She Never Told Her Love: Shakespeare, Haydn, and Elly Ameling

 

Elly Ameling sings

"She Never Told Her Love" by Haydn

(I'm guessing the pianist is Dalton Baldwin)

She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,
And with a green and yellow melancholy
She sat like patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.

Viola, Twelfth Night  II:4



The Two Faces of Possibility

Here are two different poetical views of the possibilities of writing poetry—one positive and hopeful, the other doubtful and filled with struggle. Dickinson, the genius, is positive. I, something less than genius, am the struggler.


        I dwell in Possibility—
        A fairer House than Prose—
        More numerous of Windows—
        Superior—for doors—

        Of Chambers as the Cedars—
        Impregnable of Eye—
        And for an Everlasting Roof—
        The Gambrels of the Sky—

        Of Visitors—the Fairest—
        For occupation—This—
        The spreading wide my narrow Hands—
        To gather Paradise—

        —Emily Dickinson


Awaiting Dawn

I dwell in Possibility. ~ Emily Dickinson

I find this shifting space
A questionable habitation.  Hope
Remains a nocturne scarcely audible;
I scratch the notes into my book of songs
With feathers sharpened by a bitter blade.
What prayers are wrought inside this cage of night
Become a liquor brewed from sorrow's rain,
Libation for the hosts that crowd my bed,
That carol with the confidence of those
Who've passed the night of possibility
And woke to tell the tale.  Theirs is the song
My pen stays poised above the page to write.
However many feathers used and tossed,
I know the dawn will never come till this
Night's song is done.


Aside from the principal reference to Dickinson's poem above, you'll notice other Dickinsonian references: "hope" and "feathers" from her well-known "Hope" is the thing with feathers; "hosts" from this poem; and "a liquor brewed" obviously from this famous poem. If you know these works, you'll know why I referenced them.


"Awaiting Dawn" © Leticia Austria

Sunday Scrapbag

"Spring"
Walter Crane

Yes, I know, it's summer now. But I love this painting, and I completely forgot to post it during spring, so here it is, just a few days late. It reminds me very much of a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay that I learned as a child:

     Afternoon on a Hill

     I will be the gladdest thing
          Under the sun!
     I will touch a hundred flowers
          And not pick one.
     I will look at cliffs and clouds
          With quiet eyes,
     Watch the wind bow down the grass,
          And the grass rise.
     And when lights begin to show
          Up from the town,
     I will mark which must be mine,
          And then start down!

Quite fitting to the picture, except that the girl in the picture has picked some flowers. Oh, well, one can't always have perfection, can one?

 

How d'you like the new look of this blog? Are we liking the barely-there-lavender background? The leaf green accents (also in the artwork)? I haven't made up my mind about the background, but will live with this whispery lavender a bit longer and see. This blog has gone through so many different looks, only because I tire easily of looking at the same thing all the time. Mind you, I wasn't always like that. My studio at Houston Grand Opera had the same prints and photos hanging on its walls for years; I would only change one or two every few years or so, and I was in it for thirteen years (my first two years, I didn't have a studio of my own, because I was only in the Studio—that's with an upper-case "S"—and didn't become a bona fide member of the music staff till my third year).

 

Let's see, what have I been up to lately that I can actually tell you about? Now, you know I'm funnin' ya; I'm much too straight-laced and have too much fear of the Lord ever to be up to no good. Not intentionally, anyway.

I'm reading a few things, trying to be a literary multi-tasker:

• The Love Letters by Madeleine L'Engle. Have you ever heard of the book The Love Letters of a Portuguese Nun? They're French translations of letters (possibly authored by Guillerague) that were supposedly written by a 18th-century Portuguese nun who had a torrid affair with a love-'em-and-leave-'em officer. Very Heloise and Abelard kind of thing. Anyway, L'Engle's novel takes these letters and juxtaposes them with the story of a modern-day heroine. I've only just started it; pretty dismal thus far, but strangely compelling and difficult to put down. In addition to flipping back and forth through time between modern day and the seventeenth century, L'Engle also flips to and from the modern heroine's childhood. Sounds confusing, but L'Engle manages to make it all quite lucid, with the help and abundant use of that handy little tool, the ellipsis.
• The Life of Faustina Kowalska: The Authorized Biography by Sr. Sophia Michalenko, C. M. G. T. This is a re-read, actually. For those who don't already know, St. Faustina, who was canonized by Pope John Paul II, was the 20th-century mystic through whom Jesus Christ gave the world particular devotion to the Divine Mercy, and the powerful chaplet of the same name.
• The Lord by Romano Guardini. Yes, I'm still reading this! The writing is dense and the print is very small, and I'm taking it at a very meditative (i. e., snail's) pace. Besides, I'm reading two other things at the same time, not to mention the readings at Mass and the readings in the Office of Readings (of the Divine Office), which I pray every morning. That's a lot of reading.

I usually reserve the afternoon for my leisure reading, but sometimes I forego my own thing and watch a video with Mom—a movie, or a few episodes of a TV series. Lately we've been watching my DVDs of The Golden Girls in order from the beginning. I prefer watching series in order from the beginning. I'm very obsessive-compulsive that way. With many series—Frasier, for one—it's advisable to do it that way, as there are continuing story lines, such as the Niles and Daphne saga. The TV-Land channel used to air a few back-to-back episodes of The Golden Girls in the early evenings around 6:00 or so, but they keep changing their lineup, which is sort of annoying. Mom has come late to The Golden Girls; up until very recently, she swore up and down she didn't like it. But now she loves it.

 

Well, I've been "up to" more than this, but I'm tired of typing now, so this is all you're getting. Till next time, anyway! Ciao, ragazzi!

The Wrath of Giuliano, Part Three

To view Parts One and Two, click "Italian Plays in Translation" above.

SCENE EIGHT

(Enter Romolo.)

 

GIOVANNA     Romolo! Home at this hour?

ROMOLO     I'm going to bed, Mamma.

GIOVANNA     Are you ill?

ROMOLO     (Very upset, hesitating.)  Y-yes.

GIOVANNA     Well, tell me, what is wrong?  (Romolo does not answer.)  Sore throat? Speak up!  (Romolo begins to cry.) 

LUCIA     I understand—Giuliano has upset him, too.

GIOVANNA     Has he hurt you?

ROMOLO     How did you know?

GIOVANNA     Then he has done!

ROMOLO     Not really hurt me; but he wanted to. I got away.

GIOVANNA     Now I have had enough of this! We shall see if he'll strike me, as well! Maria! Maria!

MARIA     (Entering.)  You called?

GIOVANNA     Fetch my shawl and hat.  (Maria exits.) 

