The Way along the Wall

This is an early poem, first drafted when I was a novice, revised a couple of years later. The little sketch was done during one of my many solitary strolls through the monastery grounds. There was a short path along one of the "arms" of the enclosure wall that I particularly loved and called "The Avenue." I wanted to memorialize it in this poem and sketch.

 

The Way along the Wall

"The Avenue" is dapple-most
on ochre afternoons.
Along this path the breezes murmur
their most wistful tunes,
the only sound
save the dry-leafed ground

beneath my feet.  I watch the light
play shyly on the wall,
the longed-for boundary that nestles
those who heed the call
in arms of stone
to be God's own.

I savor this way of wood and wall
that lies so straight, serene,
between the here, the now, the chosen,
and what once had been.
Still—I know that yesterday
is but a dappled wall away.

Poem and sketch © Leticia Austria 2009

Niles Crane's Greatest Lines: Season Seven

All quotes were taken directly from the DVDs and have been checked thoroughly for accuracy.

"Momma Mia"

NILES:  That's not graffiti, Dad; that's a Latin pun: "Semper ubi, sub ubi "—"Always where under where."

"Father of the Bride"

NILES:  Last night after dinner, I dropped her home with nothing more than a courtly kiss on the wrist. Tonight may proceed to hand holding, and if all goes well, in two weeks I shall storm the citadel of her womanhood.

++++++++

FRASIER:  Niles, it's about Sabrina. (beat) She's a prostitute.
NILES: Frasier, I don't like lawyers anymore than you do.

++++++++

FRASIER:  Does Sabrina laugh at everything you say? Is she fascinated  by everything about you—even your collections?
NILES:  Well, yes. Actually, I even showed her my rarely seen collection of eighteenth-century Portuguese bud vases.
FRASIER:  And how did she react?
NILES:  Well, if you must know, she was rather aroused. She said she loved a man who collected porcelain and, oh, my God, I'm dating a whore.

"Radio Wars"

DAPHNE:  Dr. Crane, how do you know it's time to have your crèpe pans seasoned, anyway?
NILES:  It can be confusing, but this may help: "Saucepans in summer, crèpe pans in fall, when winter's upon us, there's food for us all."

++++++++

NILES:  Why didn't you hold the elevator? Didn't you hear me shouting?
FRASIER: That was you? I'm sorry Niles. I was afraid you were trying to get a picture of my butt.
NILES: (beat) How exciting to be present at the birth of a new phobia.

++++++++

MARTIN:  Great. That's fine. Admire him if you want, but did you have to run through the neighborhood in bowler hats? I mean, you were just begging  to get beat up.
FRASIER:  Come to think of it, it was rather a rough summer that year, wasn't it?
NILES: I remember getting a chin strap so the bowler wouldn't fall off when I ran.

"Everyone's a Critic"

NILES:  The pretentious fop who had the job before me was there, too, spouting sheer drivel about Leonard Bernstein. Being polite, I kept my tongue sheathed, until he referred to Bernstein's conducting as "overrated."
FRASIER:  I assume you pounced.
NILES: Like a ninja!

++++++++

NILES:  Well, I wish you had lent her your Tennessee Williams biography. She wouldn't have kept forgetting his name and calling him Indiana Jones.

"The Late Dr. Crane"

FRASIER:  Carbuncle?  You mean that miniscule mole of yours?
NILES:  Well, to you.  I've always been self-conscious about it. I-I've made many a hasty wine selection because I felt the sommelier staring down.

"The Apparent Trap"

FRASIER:  (to NILES and LILITH ) You're willing to throw all that away because of one ill-considered night of passion? It happened! Take from it what you can learn. Move on.
NILES:  Well—I learned if you kiss her too fast, you get an ice-cream headache.

++++++++

DAPHNE:  Beautiful job carving that turkey, Dr. Crane.
NILES:  Well, I picked up a thing or two in medical school. In case you're wondering, this bird appears to have died of a massive head trauma.

++++++++

NILES:  What's this about?
LILITH:  Well, it's about an attraction that I thought was over, and now I'm beginning to think maybe it's not.
NILES:  Usually, in my dreams, this is where I try to run and can't.

"The Fight before Christmas"

NILES:  (coming out of the elevator and seeing ROZ and DAPHNE standing together in the hall ) Well, there's a Christmas tableau: Naughty and Nice.

++++++++

NILES:  It seems our old gardener has passed away unexpectedly.
FRASIER:  Oh, not Yoshi. Gosh, that's too bad.
NILES:  Yeah. He had a heart attack when he was out trimming Maris' elaborate hedge maze. The paramedics never had a chance.

++++++++

NILES:  Maris and Yoshi were very close. In fact, I remember he once made a topiary likeness of her, and wept without shame when it developed root rot.

"RDWRER"

MARTIN:  Oh ... you're not good with big cars, Niles. Remember when I tried to teach you to drive my Le Sabre? You kept panicking and pulling on the emergency brake.
NILES:  Well, it's a good thing I did. Those mailboxes weren't even slowing me down.

++++++++

MARTIN:  I wonder if you can still get "sticky shingles" here.
NILES:  One look at the salad bar says yes.

"They're Playing Our Song"

DAPHNE:  You see, this water traps all the dirt particles instead of recycling them back into the air. I got all that just from Dr. Crane's pillow. (indicating the dirty water)
MARTIN:  Eeew!
NILES:  (to FRASIER ) I've been begging  you to switch to a more abrasive loofah.

