Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Lawrence Raab’s "Revised Versions" playfully reimagines the tragic endings of some of Shakespeare’s most famous plays, offering alternative resolutions where characters make wiser choices, misunderstandings are avoided, and life is granted the dignity of continued existence. The poem suggests that we, as readers and as people, desire a world where suffering is not inevitable, where characters (and by extension, ourselves) can choose reason over passion, patience over impulse, and understanding over destruction. By revising these classic narratives, Raab invites us to reflect on the human tendency to seek order and happiness even in stories designed to end in devastation.

The poem opens with an appeal to authority: "Even Samuel Johnson found that ending unbearable." This reference to the 18th-century critic and lexicographer acknowledges that discomfort with tragic endings is not unique to modern audiences. Johnson famously objected to King Lear?s original ending, where Lear carries Cordelia’s lifeless body onto the stage before dying of grief. For over a hundred years, King Lear was performed with an altered ending in which both Lear and Cordelia survive, and "Cordelia... marries Edgar, who tried so hard to do the right thing." This reimagining is presented as a form of justice—"Don’t they deserve some happiness, after all that suffering?" The question speaks to the desire for fairness, for a world in which virtue is rewarded rather than mercilessly crushed by fate.

The poem extends this revisionist impulse to Antony and Cleopatra. Instead of being consumed by jealousy and political intrigue, Antony "keeps his temper, takes Cleopatra aside to say: No more games, dear, we need to talk this through." The modern phrasing—"No more games, dear"—brings humor into the tragic grandeur of Shakespearean drama, reducing their legendary passion to something relatable, almost domestic. Antony and Cleopatra’s downfall is one of miscommunication and rash decisions; in Raab’s version, these pitfalls are avoided with a simple, rational conversation.

Hamlet’s fate is similarly softened: "Send him back to school to learn no one ever really pleases his father." This shift reframes Hamlet not as a grand existential crisis, but as an ordinary coming-of-age struggle. The prince’s indecision and melancholy are presented as part of a familiar dynamic—"no one ever really pleases his father." By continuing his education, Hamlet gains time to mature rather than being consumed by vengeance. The next lines suggest an alternate life for him: "And while he?s reading he?ll remember how pretty Ophelia was, how much she admired his poems." This revision allows for reflection rather than regret, turning the doomed romance into a missed but not catastrophic opportunity. Hamlet does not drive Ophelia to madness; he merely remembers her fondly.

The same measured practicality is applied to Macbeth. Instead of murdering Duncan in a fit of ambition, Macbeth might simply decide, "Who needs a bigger castle? / Let’s sleep on it, Macbeth might tell his wife, wait and see what comes along." This version of Macbeth is patient, skeptical of ruthless ambition. The phrase "wait and see what comes along" is strikingly modern, reducing the stakes of regicide to something as casual as career planning.

Othello’s tragedy is rewritten as well: "And Othello should have a friend to explain / it’s natural for newlyweds to quarrel, / especially if the bride is so much younger." In this version, Othello’s insecurities are soothed, not inflamed. Instead of being manipulated by Iago, he is given perspective—a reminder that relationships are fraught, that misunderstandings can be resolved without violence. The key line—"Why not make what you can of love?"—suggests a fundamental shift away from grand, tragic destinies toward the smaller, everyday work of sustaining relationships.

The poem’s final lines broaden its focus beyond Shakespeare’s characters to human nature itself: "It?s what we want for ourselves, anxious to avoid another scene, / and wary of starting a fight, having suffered through too many funerals / and heard how eloquently the dead are praised, who threw their lives away." Here, Raab reveals why we long for these alternative endings. It is not merely about revising literature; it is about revising life itself. We grow weary of conflict, tired of unnecessary suffering. We have "suffered through too many funerals"—not just literally, but metaphorically, in the sense of witnessing avoidable tragedies in our own lives and histories. The final phrase, "who threw their lives away," subtly criticizes the glorification of self-destruction, whether in literature or reality. The tragedy of Shakespeare’s heroes is not just that they die, but that they die needlessly, their fates shaped by misunderstanding, impulse, or misplaced pride.

"Revised Versions" is both a critique of and an homage to Shakespearean tragedy. It acknowledges the power of these stories while playfully questioning their inevitability. Raab suggests that the impulse to rewrite tragedy comes from our own desire for a world where wisdom prevails over rashness, where conversations replace duels, and where love is salvaged rather than sacrificed. By imagining an alternative to grand, sorrowful endings, the poem affirms the quiet, ordinary heroism of patience, reason, and second chances.

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