Shakespeare Week

SHAKESPEARE

WEEK 2021

From sonnets and soliloquies to secret scavenger hunts, BSAK celebrated Shakespeare Week this half term.

Students engaged in Shakespeare-inspired lessons by performing monologues in Drama, writing sonnets in English, learning about The Globe Theatre in History and participating in a book design competition in Art. Some dressed up during form time to recite famous lines and scenes and discussed how relevant his words still are today.

Some of our wonderful staff donned their thespian voices to perform the famous Montague and Capulet fight scene out on the pitches for the enjoyment of KS3 and students took part in our Secret Shakespeare Scavenger Hunt.

Thank you to everyone who got involved and celebrated this literary genius.

The English Department

Staff, students and visitors were welcomed by our SLT mannequins dressed in Shakespearean attire and holding some of his most famous lines.

Staff, students and visitors were welcomed by our SLT mannequins dressed in Shakespearean attire and holding some of his most famous lines.

KS4 & 5 POET

LAUREATE

Amna Zaffar, Year 12

Shall I Compare Thee To a Winter’s Noon Shall I compare thee to a winter's noon? Thou art more glorious and more gelid: Splendid warm gusts do melt the ice by June, And winter's snowflakes halt, though they once glid: Sometime too cool Arbuda's zephyrs blow, And often are his numb hands held in mine, And beat his heart as fast would sprint a doe, By chase, or caught in headlight's brightest shine: But thy eternal coolness shall not dim, Nor fade away in a wind so frigid, Nor shall glaciers sing of your thawing vim, When between these pages you'll remain hid, So long as sun rises east and sets west, So long your recollection here will rest.

KS3 POET LAUREATE

Sara Sheikh, Year 8

Hamlet Begs Method To The Madness Of His Creator

“Surely I was made in your own image, Surely my strife reflects that of your own. I trust you know limbo as well, You know past the shadow on the wall, To its sombre dance around purgatory.”

Replied the creator “Paper is pressed with the voices of many, Although pens may present only one. You are nothing but ink on paper, my child, I will say I do not know you well.”

“Tell me then, what do you know? How else Could you write? If sorrow you don’t know, perhaps it is strife? The madness folded in violets, or the paradox of the knife. Do you know what sleep is to dying? Do you know how to fear your own mind?”

“You hate me now, it is clear, You hate me for placing you in your life. But pour yourself out of your chalice, Watch in which river your blood shall find flow.

Your blood does not dare touch lethe, It flows against the current of Styx. Cruel I was, I must admit, to you And all that I marionette.

But the happy are not seen in histories eyes, The happy grow paltried and withered. The tragic are raised to the ranks of Gods, And, my child, Do you see how you are worshiped.”