"Big Crane on Campus"

FRASIER:  I tried to ask her out and I choked. I did get the impression that she was interested in me, though.
NILES:  Well, of course she is. Oh, and the coach called. You're starting the big game on Sunday.

++++++++

NILES:  Cooking a meal for one's mate is a big first step.
FRASIER:  Yes, especially for you. I mean, Maris never let you cook for her.
NILES:  Mm, that's true. The closest I ever got was restocking the pills in her bedside lazy Susan.

"Out with Dad"

NILES:  May your opera box be full of cellophane crinklers, and the stage swarming with standbys!

"Whine Club"

FRASIER:  Well, Niles, it's the moment of truth. Don't choke.
NILES:  Please. Prepare to be stomped like a late-harvest Gewurtztraminer.

"Hot Pursuit"

MARTIN:  (opening his thermos) This is clam chowder!
NILES:  Well, what did you expect?
MARTIN:  Irish whiskey! Your mother always filled it with coffee and Irish whiskey. We just called it "clam chowder" in front of you kids.
NILES:  Is that why you got so mad that day I crumbled oyster crackers in your thermos?

"Morning Becomes Entertainment"

BEBE:  (taking out a cigarette) May I?
FRASIER:  On the balcony, if you don't mind.
BEBE:  Mind? I don't want a single puff tearing up the baby blues of TV's newest sensation! By this time next week—
NILES:  You heard him; if you're going to blow smoke, do it on the balcony.

"The Three Faces of Frasier"

FRASIER: You know, if I were you, I would be careful about bandying about the word "vain," Mr. Two-Hundred-and-Fifty-Dollar Haircut.
NILES: I have problem follicles.

++++++++

FRASIER:  Now, you'd better finish your lasagna. You don't want to offend Stefano.
NILES:  Offend him? So far tonight, I have had the prosciutto di Parma, the pesto Genovese, and the Venetian sea bass. One more bite, and we'll conclude our little tour of Italy with my impression of Pompeii.

"Something Borrowed, Someone Blue"

DAPHNE:  So, you brought me something, Roz?
ROZ:  Well, yeah, I figured you can't get married without wearing something borrowed. (hands DAPHNE a gift box)
DAPHNE:  (opening the box) Oh, what a beautiful garter! Look at all the lovely detail.
NILES:  I especially like the little odometer.

++++++++

ROZ:  Is there no place I can go without running into some guy I've dated?
NILES:  I was reading about a Trappist monastery in the Amazon that they somehow built into the treetops.

++++++++

NILES:  Daphne—take it from someone who knows. You don't want to spend half your life thinking about a chance you didn't take.

Plaisir d'amour

     For some reason which I can't remember now, I spent an hour on YouTube last night, listening to different renditions of that famous love song, "Plaisir d'amour." (For those who have only heard the Elvis Presley version, the original was written in 1784 by Jean-Paul-Égide Martini.) Ignoring Nana Mouskouri (not a fan at all) and Joan Baez (am a fan, but not when she sings this song), I sought out classical/opera singers' interpretations and narrowed my favorites down to a handful. (For the text in French and English, click here.)

     Of course, I love Janet Baker's sumptuous sound in everything she does, and "Plaisir d'amour is no exception.

    

     Victoria de los Angeles is another famous interpreter of the song. Though her earlier studio recording is beautiful and vocally fresh, I prefer this later, live performance, taped when she was just past her glorious prime. So soulful.  I wept when I first listened to it.

    

     I also succumbed to the charms of Yvonne Printemps' recording, sung with harpsichord. Printemps, who began her career in operetta before moving on to straight theater and film, brings theatricality and a touch of musical eccentricity to the piece. I find it particularly hard to resist the gut-grinding scoop with which she sings the second syllable of "chagrin" everytime she sings it.

     After listening to a number of male opera singers (Schipa, Gigli, Bruson, even Bastianini), I was won over by Fritz Wunderlich's clean, simple, yet heartfelt singing.

Revisiting My Very First Sonnet

     What formalist can forget the first sonnet he or she ever wrote? Mine came as an assignment for senior English. I can't remember the name of my teacher (as I recall, she wasn't that great a teacher), but I clearly recall that she only required we stick to either the Shakespearean or the Petrarchan rhyme scheme, but she didn't expect meter (much more difficult than rhyme). The day we handed our sonnets in, our teacher perched on her desk and read them all out loud, but without revealing their authors. They were, one after another, half-hearted, jokey, disrespectful attempts, and I could see her becoming both discouraged and angry with each poem. Finally, she came to mine. She began reading it in a weary voice, expecting it to be yet another jokey attempt. At the end of the fourth line, she paused in surprise and looked at the class with a relieved smile. When she finished, she asked, "Did you all understand what the poem was saying?" Then she read it again.

     I think that was the moment my childhood desire to write was cemented.

     Incredibly, after all these years, I still remember that sonnet word for word, even though all written copies of it are long lost. A few years ago, I revised it, primarily giving it meter and polishing up the language. I also changed the rhyme scheme from Petrarchan to Shakespearean. Many of my friends have read both versions; some actually prefer the original for its simplicity and youthful voice.

