On Writing Hamlet Poem by David McLansky

How fortunate to walk a path
That I can take and call my craft,
A solitary form of Art
That doesn't need another's part;
I speak like Hamlet on the stage,
A monologue like one depraved,
Exploring all my fears and doubts,
My quiet triumphs, my private routs;
I need no actor on the boards
To answer me as my reward,
The words themselves do echo back
Although the stage is curtained black;
Alone I feel and contemplate
And reconcile myself to Fate;
If my words know no renown,
I've known the pleasure of their sound;
I've moaned and groaned and dared to laugh,
And in the doing I've plied my craft.