Trippingly on the tongue

Listen to Shakespeare as he’s never been heard before.

Understanding Shakespeare's language has long been a tiresome chore for school pupils and students around the globe - jokes that have lost their punch after 400 years, puns that leave readers nonplussed, unusual rhythms - all can act as barriers to an appreciation of the plays. But a new CD release from the British Library might just offer some relief from any Bard-induced woes.

For the very first time, a recording of the texts in the original Elizabethan pronunciation has been compiled, bringing the listener closer to how Shakespeare would have intended his work to be heard. The CD includes extracts from A Midsummer Night's Dream, Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth, as well as a selection of sonnets, all recorded under the guidance of Shakespearean pronuciation expert, Ben Crystal..

Accompanying the disc is an essay from Professor David Crystal, in which he explains: "When we hear original pronunciation used in relation to Shakespeare, we enter a new auditory world...Original pronunciation suggests fresh contrasts in speech style, such as between young and old, court and commoners, or literate and illiterate; and it motivates unexpected possibilities of character interpretation. Original pronunciation also illustrates what Hamlet meant when he advised the players to speak "trippingly upon the tongue".' Crystal wrote about Shakespeare for the New Statesman back in 2004. Read his review of Frank Kermode's The Age of Shakespeare here.

A special event to celebrate the release will be held on 4 May 2012, featuring live performances from Ben Crystal and the company of actors who contributed to the CD.

"Shakespeare's Original Pronunciation" is published by the British Library on 14 March (£10)

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"Samphire": a poem by Alison Brackenbury

"Yet how it waved, in coast’s late light. . . ."

My grandmother could cook it, for
she grew up by that dangerous shore
where the sea skulked without a wall

where I have seen it, tough as grass,
where silent men with rods trooped past
its salty ranks, without a glance.

Lear’s gatherer hangs perilously.
Why? So much is closed to me.
Did Shakespeare ever hear the sea?

Once, said my father, far inland,
from friend or stall, one clutch was found,
steamed, in my grandmother’s great pan.

Once, a smooth leaflet from a shop
claimed they could “source it”, but they stocked
bunched, peppered cress – Another gap.

Yet how it waved, in coast’s late light,
stalks I will never taste, could make
tenderly dark, my coast’s sly snake,
salt on my tongue, before I wake.

Alison Brackenbury is an award-winning poet. Her ninth collection, Skies, will be published by Carcanet in March

This article first appeared in the 11 February 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The legacy of Europe's worst battle