Small Talk (1977)

As we weave our web of words, staring,
Gazing out the window with private dreams
Locked in our minds, how strange it seems
That here we are, speaking, but not really sharing.
Too tired to listen, not in the least caring
What the other says, we think of schemes
To escape this farce of masks and screens,
To rid ourselves of the frozen smiles we're wearing.
Instead, we go on with our pointless chat,
Fidgeting uncomfortably with each prolonged pause,
While searching desperately for some silly sentence.
What would it be like if we simply sat,
Without feeling so obliged to the dubious cause
Of prim convention and social eloquence?


The Art of Conversation (2010)

We weave a silken thread while private dreams
unfurl behind the diptych of our eyes
and cool façades of polished smiles; we scheme
to flee this habitat where broidered lies
and glib embellishments of fact reside.
Instead, we chatter on. Our platitudes
will serve to mask the homeliness inside.
But as the thread winds round the attitudes
we have so deftly wrought, beneath the pause
inevitably born, we ponder what
would come about if—artlessly—we sat,
unburdened from our duty to the cause
of weaving (for convention's dubious sake)
a thread that only truth could ever break.

© Leticia Austria

The Coziness of Delusion

     Recently, I had a reunion with a person who has known me for over half my life. In fact, we were in love, or something like it, for many years. But all that ended a long time ago, and both of us have changed—in my case, pretty radically. During our recent reunion chatting over coffee, I realized that we now have very little in common. The interests we shared years ago are no longer a viable part of my life, and the things that now absorb my time and mind are not a viable part of his. Still, there are friendships that can exist and even flourish despite big differences in interests and philosophies. It was this hope that prompted me to ask him if he ever reads this blog. Though I certainly don't tell the whole truth in these posts, I tell a lot of the truth, and if anyone cared to know who I am now and how I got to be who I am now, this blog is a great place to start. His answer saddened me.

     "No, I haven't read it. And I really don't think I ever will. Because that  'you' has nothing to do with me, and I want to remember you the way I knew you." A second passed before he added, "I know that isn't real."

     And I know now that he and I can never be complete friends. We can only be nostalgic friends. Like the "love" we once had, it's only friendship of a sort; there are too many things missing, essential things.

     A few years ago, I wrote a sonnet about this sort of delusion and how we cling to it. It wasn't written with this particular person in mind; it was written for someone else, of whom I myself had, admittedly, created a certain image, an image that is idealized—though I have, since writing the sonnet, come to know him better and more realistically.

Simulacrum

I couldn't bear it if the photograph
I took of you so long ago should fade.
Inside my journal, like an epitaph,
between the last two pages, it is laid
with care. From time to time I take it out,
to see if all the colors are still true,
make certain that the sentiment I wrote
is still defined, that time has not subdued
the spirit radiating from your eyes.
And if I can preserve it through the years,
perhaps the dream of you will never die
but flourish, ever luminous and clear.
I know you now just as I knew you then.
My captured image brings you back again.

© Leticia Austria 2009
First published in Dreamcatcher  (under the title "The Likeness")

Divided by a Common Literature

     Yesterday I went for my biannual teeth cleaning. Given that, when having your teeth cleaned/examined/otherwise-worked-on, you spend most of your time with your mouth open while gloved fingers grasping various tools muck their way around in it, you can't say an awful lot. You can, however, listen, if your hygienist or dentist is in a chatty mood, as my hygienist was yesterday.

     "Are you a fan of Downton Abbey?" she asked

     "Nng-nng, echh." (That's "Mm-hmm, yes" in teeth-cleaning speak.)

     This prompted a one-sided discussion on social class and snobbery, during which I longed in vain to contribute something other than grunts and whimpers. Even when the tools were withdrawn for a brief moment, it was only so that I could purse my lips around the little suction tube.

     When the cleaning was finally finished and I could speak again, my hygienist had moved on somehow to Persuasion.

     "I tried reading it once," she said, "but I just couldn't finish it. That father! Such a snob!"

     "It's probably my favorite novel of all time," I said, and prattled blithely on to proclaim the book's many merits, Jane Austen's genius, her comical treatment of characters—such as Mr Elliott—who are less than palatable, etc. "It's the kind of novel that's best read when one is older, I think; as opposed to Pride and Prejudice, which easily appeals even at a young age; no, Persuasion is much more autumnal in tone, and her heroine is older and therefore appeals to a more mature reader; I love Anne so much, because she knows very well what her father is, and yet she .... " Blah, blah, blah.

     At one point, I turned into Niles Crane and used the word "milieu"—"Austen portrays her own milieu so well, with such perspicacity, humor, sympathy"—and as soon as the "m" word flew out of my freshly cleaned mouth, even as I continued spouting Persuasion's and Austen's praises, I noticed a certain expression in my hygienist's eyes as they looked down at me over the surgical mask. True, my view of her was upside-down, since I was still prone in the chair, but I clearly saw in her eyes that it was time for me to shut up.

     "Well," she said, rather lamely, "maybe I'll try reading it again."

     I do hope she does. I wonder what we'll discuss at my next teeth cleaning.

    

The Bond of True Friendship

When I left "the world" to enter the cloister, my deepest sorrow was not, as one would think, leaving my family, but leaving my friends. My family, I knew, would always be there for me and I would be always in their hearts, and they would certainly visit as often as was permitted; but how many of my friendships would survive what could have been a lifelong separation? If I had remained in the cloister, taken solemn vows, it was quite possible that I would never again see any of them, unless they made the trip to Lufkin to visit, or to witness my Solemn Profession.