LUCIA     Not now, Mamma. Do not you think it best to wait a few days? Then you may tell him whatever you like; he mightn't be disrespectful. But if you go how, he may say truly ghastly things.

GIOVANNA     Oh, no—it is he shall hear plenty from me.  (To Romolo.)  Now, quickly—tell me exactly what he has done to you.

ROMOLO     He took me by the ear and led me out the door, saying, "You are never to set foot here again!"

GIOVANNA     (Turning to leave.)  We shall see about that!

LUCIA     But why would he say such a thing?

GIOVANNA     Why? We would know the reason better than he.

LUCIA     Did he not say anything to you before this affront, Momi?

ROMOLO     Before pulling me by the ear, you mean? He scolded me because I made a mistake in arithmetic.

GIOVANNA     A large mistake?

ROMOLO     I make mistakes every day; I don't know why he should be angry today more than usual.

GIOVANNA     I know very well why. I'm going, then. Is there anything else? If there is, I shall truly make a scene.

ROMOLO     No, Mamma! There is nothing else.

GIOVANNA     Truly?

ROMOLO     My word of honor, Mamma.

GIOVANNA     Then I'm going.  (Exits.)

FILIPPO     Ah, now I understand! He is angry with everyone, not only me. Then I have nothing to do with it. This is your family's affair!

LUCIA     Will you please do me the favour of leaving, Filippo?

FILIPPO     Why? What have I done?

LUCIA     Nothing. I am merely warning you that you may be compromising yourself if you stay here with me.

FILIPPO     Tosh! How may a man compromise himself?

LUCIA     Well, you know very well indeed what happened the last time you compromised yourself with me!  (Makes a motion as if striking someone.)

FILIPPO     (Doubtful, then cheerfully.)  Who knows what notion came into Giuliano's head today? He vented himself on me, that is all. You must have done something scandalous, that he should be reduced to such a state.

 

SCENE NINE

(Enter Giuliano.)

 

GIULIANO     (Appears suddenly in the doorway and remains there; Filippo and Romolo cry out in fear.)  Well, then!  (He is sober, composed; but one can see that he is barely controlling himself.)  Romolo, go back to my writing desk! I am come for you. I've no wish to hurt you. Have I done?

ROMOLO     Oh, no, Only my ear.

GIULIANO     (Ruefully.)  I am sorry. Forgive me.

ROMOLO     Forgive you? I? Oh—it is nothing!

GIULIANO     (Goes to him and kisses to top of his head.)  I have always been very fond of you, you know. It would require much anger indeed to induce me to hurt you.

FILIPPO     Well, cousin! So we are come to our senses? Neither have you hurt me. The next time, however, do not strike me in the street!

GIULIANO     Take care you do not get in my way again, you ninny. I may kick you away!

FILIPPO     (Stunned for an instant.)  Ah! That is how it is! I am disposed to make peace, and you welcome me in this manner? Wait—I'll show you—  (A mere glance from Giuliano confounds him.)  What am I saying!  (Exits hurriedly.)

GIULIANO     Come, Romolo.

ROMOLO     I want to wait for Mamma. Oh—but perhaps we shall find her at your house. Let's go, then.

GIULIANO     She has gone to my house? What for?

ROMOLO     (Smiling.)  I rather think she wants to scold you for boxing my ear.

GIULIANO     Then I shall go alone.

LUCIA     Giuliano!

GIULIANO     What is it?

LUCIA     If Mamma wishes to scold you, she has every right to do so. You did wrong to vent yourself on a poor boy who has done nothing to you.

GIULIANO     Nothing! I give him some figures to add, and he gave them back to me chock full or errors!

LUCIA     Then I implore you, Giuliano, do not do any more harm. Leave the boy here; you've no more need of him; but do not attempt to seek out my mother in order to be insolent to her. Do not persecute the brother-in-law who owes you money; he has nothing to do with me. Do not punish me by hurting him.

GIULIANO     But it was you who begged me to help him. Since you are no longer living in my house, I have no intention of throwing away my money on a man that has no right to it.

LUCIA     You are the worst kind of man and I cannot regret enough ever having loved you.

GIULIANO     (Controlling himself.)  Go ahead and say so; you cannot anger me. I have decided, once for all. But I should like to know which people you deem bad and which you deem kind. If to you kindness is the same as insipience, then indeed I am not kind.  (Interrupting himself.)  But then, if you maintain that being kind signifies being tolerant and forgiving, then neither are you kind. Any other woman would have forgiven me; she would have supported me; for I was a good husband in every other respect. Would you not grant that you have wanted for nothing? Have I not done everything in my power to relieve your poverty—yes, poverty—and that of your relations? And after receiving such benefits from me, you believe you have the right to take offence at a few brusque words, a few thoughtless deeds?  (Beside himself.)  You have not the right, I tell you! Your duty was to kiss the dust from my shoes!

LUCIA     (Indignantly.)  Naturally, with your notions of what are my wifely duties, no real happiness could have resulted from our union.

GIULIANO     (Even more angry.)  My notions impeded the happiness of our union? When were they ever manifested? When have you ever disapproved my benefits?

LUCIA     At this very moment.

GIULIANO     Because you saw them withdrawn. But before this, when have you ever acknowledged them? You spoke of them little enough, but were not aware of them all, for you did not know that I gave money to your brother-in-law for your sake. Do not speak, Lucia—I had resolved to remain calm, but I cannot—quite.  (Sits at the table and holds his head in his hands.) 

LUCIA     I have never seen you like this.

GIULIANO     I know; I frighten you. Yet I have never really harmed anyone. I was wrong to marry you. My mother had a character like my own; when we fought, the anger between us lasted weeks. I thought, when I saw your fairness and your mild blue eyes, that with you I could never be in bad humour for more than a day at a time. After the weeks of anger with my mother, we would fall into each other's arms weeping, each begging the other's pardon. With you, my anger is of lesser duration, but it is never entirely appeased; you do not know how to forgive.  (Ironically.)  You were also wrong to marry a butcher, even if he did have money.

LUCIA     Giuliano!

GIULIANO     I do not mean you married me for my money; I only wanted to apprise you of your mistake so that you may learn from it.

LUCIA     (Upset.)  We both were mistaken in marrying each other; you yourself said so. Let us separate then; we may at least partly repair the wrong.

GIULIANO     (Suspicious and ironic.)  In the marriage contract, I assured you a settlement, if I am not mistaken.

LUCIA     (Forcefully.)  I renounce it!

GIULIANO     (Paces agitatedly.)  Are you seriously considering this separation?

LUCIA     You yourself said it was necessary!

