The Out of Tune Time Traveller

This is the story of a perpetually perplexed, nature-loving and somewhat philosophical poet from the English Romantic era who finds himself stranded in the raucous, bustling world of 2020 and sets off on an adventure full of surprises.

My brain just exploded. That in itself is sufficient to give you a pretty clear idea of what I am experiencing right now. But, if you wish me to paint a more distinct picture, I could perhaps tell “you how my eyes are bugging out of my head, my eardrums are bursting and my mouth has fallen open in shock.

In the words of my companion, Hartley, who so graciously and tactfully provides them to me, “Um sir, you look like a goldfish.”

I suppose I must start from the beginning to properly explain, and hopefully I can assure you of my usual dignity and propriety too, as a bonus. I am afraid I have given you a rather unappealing first impression of me and I must repair that.

So, here goes. It all began a long time ago. Literally.

My name is William Wordsworth. Yes, that William Wordsworth. The famous English Romantic poet, not a wannabe who blatantly plagiarised the name. I flatter myself by believing that all of you reading this have, without a doubt, heard of me, and if I do say so myself, honestly, it is quite unlikely you have not.

Today is my birthday and, right now, I am wandering, lonely as a cloud. Well, not exactly. See, my old friend Samuel died just last year in 1834 and I have taken it upon myself to befriend his erratic yet lovable son, Hartley. He too is strolling quietly beside me and I appreciate his silence. As we walk, I ponder about the bustle of life and how the world is constantly full of activity. Observing my surroundings, I am further assured of the truth in my thoughts. Everywhere I see, people move about, talking loudly and overall, seeming active and busy. No one bothers to bask in the glory of nature and appreciate its wonders. Great God! The world is too much with us!

As I stop to admire a host of golden daffodils, Hartley speaks, “Sir, look there. Let us rest for a while.” He is pointing at the oak tree on our left having a crimson circle drawn on its trunk. We settle down beneath it and under its shade and the comforting, almost rhythmic rustle of its lobed leaves, I feel my eyes drooping…

I am woken by a loud noise and heat of the afternoon sun on my face. I rouse Hartley with the intention of returning to the cottage we have rented for a year. We rise and begin our journey back. The path looks different and unfamiliar. The gently meandering sides now are now straight and cut almost at right angles. The burnt bricks that pave it are now dark grey, cemented and unforgiving. To my astonishment, I see buildings looming high above on the sides of the road and gasp loudly.

Then I see a sign saying, “Covid 19 is ravaging the world… Donate now to save a life!” and come to a halt. What on earth is Covid 19 and how is it “ravaging the world”? Surely everything could not have been so horribly transformed in the matter of a few hours, could it? My mind is now spinning, my eyes searching for familiarity and then I see another sign. “Year 2020 – Fight Today for a Better Tomorrow.” I nearly faint.

“No way. Absolutely not. I have not just time travelled,” I say, hyperventilating, my voice shrill. “I don’t know, but it seems an awful lot like we have,” says Hartley beside me, his face brightening with something that resembles… excitement? “Let’s go explore!” exults my jocund company. It’s been so long since I have seen him that eager and happy that I relent, almost immediately. “I’m sixty-five years old” I grumble halfheartedly. We both know exactly who has won the battle. Let me give you a hint… it’s not me.

Oh wow! And I thought 1835 was bad! We are walking down the pavement, if what we are doing can even be considered walking. It would be apt to say that we are rushing down, surrounded by people of all shapes and sizes who are jostling, shoving, elbowing, pushing their way through. For some reason they wear masks covering their nose and mouths but that doesn’t deter them in any way. How rude! Not one of the people present could be bothered that there was an old man in their midst. The lack of decency is most distressing.

But why are people rushing about in the first place? The hustle and bustle is dizzying, the cacophony deafening. If the world was too much with us in my time, I shudder to think the reality of today. People actually have tension radiating from their bodies: shoulders either slumped with exhaustion or taut with anxiety; squinting, weary eyes that definitely don’t have twenty-twenty vision considering how they glare at those gadgets they call “phones” non-stop; noses either scrunched up with frustration and exhaustion, or turned up, like they are looking down upon the rest of the world; not a smooth forehead in sight, indicative of their busy and commotion-filled lives.

Okay, am I actually supposed to know what “internet” or “coronavirus” meant? I just asked a stranger what the two words refer to… he looked at me with so much disdain and contempt that I almost cowered. The more polite-looking lady I asked next wasn’t of much help either: she glanced at me pityingly, like I was incredibly stupid. Am I? Well, I sure hope not, because I have written many lengthy poems like “The Prelude” and shorter ones like “Daffodils” which everyone was and is reading, right now and back then… so um.

Alrighty, back with an update! Internet is extremely complicated, so I didn’t even bother trying to decipher its meaning, but what I do know is that it has a supreme importance in the lives of people. For some unfathomable reason. Why on earth do you need “emails”, “excel” and “photoshop” if you have prose, poetry and art. It just makes no sense… Eh, whatever.

On the other hand, I do understand what coronavirus or Covid 19 is. Some sort of virus that looks like a crown, spread all over the world, adversely affecting people yet beneficially affecting the environment. But thing I really don’t understand is, if coronavirus made the environment better… it must have been worse before. Worse than this? Dear me, the very thought is disturbing. Could the sky have been gloomier and duller, the waters have been less pure, the grass less green? Could the rush and the traffic have been more, the people been busier? Well, I suppose so because that’s what people said.

The thoughts that whirl about in my head come to a pause abruptly when I see a terrible, horrendous thing in front of me. A statue. It is of me, in all my splendour. Shouldn’t that make me pleased? Well, yes, certainly. But it didn’t… Because the person who sculpted it made my nose long and crooked.

Somehow, I can almost feel you laughing at me. Oh yes, I can sense your mirth. But you must understand, I may be a great man (if I say so myself) but like all great men, I have a vice, my vanity. My nose, I can assure you, is neither long nor crooked, it is of a perfectly agreeable and pleasing shape.

It isn’t one of my finest moments, I admit, when I am handcuffed and arrested for defacing public property. My hands hurt from how tightly they are bound together, and I can already see red scratches lining my wrists like thin bloody bracelets.

The jail is not very nice either. I mean, I know jails aren’t really supposed to be very nice, but they aren’t supposed to be unbearably dilapidated… are they? Well, as far as I can tell, this jail is without a doubt, one of the worst. A rotten stench wafts in the air, infiltrates my nostrils and makes me gag. The cells are tiny, claustrophobic, wrecked, and layered with dust. My particular cell even has a blood-red circle drawn on the right wall.

Despite the ghastly surroundings and the guilt of ruining Hartley’s adventure and putting him in danger, I find myself drifting off to sleep… I wake with a start, memories of yesterday resurfacing. But I am not in a cell. And Hartley is right beside me. I look up and the leaves adorning the tree’s branches smile back at me.

I frown, thinking of my time travel adventure. I get up and look around. The roads are curved and paved with lightly coloured burnt bricks and there is not a building in sight. The sky is a brilliant blue and the grass virescent. I laugh at myself for getting so sucked into a dream that I lost sight of reality. The year is 1835! The time travel to 2020 never happened. But it seemed so real. It never happened. I repeat to myself. No. It was just a dream.

But just then I glance at my hands and see red streaks and scratches around my wrists…”So it did happen after all,” tells my inward eye.

For this, and for everything that lies ahead, I am out of tune.