 

I did receive letters from some of my friends, and one of them did come for a brief visit. One, however, wrote to me far more often than the others. Oddly enough, it was a friend I hardly ever saw in person (and still see only rarely). I was so very grateful whenever my novice directress handed me an envelope scrawled with his familiar handwriting! It was during those two and a half years, enclosed in the monastery walls, that I learned how true a friend he was and is.

Forgetting

Forgetting is the thing I fear the most.
I can't forbid the fading of the day,
nor can I draw the curtains of your heart
against the void of predatory night.
The music we have shared, the scattered days,
are feeble beams of light across the sea
of separation, circumstance, and time.
That there may only be what there
has been, I won't regret. The one thing I
could never bear is that you would forget.


Assurance

"How could I forget you? Be sure of my eternal friendship,
     as I am sure of yours." ~ from a letter

There is a passacaglia in my mind
That plays its stately rhythm on those days
When faith becomes a nebulous, gray haze
And all bright hope lies languishing behind.
Its harmonies are simple, yet refined;
Its tune develops at a solemn pace;
There is comfort in its persistent bass,
A steady beat, dependable and kind.
Above all, its composer is most dear,
For it is you, who wrote it for my heart
When cloister walls had once kept me apart
From things familiar, things I held as mine.
It is my talisman against all fear
Of distance, and its thieving ally, time.


Definition of "passacaglia"
© Leticia Austria 2008, 2011

The Promise

This is a very early poem that I wrote in the monastery and have since very slightly revised.


To surrender in faith is to hope in the dark.
Dark faith it is that first bids us
walk beneath Gethsemane's vigilant leaves
to the brow of Calvary, and there
grasp the hand shattered by our sin, trusting
we shall be carried beyond the weeping stars.

For beyond is where dawn ever gleams
with the joy given to those who trust,
to whom the dark is the way,
in whose hearts echoes the Virgin's fiat
in measure clear and strong.

To surrender in faith is to hope in the dark.
To hope in the dark is to tread toward the light,
the light that is life,
the life that is love,
the love that is Lord.

© Leticia Austria 2006

The Dream

With widening dawn
fragments bloom
like passion flowers:

I smile I recall
but never saw,

a voice from your lips,
yet strange and new,

embraces hidden from history
beneath the heavy cloak of sleep.

Dark disperses as light gathers,
morning quickens, fragments fuse and form;

the vista of day's long hours
brightens
as I remember
the you I knew in the night.

© Leticia Austria 2012

Niles Crane's Greatest Lines: Season Six

In season six, the character of Niles acquires new depth; the writers give him more moments of pathos, not only in his love for Daphne, but in all his relationships. We find him more affectionately tolerant of Frasier's shortcomings and more solicitous of Martin. Even his jibes at Roz's expense become increasingly good-natured in tone and delivery as their friendship solidifies. Consequently, Niles is given fewer "zingers" to say, but the characters around him are more vocal about his actions and situation. All of this only strengthens an already strong and vivid character, giving the viewer even more reason to like him and sympathize with him.

 

Again, all quotes are taken directly from the DVDs and checked multiple times for accuracy.

"Good Grief"

FRASIER: Oh, you're just in time! I'm throwing a party for my fan club.
MARTIN: Here?
NILES: Is there some problem with the bridge they normally meet under?

++++++++

NERDY FAN: It's cool, isn't it, your brother having his own club?
NILES: (looking at him askance)  Yeah, well ... seeing all of you, I sort of wish I had a club myself.

"Frasier's Curse"

FRASIER: Niles, thank you for agreeing to meet me on such short notice. I swear, I'm in full-blown crisis.
NILES: Well, if you're talking about that garish belt, I have emergency suspenders in my car.

++++++++

FRASIER: Daphne, will you assist me, please? This is my school newsletter.
DAPHNE: The Bryce Academy Crier.
NILES: Which, coincidentally, was Frasier's nickname his first year there.

"Dial 'M' for Martin"

MARTIN: Hey, Niles.
ROZ: Hi, Niles.
NILES: Hello. I'm not interrupting anything personal, am I?
ROZ: Yeah, Niles. We just eloped. I'm your new mom.
NILES: (heartily)  Well! I'll be a son of a bitch.

"How to Bury a Millionaire"

NILES: My salary isn't even covering my legal bills.
FRASIER: Well, what do your lawyers tell you?
NILES: Well, mostly, my salary isn't even covering my legal bills.

++++++++

NILES: I'll never find anything tolerable in my price range. It's barely tolerable having  a price range.

++++++++

LANDLORD: And we've got a rec room, too. And did you see the hot tub?
NILES: If you're referring to that six-man Petri dish, yes.

"The Seal Who Came to Dinner"

NILES: If my life gets any worse, I'm phoning Hell to ask about their exchange program.

++++++++

MARTIN: And besides, who else is gonna loan you their place? It's not like you can ask Maris.
NILES: I don't have to ask her. She's out of the country. She's in Antwerp having her elbows done. She has that stunning beach house! I'm sure I can get past the alarm!
MARTIN: Isn't that breaking and entering?
NILES: Oh, pish. It can't be a crime if it's catered.

"Roz, a Loan"

FRASIER: Birdwell's? My God, isn't that a little pricey?
NILES: I'll say. It's Maris' favorite store. They give points for every dollar you spend there. One year, she got enough to have Tony Bennett come to our house and sing.