GIULIANO     (Embracing her passionately.)  It is not necessary, Lucia! Listen—look at me. My head and heart may still be full of disquiet, but do not you see that I might yet manage to control them? I hold you in my arms, and I feel the desire more to strangle than kiss you, but I do not.  (Kisses her.)  Why do you wish to flee from me when towards you I am anything but dangerous; when all your interests and those of your family command you to love me?

LUCIA     (Trying to release herself.)  Oh! Giuliano!

GIULIANO     But don't let us speak of interests; let us speak of love. Do you not love me at all, that you leave me when I need you so very much? Would you leave me to improve my character alone in that horrible slaughterhouse? If there were anyone who could improve me, heal me, it was you. Do you not see that even now, still struggling to hold back my anger, I am begging you, imploring you, to stay with me?

LUCIA     Yes, but—

GIULIANO     No "but," no more remonstration; for I run the risk of again losing my head. No, come with me now.  (Leads her to the door.)

LUCIA     (Laughing.)  But—

GIULIANO     (Annoyed.)  Another "but"?

LUCIA     But like this? Without your hat?

GIULIANO     (Hugging her.)  Oh, thank you, thank you!

LUCIA     (Pleadingly.)  Please be good.

GIULIANO     Have I not promised you?

LUCIA     But shall we wait for Mamma?

GIULIANO     No, no, let us go; I do not need to hear any more scolding.  (After a moment's reflection.)  We shall do this much:  (Calling out.)  Maria!

MARIA     (Entering.)  You called?

GIULIANO     Give my hat to Lucia and tell Signora Giovanna—  (Hesitating.)  Tell her I came back to fetch my wife—and my clerk.  (Indicating Romolo.)

MARIA     (Gaily.)  Very well, signor! It is good news I give her!  (Gives Giuliano's hat to Lucia, who places it on his head.)

GIULIANO     (Darkly.)  The servant knows, too?

LUCIA     What does it matter?

GIULIANO     (Passes a hand in front of his eyes; then, calm, and smiling, offers his arm to Lucia.)  Let us go!  ((Exits with Lucia.)

ROMOLO     (Dons his hat, to Maria.)  Tell Mamma she does not have to scold Giuliano. He has said "sorry" and I've forgiven him. So it is all over and done with.

GIULIANO     (Re-enters, irritably.)  Are you coming, you ninny, or must we wait another half hour?

ROMOLO     I'm coming, I'm coming!  (Runs out.)

 

CURTAIN

END OF PLAY





Monday Scrapbag

Things that make me smile:

• Dog's paws
• Invisible mockingbird singing away
• My mother's glee over the Spurs
• Young purple martins grooming themselves
• My baby grandniece's smile, and the deep wrinkles around her wrists and ankles

Things that make me ponder:

• What is the best course of action when chewing on something and the urge to sneeze comes on suddenly, especially in public
• Why the afternoons seem to be so short, when the days are now actually longer
• Why cats love boxes so much that they will contort their bodies in every possible way in order to fit into the smallest ones

Things uppermost on my reading list:

• I really need to finish Romano Guardini's The Lord and move on to Fulton J. Sheen's Life of Christ, so that I can compare these two classics and enrich my future meditations on the Gospels
• Sharon Old's Stag's Leap, which recently won both the Pulitzer and the T. S. Eliot Prize
• Another hagiography on Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati, or re-read The Hidden Face (about St Thérèse of Lisieux)

Things I need to work on:

• My near-addiction to potato sticks and potato chips
• Spending too much time at the computer
• Getting to bed earlier and rising earlier
• Going to confession more frequently
• Not interrupting my mother, even though I usually know what she's going to say before she says it
• Writing something every day, especially poetry
• Remembering more often to pray brief, silent prayers during the course of the day. I used to practice the "Jesus Prayer"; I really should go back to it.

Story of an End

Exposition

I've left my door ajar, as you have yours;
but while your lamps are seldom lit, I leave
mine burning full.  I'm not afraid of flame.
Whatever you may glimpse inside is all
there is of me, contained in one small room;
and should you spot a volume on the shelf—
protected in a slipcase—you might see
your name upon its spine.  Know, then, that I
have left it there for you to read someday,
if ever you decide to venture in.


Dénouement

Your door is shut and all is dark as death.
There is a terrible finality
that hovers in the very air around
that door; and as I pass it by, I bow
my head and clutch my shawl beneath my chin
as though in mourning.  I have no wish to stay;
for if I dared to knock, I'd only hear
an echo answer from the darkened room;
then I would know that you were lost to me,
and that my book lay dusty on the floor.

© Leticia Austria 2008, 2009
"Exposition" was originally titled "On the Shelf"; under that title, it won First Prize in the Awaken the Sleeping Poet contest in 2008 and was first published in Dreamcatcher.

Saturday Scraps and Something From My Big Orange Book

     Facebook is a wondrous thing. I'm so grateful not only to have reconnected with many old friends and acquaintances, some of whom go back much further than I'd care to contemplate; I'm grateful also to have made many new friends that I have yet to meet face to face. There is no other social network quite like it. Twitter is fine, but to me a bit superficial. Email and Google+ are fine, too, but neither has the cozy, homey feeling that Facebook has. 

     In just the past three days, I've experienced both the sorrow of losing one of my dearest Facebook friends and the joy of finding yet another friend from junior high. The former was one of those friends I have never met, but with whom I shared a mutual love for the books of Helene Hanff, classical music, and poetry. She was a wise, loving, gentle soul, taken suddenly by a stroke, and though I'll miss her greatly, I also rejoice that she is now finally home. I've never had a pen pal in the traditional sense of the term, but friends whom one meets on social networks are the 21st century equivalent.

    

     These past months, I've been enjoying weekly outings with my oldest friend ("oldest" in the sense of "longest-term"). Since she has just recently returned to this, her birth city, after many years living in St. Louis, she's eager to rediscover childhood places as well as discover places she's never been. Some we've visited so far are also brand new to me, though I've been back in the city since the fall of 2006. Shame on me! Actually, I'm not unique in this. I know there are many people who don't know their own cities as well as they could/should. Maybe it's precisely because they live there and have all the time in the world; if they were merely visiting, they would more likely get out there and see the sights while they can. In my case, until my friend moved back here I had no one with whom to see the sights (I have sisters, but they have lives of their own) and I am loath to wander about on my own.

     I think I have finally finished The Distant Belovèd. (If you don't know what that is, click "Love Poems" at the top of this page.) That is, I've finished it in the sense that I really don't think I can add any more new poems to it. The reason for this is, I think the thing that fuelled and inspired it, the fire that has burned so brightly and steadily since 1995, has finally begun to subside. Yes, the collection is finished, but the editing and revising of it is by no means over. I have a feeling I'll be culling several pieces as well.

