I thought a little reprieve from the economic storm engulfing us might be welcome. So here is yet another piece of prose.
GIFTS GIVEN: THE THEATRE
The Harvey Theatre in Brooklyn,
An old twenties vaudeville house dump
With an outside staircase to “Nigger heaven.”
That’s what they called it back then.
I know never to use the “N” word.
This is now, that was then.
Harvey’s brick walls expose pipes
And plaster for all to see.
A new age place of serious drama.
On a cold 8 degree blustery winter night
Kate and I confronted those steps to heaven,
As if going to the top of Chechen Itza,
The enemy heart cut out for Quertzalpapalotl,
Huffing and puffing up we went.
Surprised that my heart hadn’t just quit, saying
“Man, you gotta be fucking crazy.”
That stage seemed a country mile away.
The house goes dark, the magic begins.
Now comes “The Winters Tale.” I lean forward
To hear every word of Leontes growing suspicion.
His wife Hermione making nice with Polixenes,
Paranoia floods the stage.
A story of cursed suspicions unfolds.
I am intrigued--the language, the story, the time.
Kate offers a tissue for my tears.
We laugh through the joys of the sheep shearing festival.
At Hermione’s trial I want to stand, cheer.
She declares, “To me life can be no commodity.”
I just love that women.
To soon the play is over.
I am screaming my bravos, don’t want it to end.
How come this love affair?
It’s my Papa again.
Papa took his little boy to meet Hamlet.
Thats how he said it, “Lets go meet Hamlet.”
Terrified of the ghost, I am certain
I have seen a score and ten,
All of which I could see again, again.
Nothing has entered my soul as much
As Queen Elizabeth’s language.
Why? I will never know. Maybe because?
“The lark, that tirra-lyra chants,
With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay,
Are summer songs for me and my aunts,
While we lie tumbling in the hay.”
There you have it.
Yet I never stop thanking Papa.
Thanks Kate N.H.W.Y.
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4 comments:
I can certainly empathize with your Harvey Theater experience, from the great physical discomfort to the great drama. I saw the same company in The Cherry Orchard in January. Sorry I'm not seeing The Winter's Tale -- a magical play.
Becky
Eunice and I, also, went to Harvey for the Cherry Orchard by the same, great Brit/American experimental company. It was classic writing and performing!
But, we were appalled by the theater, not the lobby with beams and pipes exposed (which is kinda fun and can incite giving to do it up right), but by the seating in the main, presumably "redone" seating, which is at a high pitch with absolutely no handholds for people climbing up (when you can at least grasp seat backs) or, especially, down, when there is nothing to grasp. It is absolutely dangerous for anyone, even those without weak and wobbly knees and I can't see how city inspectors allow it.
I love that Harvey theatre and Hermione too. I had the good fortunate to play her in college, one of my very best theatrical experiences, to get to speak those words was amazing. So glad you still brave the cold and stairs to see the magic of the stage Great Grandpa.
Love,
Amrita & Soren
My first comment was on the theater itself. Bob wants comments on the poem--which is open in a Sandberg way, without rhyme. Bob, you're a natural storyteller and writer, which I've been saying for the 40 years we've known each other. It is vivid, tells a story well, and registers with the reader. Keep going!
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