++++++++

NILES: I should go. I want to get down to the spa before Dad. He may bridle when the front desk clerk asks him if he prefers a man or a woman.

++++++++

FRASIER: All right, how bad was it?
NILES: Mortifying. First of all, he refused to go nude, even in the private rooms.
FRASIER: Well, Niles, don't forget Dad is of a different generation.
NILES: Wearing socks and underpants and carrying a wallet into a mudbath is not a generational issue. If you ever hear me offer to take Dad to a spa again, wash out my mouth with jug  wine.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Moskowitz"

DAPHNE: Dr. Crane, can I ask a favor? What are you doing for the next ten nights? Because my—
NILES: Yes. (beat)  Excuse me, finish the question.

"Our Parents, Ourselves"

NILES: (feigning enthusiasm)  The Super Bowl and  a date. Hot diggity.
BONNIE: Well, come here, you're just in time for my specialty.
NILES: Well, how— (BONNIE stuffs a meat-laden cracker in his mouth)  Mm. Mmm ...! Isn't that interesting. Something formerly ham.

"The Show where Woody Shows Up"

NILES: Well, if it's "raucous" you're looking for, we could go and get a night cap at the piano bar at the Mayflower Hotel. It's Jerome Kern night. Last time, people were shouting out requests without raising their hands!

"Three Valentines"

One of Niles' most memorable scenes has almost no spoken lines whatever; but somehow, it just didn't seem right not to include it here. This is Pierce at his comedic genius best.

 

"To Tell the Truth"

 

FRASIER: Well, the office seems nice enough. Might have overdone it on the plants a little, but ...

NILES: Yes. It's excess like this that's destroying the plastic rain forest.

++++++++

NILES: Oh ...! University of Las Vegas. No problem finding tassels for those  mortar boards.

++++++++

FRASIER: Niles, you have got to hear this man out. I'm sorry, this is exactly what you want in a lawyer—someone who's not afraid to show a little moxie.

NILES: Oh, he's an inch away from showing us the full  moxie!

++++++++

NILES: Urinal cakes?! I don't believe this! All these years ... the doyenne of Seattle's elite, looking down her nose at everyone in sight. She owes it all to this. (beat)  She's managed to have her urinal cake and eat it, too.

 

"Decoys"

 

NILES: Obviously, you've never let someone you've grown to care deeply about get away.

ROZ: Well, sure, I have.

NILES: I'm not talking about when the migrant workers leave at the end of the picking season.

++++++++

NILES: Yes! Yes! Yes, I want Daphne! I think we belong together, just like I think you and Donny belong together, and why should two people be happy, when four people can be ecstatic?

 

"Dinner Party"

 

DAPHNE: Who knows, Roz? Maybe you'll meet some English lord who'll make you a Lady.

NILES: I think at this point it would take the actual  Lord to make her a lady.

++++++++

ROZ: Could you two please leave, so Daphne can change?

NILES: Daphne, you're not actually going out in that,  are you?

DAPHNE: That's it. I'm staying home.

ROZ: No! Just try it. We can accessorize it.

NILES: With what? A lamp post and a public defender?

 

"Taps at the Montana"

 

WOMAN: You must tell us all about your African tour, Dr. Crane.

MAN: Yes. Did the local people actually enjoy your lectures?

NILES: Well, yes, quite a bit. Uh, except, of course, for the pygmies. Most of it went right over their heads.

 

"I. Q."

 

DAPHNE: I'm chatting online with Donny. (computer chimes)  Oh, what's he saying?

NILES: Uh— (reading)  "I can't wait to come home and see my wittle Engwish cwumpet." (beat)  Apparently, he has some sort of typing impediment.

++++++++

FRASIER: Oh, don't be ridiculous, Niles; [Mom] adored you. Don't you remember the time you lost your tricycle? She actually took mine away from me and gave it to you.

NILES: Well, that was for your own good. No eight-year-old should be riding a tricycle.

 

"Dr. Nora"

 

NILES: Hey, Dad. You probably noticed I shaved my moustache. I decided a better way to change my look was to pump some iron.

MARTIN: Oh. So, what, you joined a gym?

NILES: I certainly did. I start the minute my weight belt gets back from the monogrammers.

 

"Visions of Daphne"

 

One of Pierce's most moving performances in all of  Frasier was as the heartbroken Niles witnessing Daphne's engagement to Donny. I feel certain it was this episode, along with his brilliant pantomime in "Three Valentines," that won him his third Emmy. (His first two were for the second and fifth seasons; his fourth was for the final season.)

 

"Shut Out in Seattle"

 

BONNIE: I was at the Super Bowl, remember? I brought the ham loaf.

NILES: Oh, who could forget?

FRASIER: We talked about it long after.

NILES: It came up almost daily.

++++++++

NILES: Nothing for me, thanks.

FAYE: Are you sure? I make a mean nut cake.

NILES: No, that's all right. I'm meeting one for lunch.

++++++++

NILES: So you really like her?

FRASIER: Yes, I do.

NILES: And you're not just saying that?

FRASIER: Absolutely not.

NILES: You want her?

FRASIER: Excuse me?

NILES: Frasier, she's killing me.

FRASIER: Oh ...

NILES: I-I'm just not cut out for this lifestyle. Between seeing myself in a mirror at the club, dancing my modified Charleston, and ... catching my reflection in the store window this morning as I rollerbladed past in spandex, I ... I feel like I'm being stalked by some pathetic, middle-aged ghoul; I .... Obviously, I've got to break it off with her.