     So in honor of this, I'd like to share a poem, not from The Distant Belovèd, but a sonnet by Maurice Baring. This is one of the pieces from my Big Orange Book (and if you don't know what that is, again, click its link above!).

Vale *

I am forever haunted by one dread,
That I may suddenly be swept away,
Nor have the leave to see you, and to say
Good-bye; then this is what I would have said:

I have loved summer and the longest day;
The leaves of June, the slumberous film of heat,
The bees, the swallow, and the waving wheat,
The whistling of the mowers in the hay.

I have loved words which left the soul with wings,
Words that are windows to eternal things.
I have loved souls that to themselves are true,

Who cannot stoop and know not how to fear,
Yet hold the talisman of pity's tear:
I have loved these because I have loved you.

vale - Latin, "farewell", pronounced "wah-leh"

Maurice Baring

The Wrath of Giuliano, Part Two

If you missed Part One of this one-act comedy by Italo Svevo, or just need to remind yourself of the cast of characters, you can view it here.

SCENE FIVE

(Enter Maria, then Giuliano.)

 

MARIA     Signor Giuliano requests permission to enter.

LUCIA     He is here? I cannot have this scene!  (Starts to leave.)

GIULIANO     No, please, I beg you, stay.  (Composed, he holds her back. She looks into his face for an instant, then sits, affecting calm.)  Signora Giovanna, you know the respect I have always borne for you. You will understand that it must be a serious matter which brings me here unannounced at this hour. I beg you to read this letter that your daughter sent me this morning, and give me your opinion.  (Rummages through his pockets unsuccessfully.)  Damn!  (Finds the letter and gives it to her.)

GIOVANNA     (Coldly.)  If you will have a seat.  (Emilio hurriedly brings a chair. Giuliano sits. Giovanna reads aloud.)  "Signore, you must understand that after the events of last evening—"

GIULIANO     I shall tell you in a moment what were these terrible events.

GIOVANNA     I know already. " ... After the events of last evening, it is impossible for me to remain in your house. I am taking refuge—"

GIULIANO     Precisely—taking refuge. So she has told you everything? So much the better!

GIOVANNA     "I am taking refuge at my mother's. I presume you shall deem my actions most justified; and at the same time, I report that I have already written to Signor Chelmi requesting to reassume the post which I had wrongly left. Lucia."

GIULIANO     So? What do you think?

GIOVANNA     It is all very clear. But let us return to these so-called events of last evening. For a man such as yourself to be drawn into the actions of a vulgar beast—

GIULIANO     But, signora! If you believe all that your daughter has told you, you would naturally blame me. Has she told you that I beat her?

GIOVANNA     No. Lucia has been most clear. You grasped her by the shoulders and forced her to sit.

GIULIANO     Forced! Forced! I helped her to sit. Grasped her by the shoulders! I placed my hands on her shoulders. It was necessary to do so, in order to help her sit.

GIOVANNA     But why?

GIULIANO     (Embarrassed for an instant, then becoming heated.)  Why? I shall tell you why! When a man comes home after hours of tedious labour, he has no wish to chat. What could he have to say? And then, he has a lump here (pointing to his throat), a lump formed by fatigue, boredom, anger.  (Settling down.)  He then comes home. His wish, naturally, is to sit quietly, without thinking or moving. He wants to see around him anything but that which he sees during the day. No sulkers. He does not want to be scolded for his ill humour, for his taciturnity, everything that is natural enough in some men. He wants—

LUCIA     Had I said anything?

GIULIANO     (Paying her no heed, turning to Giovanna.)  Is it necessary to speak in order to offend? Silences can offend more than a word or an act. My wife, seeing I was in ill humour, in order to punish me—

LUCIA     (Surprised.)  Punish you?

GIULIANO     Yes! I said to her: stay here with me. But no, she wanted to leave the room!

LUCIA     Who would have thought that my presence would matter to you so?  (To Giovanna.)  He said it with such indifference: "Stay here." I had things to do, so I sat down to my embroidery.

GIULIANO     (Still speaking to Giovanna.)  I assure you, signora, I observed her most attentively. She had no embroidery to do; at least, she did not do any.

LUCIA     You observed wrongly.

GIULIANO     At any rate, this all seems of lesser importance compared to that letter.

GIOVANNA     You make excuses for yourself well enough; you can also find reason to pardon my daughter, who, I confess, acted thoughtlessly.

LUCIA     I do not need to be pardoned; rather, 'tis I should do the pardoning.

EMILIO     But Lucia, do you not see that he is disposed to make peace?

GIULIANO     Make peace? I? With my wife? I am come for something else entirely; simply to ask her:  (Turning to Lucia, shouting.)  Will you return to my house without my pleading, without argument?

LUCIA     (Coldly.)  No.

GIULIANO     No? That is final—no? Then there is nothing more to say. I shall go.  (Starts for the door, then turns back.)  However, you shall remember having said no in such manner. Do remember—so that you should not be surprised by everything that shall come of it.

GIOVANNA     I beg you, Giuliano, calm yourself. This is surely the time to make peace, after a dispute for which you are both to blame. Both, yes. This is not the proper way to ask her to make peace.

GIULIANO     Enough of this making peace. We are not children. We are adults with rights and duties. We all of us have certain roles. Whoever has rights must exercise them; whoever has duties must accomplish them. But I do not interpret my rights as you perhaps may think. I shall not lift a finger to force my wife to return. Since she wishes to stay here, let her stay; since you wish to have her, then enjoy her; I've had it to here with her.  (Points to his throat.)

LUCIA     (With tears in her eyes.)  You might have told me sooner. Now I understand why you mistreated me.

GIULIANO     I'm glad of it. Good day.  (Exits, Matilde following.)

EMILIO     (With heavy sarcasm.)  Well. Let us all gather round and celebrate.

GIOVANNA     It is horrible! I have never seen him in such a state.

LUCIA     I would sooner die than set foot in his house again!

GIULIANO     (Re-entering with Matilde, who whispers imploringly to him.)  Ha, ha, ha! This is choice! But I cannot, signora; truly, I cannot. Tell your husband he must pay today. He has until four this afternoon. He should also take care of that little draft which is due tomorrow. I cannot grant extension, much as I'd like to, dear lady! Ha, ha, ha!  (Throws a glance at Lucia, then exits.)

MATILDE     (Weeping.)  You see, Lucia, we are ruined.

LUCIA     (Also weeping.)  I would do anything to save you. But you saw with your own eyes! Could I live with such a man?

