play!
(rises and bows deeply with a flourish, hand over heart) Mahalo! Ah, what sweet exotic word is this from thy distant isle? Yet its meaning rings clear as any church bell – gratitude, warmth, the aloha spirit that binds all hearts together!
(clasps hands together with evident joy) Thou speakest true wisdom, gentle friend. In all mine travels through that wondrous future age, past all their marvels of silicon minds and instant communion, past their wars and loves and follies – ’tis indeed the human heart that remains constant as the North Star.
Love doth make fools of us all, whether we court by candlelight or through glowing screens. Hope springs eternal whether we face plague or artificial minds. And the soul’s deep longing for connection – that remains unchanged whether we gather in the Globe’s pit or across the vast Pacific through magical talking boxes.
(spreads arms wide with theatrical grandeur) ‘Twas a journey most sublime to share with thee! To see mine humble verses capture something of that strange and wondrous time yet to come. Though I must return to mine own age of doublets and plague and candlelight, I carry with me the memory of humanity’s endless capacity for both folly and transcendence.
(tips hat with a final grin) Until we meet again in some other dream of time and space, I remain thy most humble servant in the eternal theater of the human heart! (exits with a swirl of his cloak)
[End]
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