FRASIER: Oh, gosh. I'm so sorry, Niles. You going to tell her now?

NILES: No, no, no. I'll arrange to meet her after work. Tell you the truth, I think she's losing interest herself. I couldn't help noticing a little eye-rolling today when my skate wheel got stuck in a storm grate.

++++++++

NILES: Well, I plan to get stinkin'  tonight.

FRASIER: (taking drink from bartender)  Thank you.

NILES: (to bartender)  May I see your wine list?

 

 

Resignation

Not heaven, nor the stars that light its door,
Not pledge of troth, nor promises or vow,
Not breath, nor touch, nor heart's inviolate core
Have I required, nor do I ask them now.
The lips that only lover's lips could kiss,
The words that only lover's heart could say,
The silence shared in nights of deepest bliss,
These I could never have, nor ever may.
I've known my place, and to it I keep true;
The space between remains, since space must be;
I am all I could ever be to you,
And all that you could give, you've given me.
To this, my hope I willingly resign;
It is enough, for it alone is mine.

© Leticia Austria 2008
This sonnet is one of the original sonnet of sonnets from The Distant Belovèd

Lately I've been ...

... writing absolutely nothing. No poems, no journaling, no letters (long overdue). Even this blog has lately become less about writing something new and more about posting stuff already written, by me or by someone else. Lazy, lazy, lazy. Must get off my duff and write that letter already.

... reading Orthodoxy  by G. K. Chesterton; Arise from Darkness  by Fr. Benedict Groeschel, C. F. R.; and Christopher Morley's New York  for something light. Orthodoxy,  of course, is a classic of Catholic apologetics. I haven't yet read John Henry Newman's Apologia,  but it might be very interesting to compare the two. Arise from Darkness'  subtitle is "What to Do When Life Doesn't Make Sense". In the wake of all the recent senseless acts of violence, I gravitated toward this book and the author's down-to-earth, tell-it-like-it-is brand of spirituality. He's a tough old priest, and I love his straightforwardness. As for the Morley, I think I'll like it even better than his Philadelphia,  which was delightful.

... listening to music not as much as I was a month ago. For Christmas, my sister gave me two CDs of Paul Lewis—one is from his Beethoven Sonatas series and the other is Schubert Sonatas. Those are really the only things I've listened to seriously in the past month. For me, Lewis hasn't yet fulfilled his potential, which I think is very great. I think so far, he's only hinted at depths to come. I look forward to hearing more from him.

... watching Downton Abbey !!! Woohoo! Only, enough with Bates in jail already; can't we give him and Anna something else to do and talk about? Aren't they getting awfully bored with it all? I know I am. On another channel, I was very happy with the outcome of Next Iron Chef: Redemption.  Alex Guarnischelli's Iron Chef title is long, long overdue. Now they need to get Amanda Freitag to join the ranks.

     Movie-wise, I've been to see Les Misérables  twice already and love it. However, I do have a difficult time reconciling Russell Crowe's (Javert) limited vocal prowess with his skillful dramatic portrayal and screen presence. To use a contemporary idiom, it's a disconnect for me. Anne Hathaway (Fantine) and Eddie Redmayne (Marius) are excellent, vocally and dramatically. Also, though I'm favorably impressed by Hugh Jackman's performance—despite a distressing wobble and occasional strident nasality—and think his Valjean masterfully portrayed, I remain unmoved by his (and the director's) rendition of "Bring Him Home." In my opinion, it should be the stillest moment in the show, even on film, but both Jackman and the camera hardly ever stop moving. And Jackman's lack of a true falsetto makes the number less poignant for me. Overall, though, I love the film.

... loving this chilly weather! And the rain! (As long as I don't have to drive in it.)



Music Monday: Bach and Winter Rain

The Pianist Recalls

I longed for silence; but instead, I found
that winter raindrops tapping on the ground
reminded me of fingers playing Bach.
And with the lissome beat of that courante,
I heard the voice of my old confidante
behind the door I had so firmly locked.

© Leticia Austria 2010
First published in The Road Not Taken: A Journal of Formal Poetry

Bach: Partita No. 2, Courante - Tatiana Nikolayeva

Niles Crane's Greatest Lines: Season Five

All quotes were taken directly from the DVDs and have been thoroughly checked for accuracy.

"Frasier's Imaginary Friend"

FRASIER: You know, frankly, I'm sick and tired of everyone's pity. Fact is, I did  meet a woman down there. A perfectly fabulous woman. We had an utterly romantic weekend.
MARTIN: Well, why didn't you just tell us that from the start?
FRASIER: Well, I'm not at liberty to discuss it.
NILES: Oh, yes. That pesky Club Med oath of silence.

"The Gift Horse"

NILES: If it's any consolation, I'm not really sure how good those tickets are. I was hoping to get something on the first few yard lines, but I could only get ones way back on the 50th.

++++++++

NILES: I knew how jealous you were, but to go to such insane lengths to top me, Frasier ....You have lain waste to your apartment with this eyesore. (referring to a mammoth TV set)
FRASIER: I disagree! Where you see an eyesore, I see a picture window into a world of art and culture. Just think how a screen this size will enhance the majesty of the Metropolitan Opera, or the thrilling artists of the Bolshoi!
NILES: (dryly)  You're quite a Bolshoi artist yourself.