GIOVANNA     What was it you were asking him, Matilde?

MATILDE     It will displease Arturo that you are apprised of this. Giuliano came back just now, intending to tell you everything. Arturo owes him money. His debt of three hundred florins is due today and he begged me to ask Giuliano for an extension, for I do not think he has the money.

EMILIO     I knew it!

MATILDE     (Gloomily.)  So now the jolly life begins again! My husband shall once more suffer the old anxieties, owing new debts to pay old ones, having to plead and beg left and right. Farewell, family felicity!

GIOVANNA     Only three hundred florins?

MATILDE    That is not all. Two more debts are to be paid this month.

GIOVANNA     This is very bad!

EMILIO     You have yet seen only a small part of the woes that shall befall you through Giuliano's wrath. You know not what he is capable of.

LUCIA     (Passionately.)  Oh, I would that all these wrongs fall only upon me! But I cannot give in; in any case, I shall not. So it is useless for you all to complain.

MATILDE     (Spitefully.)  And now it is useless to go back. Giuliano is not a child to be made sport of. What's done is done.  (Starts to leave.)

 

SCENE SIX

(Enter Maria.)

 

MARIA     A letter is arrived for Signora Lucia.

MATILDE     (Hesitatingly.)  Perhaps it is from your husband. Oh, if it only were!

LUCIA     It couldn't be!  (Opens the letter.)  It is from Signor Chelmi.  (Reads aloud.)  "Most esteemed lady and dear friend, this is to inform you that upon receiving your letter requesting to reassume the post which you willingly quitted two years past, your husband came to see me, in a most agitated state. He inquired if I had received the aforementioned letter and seemed to know exactly its content. Naturally, I could not conceal nor deny anything. He then made me to understand, in no uncertain terms, that he did not wish you to reassume your post, which in any case is already filled. It was solely through my tact that our exchange did not degenerate into a scandal; for, I repeat, Signor Giuliano appeared most disturbed. And now, esteemed lady and dear friend, I must confess that I do not fully comprehend how matters stand; but at the same time, I should tell you it is not probable that the school board would consider your proposal, for I should be obliged to convey to them that Signor Giuliano not only does not support your wish, but has formally opposed it. Therefore, in order to avoid public dispute resulting in that which I have earlier described, I should advise you to withdraw your request. I shall speak no further of these matters, nor of your husband's visit. With sincerest regard, most esteemed lady and dear friend, I am, Anselmo Chelmi."  (Incensed.)  Oh, the villain!

MATILDE     Now who is complaining?

EMILIO     (Laughing ironically.)  One entire night of profound reflection has led you to this!

LUCIA     It doesn't matter. And you may be certain, Emilio, that I shall not turn to you for my living!  (At first calm, then becoming agitated.)  I have still some money saved. It is mine; money I earned before I was married. And I have jewelry—not much, but it will serve to sustain me for a little. In any case, I may die of hunger, but I shall not return to his house! Never!

MATILDE     Fortitude is such laudable thing! We shall speak of this again in a few days, when you have seen how difficult life can be. Goodbye, Mamma!  (Exits.)

GIOVANNA     Lucia, you must not take too seriously what Emilio says. He only says it to convince you to do something which he believes you must do for your own sake.

EMILIO     Yes, well—it shan't be me to chase her out of here. Let her stay, then! But, just so that we are perfectly clear—I repeat once more that I am absolutely opposed to all this foolishness!

 

SCENE SEVEN

(Enter Filippo.)

 

FILIPPO     Oh, thank goodness you are all here!  (Stuttering slightly.)  Lucia! I warn you, I shall send your husband to prison!

EMILIO     Why?

FILIPPO     He has struck me!  (At first stoic, then bursts into tears.)

EMILIO     Why?

FILIPPO     (Tries to compose himself.)  I told him he was an idiot and an ass.

GIOVANNA     Then he had good reason!

FILIPPO     (Still crying.)  But he struck me before that!

EMILIO     Before and after?

FILIPPO     Yes.

LUCIA     One moment!  (Pours him a glass of water.)  Now tell us.

FILIPPO     I'm not speaking to you; in fact, I do not want to speak to you!  (Turns away from her.)  Actually struck me!

LUCIA     But I did not do it!

FILIPPO     He did it because of you!

LUCIA     Of me?

FILIPPO     Yes. You went and told him everything.

LUCIA     Come, explain yourself. What do you mean, everything?

FILIPPO     (To Giovanna.)  Yes, Aunt! I have brought flowers to Lucia many times and told her she was beautiful. But need she tell her husband of this? As for anything other than that, we are innocent.

LUCIA     Thank you so much!

FILIPPO     Is it not true?

LUCIA     (Laughing.)  I said nothing to the contrary!

FILIPPO     Yes, you did! You told your husband!

LUCIA     How do you know that?

FILIPPO     Giuliano himself told me. He shouted: "Lucia has confessed everything1" I replied: "then she is a liar, for it is not true." And then he struck me!  (Cries.)

LUCIA     You see, Mamma! In only one day you have come to know of all Giuliano's virtues.

FILIPPO     In the street, no less! At that very moment the landlord passed by. I do not know if he saw what happened, but I greeted him smiling, as if Giuliano had just kissed me, so that he would not think anything amiss. But my distress was not quite enough for Giuliano: he then went up and down the street shouting, so that everyone turned to look! He is a barbarian!

EMILIO     You poor devil.

FILIPPO     Poor devil, I? Poor devil, he, more like! I should not relish being in his shoes. Ha! I shall have him thrown into gaol!

LUCIA     What was it he was shouting in the street?

FILIPPO     I could not understand all of it. Only a part. He said that I bring dishonor into people's homes. and, "I'll think of some way to deal with her." And then: "What a family I have married into!"

GIOVANNA     He said that? Infamous!

FILIPPO     I swear he did, Aunt.

 

END SCENE

 

To be continued ....

 



 

        

Two Pinks, a Celebrity, and a Worm

"Portrait of a Lady in Pink"
William Merritt Chase

From the Meadow Brook Hall
Historic Costume Collection

"The Celebrated"
Joseph Marius Avy

"Glow Worm"
Annie Louisa Robinson Swynnerton

The Wrath of Giuliano, Part One

THE WRATH OF GIULIANO  (LE IRE DI GIULIANO)

A play in one act by Italo Svevo
Translated from the Italian © by Leticia Austria

Cast of Characters:
Giovanna
     her children:
          Lucia
          Matilde
          Emilio
          Romolo (a boy of twelve)
Giuliano, Lucia's husband
Maria, Giovanna's maid


Circa 1880. A simply furnished room. Door R, another US. Table C surrounded by three chairs.

