I've written about the importance of the poetic aspect of Shakespeare's work a few times in the past, I know, but it's under-discussed as a central factor of his work in my opinion, at least in the commentary that I've been reading lately (which is excellent in other ways, however). My point today is the following: The evidence shows that Shakespeare took as much pride in being a poet as he did in being a dramatist (for example, the only works that he took the time to personally publish were the two long narrative poems, The Rape of Lucrece and Venus and Adonis), and this forced his play-writing to match the highest qualities of the best poetry. Among the most important of these qualities is its truth-finding nature, because if a poem does not contain honest and accurate thoughts on the human experience, it quite simply doesn't work as poetry. And the fact that Shakespeare was always concerned with making his writing do so also explains one of the central paradoxes of his career: The writer known for his unsurpassed verbal prowess is also the one whose work is the most realistic in its depiction of human nature.

Another thought struck me recently regarding Shakespeare's use of poetry (and I'm not referring to the verse only; even his prose is poetic). As we listen, we are very much aware that people don't speak in those ways - this was one of Tolstoy's beefs about Shakespeare, in fact - but we're also aware that people do feel in those ways. And like with music or dance, we know that we're witnessing an exaggeration, but what this exaggeration leads to is of such depth that it's unlikely that it could have been found otherwise. The poetry, therefore, helps us to think certainly, but just as importantly, it allows us to empathize emotionally.

Also, the poetic language makes us immediately aware that we're watching fiction (even when historical sources have been consulted), but the quick establishment of this fact permits the mind to go past the surface issues of story-telling and veracity to get to the real psychological and philosophical content. For an example, here's Cassius speaking to Casca (1.3) about the reasons for Caesar's ascension; in his opinion, it's merely a symptom of Rome's weakness. Note the poetic content of the words and the emotions they release. Then imagine the danger in even thinking them:

And why should Caesar be a tyrant then?

Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf,

But that he sees the Romans are but sheep:

He were no lion, were not Romans hinds.

Those that with haste will make a mighty fire

Begin it with weak straws: what trash is Rome,

What rubbish and what offal, when it serves

For the base matter to illuminate

So vile a thing as Caesar! But, O grief,

Where hast thou led me? I perhaps speak this

Before a willing bondman; then I know

My answer must be made. But I am arm'd,

And dangers are to me indifferent.

The complexity of Shakespeare's poetry is always astonishing. It seems that with every reading, more is revealed. Some have found the demands placed on them as readers to be excessive. It can be hard work, granted. But always, the effort proves to be worthwhile. In other words, what we eventually will find in the convoluted syntax and dazzling rhetoric is wisdom and beauty. Something else we have to keep in mind: serious artists work at their crafts very hard and very often. They are not interested in repeating themselves. We therefore shouldn't be surprised if we have to do some background labour to keep up - using glossaries, references, criticism, and so on. Here's another excerpt from Antony and Cleopatra. Here, a messenger is notifying Octavius that Sextus Pompeius (Pompey), the son of the late Gnaeus Pompeius, a member of the first triumvirate (with Crassus and Julius Caesar), is rapidly gaining popularity and therefore strength in his naval powers. Caesar's response regarding the vagaries of popularity is remarkable both in style and content:

MESSENGER

... Pompey is strong at sea;

And it appears he is beloved of those

That only have fear'd Caesar: to the ports

The discontents repair, and men's reports

Give him much wrong'd.

OCTAVIUS

I should have known no less.

It hath been taught us from the primal state,

That he which is was wish'd until he were;

And the ebb'd man, ne'er loved till ne'er worth love,

Comes dear'd by being lack'd. This common body,

Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream,

Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide,

To rot itself with motion.