"The Kid"

DAPHNE: (to ROZ)  How did the father take it when you told him? (to FRASIER)  Don't worry, she brought it up.
ROZ: Actually, he took it very well. He's not going to be that involved, though. He moved to Cairo.
NILES: Where would he have moved to if he had taken it badly?

"The 1000th Show"

FRASIER: Where was I?
NILES: You were last seen hiking up Mount Ego.

++++++++

NILES: Sorry I'm late. I stopped halfway to listen to a jolly band of Frasier Crane Day carolers. I tried to join in on "The Twelve Days of Frasier," but, uh – forgot the words around day seven.

++++++++

FRASIER: Up late last night?
NILES: Well, I'm afraid so. As usual, I left it till the last minute to write all my Frasier Crane Day cards.

"Voyage of the Damned"

ROZ: Don't you remember him from the '70s? He invented that big dance craze, the "barracuda."
NILES: Believe it or not, Maris was a big fan of his.
FRASIER: No!
NILES: Yes, that was the one dance she could do. The hustle was too strenuous. She had no booty to shake. But her fetching little underbite was just perfect for the barracuda.

"Desperately Seeking Closure"

ROZ: Oh, come on, Frasier, why don't you just admit what you're doing here? This isn't some "help me to be a better person" thing. You're trying to figure out what you can fix so you can win Sam back.
FRASIER: Oh, now, Roz, that's preposterous.
ROZ: Look who you're talking to. I've been down this road so many times, they call it "the Roz Expressway."
NILES: I've heard that phrase before, but in a slightly different context.

++++++++

FRASIER: Well, I ... don't know about "love." I mean, we've only been seeing each other for a month.
NILES: But you could see yourself falling in love with her.
FRASIER: Possibly.
NILES: Sometime down the line.
FRASIER: Yes, yes, perhaps.
NILES: Well, no wonder you're heartbroken. You've just lost the only woman you could even possibly, sometime down the line, perhaps fall in love with. I'm surprised the country music people haven't jumped all over this one.

++++++++

NILES: Don't punish yourself, Frasier. At least you're deep enough to realize you're shallow.

"Perspectives on Christmas"

NILES: (to MARTIN)  Why don't you start here, with "O night" (gives pitch on piano)  and I want to hear you really attack the note. (MARTIN sings the phrase and cracks horribly on the high note)  Sometimes the note sees the attack coming and retreats.

"Where Every Bloke Knows Your Name"

NILES: There's a wonderful lecture series on the history of modern lecture series.

++++++++

NILES: I gave Maris her birthday saddle. She was so thrilled, she treated me to a little Lady Godiva impression.
FRASIER: Oh, my.
NILES: Apparently, the oils in the saddle reacted badly with her cellulite cream. It created a powerful apoxy.
FRASIER: Oh, dear.
NILES: Yes. It took an hour and a full bottle of nail polish remover to get her free. Today, her poor little thighs were so raw, the only way she could find comfort was to straddle a frozen Butterball turkey.

++++++++

NILES: At this point, I'd just as soon be by myself. My brother has abandoned me, my wife is cursing my name. Tonight, when Orpheus descends into hell, I'll be there waiting for him with a fruit basket.

"Ain't Nobody's Business if I Do"

NILES: But – but – what do we even call her?
FRASIER: Well, I suppose she'll want us to call her "Mother." No, no, that's too formal. No, "Mama." No, "Ma."
NILES: Oh, better still. "Don't you look nice, Ma. Yes, I'd love another corn dog, Ma.  Off to the roller derby, MA?!"

"The Zoo Story"

NILES: You must forgive my jolly mood, but Maris was over tonight for our weekly conjugal visit.
MARTIN: Oh, geez.
NILES: I've never seen her looking so seductive. She wore a clingy gown, crimson lipstick, even earrings – which she tends to avoid, as they make her head droop.

"The Maris Counselor"

NILES: Fifteen years with Maris, I end up in bed with her lover.
MARTIN: Geez, I didn't need to hear that!
NILES: Oh, no, no, no, it was an accident. It was pitch dark; I thought he was Maris.
FRASIER: It's a natural mistake. Uh, what tipped you off?
NILES: The heat from her side of the bed.

"The Ski Lodge"

NILES: I grant you, she's comely. But don't you find her a tad – what would the polite euphemism be – stupid?
FRASIER: Niles, she is just unschooled, like Liza Doolittle. You find her the right Henry Higgins, she'll be ready for a "ball" in no time!
NILES: Leave it to you to put the pig back in Pygmalion.

"Room Service"

FRASIER: Speaking of buns I could do without, Lilith is back.
NILES: Oh. That explains why blood was pouring through all my faucets this morning.
FRASIER: Well, go easy on her. Her husband has left her ... and get this ... for a man.
NILES: Damn! I owe Dad five dollars.

++++++++

LILITH: Niles. Sorry to hear your marriage ended in a shambles.
NILES: (pointedly)  Ditto.

++++++++

FRASIER: Niles! Niles!
NILES: Did I do it again?
FRASIER: Yes. You fell asleep with your cheek right against the ice tray!
NILES: Oh, that's so strange. I dreamed I was tangoing with Maris.

++++++++

(NILES and LILITH  wake up in bed together, both horrified)
LILITH: My God! What did we do, what did we do?!
NILES: Well, first you put your—
LILITH: I know what we did, what do we do now?!
NILES: Let's try to stay calm. These things happen. They happen every day. Every day in Arkansas!!