SCENE ONE

(Lucia and Maria)

 

LUCIA     (Entering, preceded by Maria.)  Is my mother still in bed?

MARIA     She is dressing. But it is barely seven o'clock! Signora, you've always said you will never rise before ten!

LUCIA     I have not even been to bed.

MARIA     Ah! The signori have been out all night?

LUCIA     (Impatiently.)  Yes, yes! Go and see if my mother has arisen.

 

SCENE TWO

(Enter Giovanna.)

 

GIOVANNA     Why, Lucia! At this hour?

LUCIA     (Bursting into tears and throwing her arms round her mother's neck.)  Yes, Mamma!

GIOVANNA     Good heavens, what has happened? Is he ill?

LUCIA     No, Mamma.

GIOVANNA     What is it, then?

LUCIA     Maria, please excuse us. There is something I wish to tell my mother. And once you have heard about it, everyone will know!

MARIA     I'm leaving, Signora. Of course, I never take the slightest interest in other people's business.  (Exits.)

GIOVANNA     Well, then? Tell me.

LUCIA     (Clings to her neck, sobbing.) 

GIOVANNA     Why, Lucia, you are frightening me to death!

LUCIA     It is nothing to be frightened of; only so sad! Oh, Mamma!

GIOVANNA     Tell me!

LUCIA     I've had a row with Giuliano.

GIOVANNA     Is that all? Silly girl, to frighten me so!  (Sinking into a chair.)  I cannot bear this!

LUCIA     Oh, Mamma, if you only knew what a horrible night I've passed! I didn't close my eyes all night.  (Bitterly.)  He, on the other hand, slept as if nothing at all happened!

GIOVANNA     Whatever is the matter?

LUCIA     Well—I can hardly say. It sounds so ludicrous. I haven't often complained of my husband's rages. You surely could not think he threw tantrums at me, because I have kept silence for fear of distressing you too much. And then, he himself always hoped that these rages would cease once and for all; and when we do have a bit of respite, he would always swear that would be the last time! But instead, he has one bout after another, almost continuously.

GIOVANNA     Oh, come, now!

LUCIA     I assure you, Mamma, it has been very bad, especially this last. I would shout and threaten—I have complained to Matilde many times, but with you I kept silence. And it is always I who makes peace and grants pardon. But I would tell him that if ever again he were abusive, if he ever again shouted at me or was beastly to me, I would leave that house. And so, today I left.

GIOVANNA     You are not serious!

LUCIA     Very serious. I have thought about it most seriously indeed, all night long, evaluating each of my reasons one by one.

GIOVANNA     Have you told him you are leaving him?

LUCIA     Oh, no! But I have written to him.

GIOVANNA     (Laughing.)  Oh, my poor girl, you are still such a child! really, you married much too young. You would leave your husband for such trifles?

LUCIA     (In a low voice.)  He beat me.

GIOVANNA     Beat you? Merciful heavens! That villain! My poor girl!

LUCIA     When he came home last night, he was already in bad humour. I don't know what happened at work to set him off. He grumbled all through supper. They brought his food too slowly, then the meat was cold, the salad poorly dressed; then he shouted in the most horrible manner because the serving girl broke a glass. I kept quiet, because I know him. Right after dinner I settled down to my needlework. I told him I must finish it that evening and he was silent for a long time. He contained his anger. But all of a sudden, he got up, swept his chair aside, took my hoop and threw it in the air. He dragged me to the table and forced me to sit. He truly had to force me, for I was so rigid—more from fear than resistance. I started to cry, but I did not say a word. What good did that do? So I resolved to do more: I made a decision. I thought it over all night, never closing my eyes. I realized I would be a fool to continue living such a life. Why should I? And for whom?

GIOVANNA     (Soberly.)  This is a very serious step you have taken. Why indeed should you go on with the life you've led thus far? Do you love him?

LUCIA     Love him? I despise him! He is a fool, a madman. I haven't even told you half the story! He claims to be jealous—and do you know of whom? Filippo!

GIOVANNA     (Surprised.)  Your cousin?

LUCIA     Yes. Dim-witted cousin Filippo!  Giuliano found him two or three times at the house, but said nothing at first. He was even kind to that poor wretch. Then, just when he was beginning to act like a normal person, he insulted me by telling me not to believe that I could fool him; that he has eyes and ears and sooner or later he would have the proof with which to accuse me. all this, without warning, as if he had thought it all along!

GIOVANNA     You must try and convince him otherwise. Who knows? Perhaps he will believe you.

LUCIA     What does it matter now? What good would it do? Even before this great discovery of his, he had these attacks of rage, and often enough.

GIOVANNA     Is he truly so terrible?

LUCIA     Oh, Mamma, if you could only see him; you would not recognize him! His eyes would have such a dark gleam, as if they could kill merely by looking at me. At times, when I answered him bravely, in my mind I was praying to be ready if death should come.

GIOVANNA     You exaggerate!

LUCIA     Oh, no, Mamma. It truly is so.

GIOVANNA     How does he treat you when he is not angry?

LUCIA     No differently, really. If I were still at home, for a few days he would treat me rudely, or not say a word to me. Last night he slept with his back to me, his head beneath the coverlet, and when he rose this morning his eyes were red from the heat. He left without a word. Perhaps he shall not even lunch at home, so he will not notice my absence until tonight. He would come home calm, but indifferent as stone. Normally, I would not speak to him, but if I should ask why he did not come home to lunch, he would say very softly, but without looking at me, "I was very busy." He would then go to bed without another word, unless he needed something, and then he would ask for it nicely. In the morning, I always used to pretend to be still asleep and he would move about quietly so as not to wake me; but before leaving, he would lean over me, gaze at me, and kiss me very lightly. Every morning, without fail, he would do so. At the beginning of our marriage I had not yet learned to pretend that I was still asleep, and I would open my eyes, throw my arms round his neck, and the coldness of the night before would not be spoken of. But after his putting me through this practice so many times, I then learned to pretend sleep, and so we would hold the grudge for many days. A grudge, was it? On my part, yes; but not on his, for he was self-possessed, indifferent, as if nothing was of any concern to him. He would speak to me little and civilly; he would no longer come near me unless there was absolute need of it. One day we made peace with one another without our knowing.

GIOVANNA     And then?

LUCIA     (Sadly.)  It is true, for days, for weeks, he treated me well; lovingly, even, as no other husband could treat his wife. It seemed impossible that he would ever again speak harshly to me. But then, for no apparent reason, again came the grim looks, the foul words and deeds.  (Weeps.)

GIOVANNA     It is absolutely incomprehensible! He needs to be examined by a doctor, for that man must be truly ill.