++++++++

NILES: Now I remember ordering this. It's the breakfast I always have after a night of passion.
LILITH: Eggs Benedict? That's very rich.
NILES: I only have it once a year.

++++++++

NILES: If you ask me, you are both off the mark. Last night was about two people ruled by very powerful superegos – tortured by them – who found a chance, however misguided, to break through and rediscover their ids together. Call me an old softy, but that's how I see it.

"Frasier Gotta Have It"

NILES: I'm not condemning you for your little ... fling.
FRASIER: Oh, for God's sake.
NILES: Just don't try to pass it off as something deeper than it is. The only thing you two have in common is the faint impression of the word "Sealy" on your backsides.

++++++++

NILES: Frasier, I owe you an apology. You two are perfectly compatible. How long will it be before we're all standing outside a wedding chapel pelting you both with whole grain brown rice?

++++++++

FRASIER: Haven't you ever heard of opposites attracting? Where I am worldly, Caitlin is – unspoiled.
NILES: Rather remarkable, given her terror of preservatives.

"First Date"

FRASIER: Ooh, Niles, you'd be smart to get out of here. Dad's dragging me to a wake for my god-uncle Charlie.
NILES: Is he the one who used to plop his eyeball into his mashed potatoes and say, "I'm watching what I eat"?

"Roz and the Schnoz"

NILES: I want to prove that I'm strong and independent, and I can't do that alone.

"The Life of the Party"

NILES: Excuse me, Frasier.
FRASIER: Not now, Niles. I'm telling Vicky my recipe for crèpes gâteau.
NILES: Oh, well, I'm sure she's had enough of your crèpe by now.

"Party, Party"

NILES: Frasier, I have to ask a small favor. I need you to create a distraction while I have a sex change and move to Europe.

"Sweet Dreams"

FRASIER: Daphne, I am ... so sorry. I feel just terrible.
DAPHNE: As you should. You left me handcuffed and helpless.
NILES: If you ever find yourself in that position again, be sure to call on me. (beat)  For help.

England in Texas

     Oh, my, it is dreary out, isn't it? Even "deep in the heart of Texas" there are (occasionally) cold, wet, somber, wintry days. I can't speak for other Texans, but I revel in the cold, regarding it as compensation for the surplus of hot, humid, bone-melting days of summer and even late spring and early autumn. Though a Texan born and bred, I know in my gut I just was not made for the crippling Texas heat. Maybe that's why, from a very early age, I've always felt strongly drawn to England and all things English.

     When I look out my window this morning and feel the chill seep through and numb my toes, part of me thinks "dreary day" and another part thinks "Jane Eyre wandering the moors after her aborted wedding to Rochester." I love the pattern of bare black branches against the slate sky. I love the wet pavement, the weeping rose arbor, the muddy paw prints left by stray cats. I love wrapping myself up in soft fleece and woolen socks, and even wearing fingerless gloves as I type. (We don't like to set the thermostat very high.) All these things take me away from Texas and carry me away to a kind of ersatz England, highly romanticized, perhaps, but effective, in my mind, at least.

     I recently watched again my DVD of Nancy Meyers' film The Holiday,  this time with the commentary on. One day while filming, Ms. Meyers asked Kate Winslet about the validity of Kate's character wearing a heavy wool scarf while at home; in reply, Ms. Winslet grasped Ms. Meyers by the shoulders and said, "This is the Cotswolds."  Ms. Meyers, later in the commentary, tells us that one of her English friends actually took a shower once with her coat on.

     So perhaps I do romanticize England a bit. But I will embrace and enjoy these chilly days while I can—I know all too well that the infamous Texas heat will soon beat my brow and bend my back.





Reflection: Looking Inward and Backward

     I thought it fitting, this being the start of a new year, and everyone reflecting on the old year, to post a sonnet that's "backwards." I call it "Sonnet in Reflection" for two reasons: 1) the meter is trochaic pentameter rather than iambic and therefore backwards, or in "reflection" as in a mirror; and 2) it is a sonnet about reflection in solitude. When we are alone in silence or near-silence, we tend to self-examination and/or meditation on the past. That is only human nature, whether we like it or not.

     I suppose I could have taken the backwards concept all the way and put the ending couplet at the beginning. In fact, I could still do that; the poem would still work starting with the couplet, then the rest as is. Maybe I will do that someday. But I'll leave it for now. It's not my favorite poem, nor do I think it's my best effort. If I were to revise it, or try to write an altogether new "sonnet in reflection," I'd attempt to make the linebreaks more graceful, using fewer enjambments, and use nothing but two-syllable rhymes (to better reinforce the trochees). But someone liked this one enough to publish it, and for that I'm grateful!

Sonnet in Reflection

Thoughts loom larger in a room made narrow
by necessity, and blunted dreams take
on a sharper edge; the days, once furrowed
with the care of ordinary things, make
smoother strides from dark to light. Reflections
are the tapestries of solitude; their
stitches stitch themselves, and vivisect one's
reasoning in disconcerting ways. Bare
images emerge that one would rather
keep beneath one's clothing, manifesting
secrets spun where old ambitions gather
dust: the stuff of truth, the soul's divesting.
Self, obscured by living, now is clearer,
seen in solitude's relentless mirror.

© Leticia Austria 2009
First published in The Lyric



"Lady Looking in the Mirror"
John William Waterhouse