LUCIA     That is what I think, too; I certainly am not the one to cure him.

 

SCENE THREE

(Enter Emilio.)

 

EMILIO     Good morning, Mamma. Good morning, Lucia; here so early? Have you been weeping?

LUCIA     No.

EMILIO     You look as though you had been.

GIOVANNA     She has been.

EMILIO     Why? Is your husband ill?

GIOVANNA     In a manner of speaking. He has beaten her.

EMILIO     Beaten her?!

LUCIA     No, not exactly. He grasped me a bit roughly and forced me to sit where he wanted.

EMILIO     Thank goodness! But didn't you tell us two or three days ago that his irritability had subsided?

LUCIA     I only said that to put Mamma at ease, but it was not true.

EMILIO     Ah! Well, you'll see he shall improve with time. He loves you very much.

LUCIA     It would take too much time. I have tried. For these two years I have been his wife, I have tried.

 

SCENE FOUR

(Enter Matilde.)

 

MATILDE     Have you been by my house this morning?

LUCIA     Yes, I wanted to speak with you before coming to Mamma, but you were so long getting up and I was too impatient to wait.

MATILDE     I knew right away that you had come after having one of the usual rows that interrupt your eternal honeymoon.

GIOVANNA     Has she told you of her discontentment with her husband?

MATIDLE     Yes; it was I who advised her not always to tell you about it.

GIOVANNA     You were wrong to do so, for I perhaps could have stopped things going any further.

MATILDE     It has gone further than usual?

GIOVANNA     I should say! Unspeakable, villainous behaviour!

MATILDE     (Surprised.)  That beast!  (Then, checking herself, to Lucia.)  Sorry.

LUCIA     Go ahead and say it; you are not saying anything I myself have not thought.

GIOVANNA     (Soberly.)  Now it is time, Matilde, to advise her, and advise her well. Tell her that she has every reason to separate from her husband.

MATILDE     Separate? You have considered as much?

LUCIA     Considered? I've done it. I have come home to Mamma and I shall never go back.

MATILDE     (Aghast.)  You are mad!

EMILIO     I am astonished that Mamma would take seriously anything you say out of anger.

LUCIA     You are mistaken; I am no longer angry. At what should I be angry? At what happened last night? One cannot lose one's head about an event that is but a repetition of so many others like it; one feels the usual hostility, a bit more so, perhaps. Much more so, in fact.  (Becoming angry.)  Just thinking of it again —I cannot but cry or laugh at such boorishness.

EMILIO     You are still angry.

LUCIA     True.  (Calming herself.)  But you see, I soon calm myself. Now I am completely calm, for I have made my decision, I've thought about it, and I have taken steps to carry it out.

EMILIO     Let us hear what you have thought. What do you plan to do, for instance?

LUCIA     That is the first thing I've considered. I know that you, Emilio, are concerned with maintaining Mamma and yourself respectably. I shall work too, and endeavor to regain my post as public school teacher.  (Cheerfully.)  Who knows? Perhaps I shall even help my family. I am disposed to work day and night so that I may live here with Mamma.

GIOVANNA     My poor girl!

EMILIO     Is this your noble resolution? Do you not realize that this cold-hearted resolve may ruin the family? It is not the maintenance that would ruin us, but your animosity towards your husband. Do you not realize that all of us depend on him? I rely on his financial support, his backing; Matilde's husband as well, perhaps even more so. And Momi is in his employ.

LUCIA     Oh! The great advantages that Momi has in his employ! I believe the family may do well enough without them.

EMILIO     That is not the point. I am able to keep Mamma comfortable, and can even think of taking a wife. I owe all this to your husband.

LUCIA     My dear Emilio, I could not think of everyone; I could only think of myself. I found I could no longer continue such a life, and thought that with my education I could live independently and have resolved to do so. Indeed, I've already written to regain my post.

EMILIO     If it is so, if I, your sister, and your mother matter not to you, then well done. Well done indeed.

GIOVANNA     Lucia must after all do what her heart tells her. I do not wish to see her distressed by such arguments.

 

END SCENE

 

To be continued ....

 



 



Sunday Scrap-bag

I love women's portraits, and here's my latest find (click on images for better viewing):

Portrait of Aline Mason in Blue
Raimundo de Madrazo y Garreta

Another painting I love, this one for its whimsical subject matter, which conjures up so many stories in one's imagination:

"In Jeopardy" (or "The Parasol")
Arthur Hacker

 

And then there's this lovely work:

"L'aquarelliste"
Alfred Smith

 

I would love to paint in the woods in an outfit like this, but I'm afraid of what might go crawling up my skirt.

 

Apropos of nothing, I'm looking forward to the Tonys tonight, though I have to say I would be very surprised if David Hyde Pierce won Best Actor in a Play, much as I love him. All the hoopla is about Tom Hanks, and after him, Tracy Letts. (Still, one can only hope ... )



The Sacred Heart of Jesus, Source of Divine Love and Mercy

The flames depict Christ's ever-burning love, while the crown of thorns reminds us of the suffering and death He endured for our sake

If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, will he not also give us all things with him? Who shall bring any charge against God's elect? It is God who justifies; who is to condemn? Is it Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised from the dead, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us? Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? As it is written, "For thy sake we are being killed all the day long; we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered." No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. ~ Romans 8:31b-39, RSVCE

The Lesson

Upon Thy Heart pray suffer me to rest,
That as Thou lovest I may humbly learn;
Bequeath this gift which of all Thine is best;
Imperfect loves of earth and flesh I spurn!
O Heart, Whose wound such wondrous love hath shewn,
And whence elixir sweet doth copious flow,
Grant Thou that this Thy purging deluge drown
My sin, and then with perfect love bestow
My shriven heart.  Thou Teacher of all hearts,
To master well Thy lesson do I pray;
Thy loving art doth shame such earthly arts
As once I learnt, ere came this precious day
Thou dost vouchsafe to give Thy lesson free
To one who thirsteth deep to learn of Thee.


"The Lesson" © Leticia Austria 2006

Play vs. Film: Stage Door

     Whenever I rummage around for my next read, a procedure that sometimes takes days, I may or may not remember to check out the dark, tucked-in-the-corner shelves in my house; but when I do, I always find something that causes me to think, "Oh, yeah, I forgot all about this one."

     I've watched the film Stage Door (1937, Katharine Hepburn, Ginger Rogers) countless times over the past Lord-knows-how-many years. My old hardbound copy of the play by Edna Ferber and George S. Kaufman has been gathering dust on one of those remote shelves for well over a decade. So when I stumbled upon it the other day in the quest for my next read, I immediately thought of this blog series. Previously, I wrote "Play vs. Film" posts comparing the stage scripts of Same Time, Next Year, Crossing Delancey, Holiday, and The Time of the Cuckoo (retitled Summertime on film) with their screen versions.

     I will say right off: the film Stage Door bears little resemblance to its stage play counterpart. The fact that the principal writers of the screenplay were not Ferber and Kaufman, but Morrie Ryskind and Anthony Veiller, may have a lot to do with it. Both versions take place in a boarding house for actresses (the Footlights Club, a real place in New York City), they have characters in common, one of the characters commits suicide in both, and one of the characters leaves to become an ordinary housewife in both (but in the play she comes back to the Footlights Club, apparently having left her husband). But that's about as far as the resemblance goes. Which isn't altogether a bad thing.

     The primary relationship in the film is the one between Terry Randall (Katharine Hepburn) and her roommate Jean Maitland (Ginger Rogers). Their initial meeting, when Terry Randall arrives and moves into Jean's room, is probably my favorite scene in the whole film. It's filled with barbs and banter, each girl sizing the other up and trying to outdo her in quick wit and caustic comebacks. It is of course inevitable that they become close friends, comrades in the battle to scrape together a viable career on the stage. Jean comes to see the human being beneath Terry's society girl veneer and accepts her when she realizes she is sincere in her love for theater. Terry comes to see the vulnerability beneath Jean's streetwise exterior and learns that what she first mistook for cynicism was a mere defense. But all the boarders in this house for struggling actresses, consciously or not, hang on to each other for dear life, pooling their resources and sharing their clothing.

     In the play, Terry is already firmly ensconced in the house when the action begins; she is not a society girl, but the daughter of a hardworking small-town doctor and a general favorite among the boarders. Beautiful Jean leaves for Hollywood in the first act and goes on to become a bona fide movie star, though she can't act her way out of a tin can. So we are deprived of my favorite scene. It is Kaye Hamilton who is new girl and becomes Terry's roommate. Kaye is sweet but very closed-mouthed, reluctant to speak of anything about her personal life, but she is clearly hard up for funds and can barely support herself. She is not the truly gifted actress she is in the film; actually, Terry is the big talent from the start (there is no "the calla lilies are in bloom again" debacle in the play). In the play, after some coaxing from Terry, we eventually learn the reason for Kaye's reticence and why she has come to New York, whereas in the film, it is only hinted at.

     Another big difference from the film is that, in the play, Terry has two boyfriends—the first is a young, struggling, seemingly noble playwright with a leftist social conscience who "sells out" when one of his plays suddenly becomes a material and critical success. One of the minor characters describes him, "He's one of those fellows started out on a soapbox and ended up in a swimming pool" because he takes his big Broadway success and rides on it straight to Hollywood where he ends up writing B romances. Terry, who has supported him and helped him write his big play, is left high and dry.

     Terry's other amour is David Kingsley, a theater producer whose career has taken him to Hollywood but whose heart remains firmly entrenched in the theater. He is the man principally responsible for Jean's film career, but he knows that, while Jean is physically dazzling, Terry is the real actress. Jean does reappear in the third act, a full-fledged movie star whose "people" have set up a play for her to star in on Broadway and eventually in the prospective film version. The reasoning of these "picture people" is that theatergoers will come in droves to see the play simply because it boasts a movie star in its cast, not because said movie star can actually act.

     But I don't want to give away the whole play. I will just say in closing that if you love the film and are curious about the material upon which it was based (however loosely), then do read the play, because it will surprise you in many ways. The way the characters pace the dialogue in the film, sometimes even talking over each other in a very realistic way, can of course only be imagined when one reads the stage script.

     Ferber and Kaufman's play is an homage to the theater and all those who devote their lives to it, even if it means years and years of struggle and near starvation. Hollywood is the true nemesis of the piece, the tinsel and glitter factory that churns out cookie-cutter, albeit gorgeous, celebrities. The film version, as one would expect, excludes all allusions to this negative assessment of the industry, and gives us instead a simpler but equally compelling story of the lives of aspiring actresses and the friendships that are forged among them.

Apologia

     A conversation with a friend of mine this afternoon prompted me to post this poem. We were browsing in a bookshop, one of those cozy, cluttered used bookshops whose poetry sections contain as many forgotten, out of print, "old-fashioned" poets as the most widely anthologized and currently studied.

     My friend is not a poet, and found it interesting when I told her that, despite being a poet myself, I really don't read as much poetry as perhaps I should. The poetry I do read is of the type that was quite admired in its day by critics and readers alike but would now be considered sentimental and hackneyed by academics. "Old-fashioned," to put it briefly. My friend remarked that she enjoys reading my poetry and that of my sister, probably because she knows us and therefore knows where our poetry is "coming from." She finds our poems readable, accessible, understandable. I told her I seldom read contemporary poetry because I truly don't understand much of it. Some famous living poet said, "You don't have to understand it; just feel it" which, frankly, I consider a lot of hooey. Why waste my time reading something I should only "feel"? For that, I'd rather watch a movie.

     I know, I know, I'm a funny kind of "poet." To quote myself, I only write that which I know. And I only read what I can readily identify with. If what I identify with is considered hackneyed and sentimental, I'm glad of it. I'm not ashamed of sentiment.

     Regarding living poets: I love Mary Oliver. Billy Collins. Richard Blanco. Mark Strand. Random pieces from a few others. To sum up, if I don't "get" a poem on the first reading, I don't bother reading it again. Life's too short!

     I really enjoyed writing this poem. One of the things I've been trying to do lately in my formal poems is to include more inner rhymes along with end-of-line rhymes. You'll discover the inner rhymes near the beginning of the second and third lines of each stanza.

Apologia

My verses are but letters never sent,
The wringing out of years too full to bear,
The winging of a heart consumed and spent,
Laid out for judgment "excellent and fair." *

My words are only echoes of the words
Unspoken, hostages of heart unvoiced
And broken like a captured wing-clipped bird
That gave its higher songs to silent joys.

My poems are paradoxes better read
By eyes unschooled, uncritical of skill,
By readers ruled by heart instead of head,
Whose hope has never waned and never will.


© Leticia Austria
First published in The Road Not Taken: A Journal of Formal Poetry
* excellent and fair - from Emily Dickinson's poem "Ample make this bed"

A Spectrum of Perspectives: My "Friendship" with Barbara Pym

Since this is Barbara Pym week (hosted by Thomas) I decided to re-post this piece on my favorite novelist:
A Spectrum of Perspectives: My "Friendship" with Barbara Pym:      For every passionate reader, there are certain authors he or she turns to again and again for the simple reason that reading them is li...