How can I write a poem for you?

Paper is too pale for our sunsets
too silent for the morning stomp of smiling grandchildren
too cool for warm grass, or the sunny beach of sand castles
too clean for pesky spider shit or bottles on the lawn
or piling leaves or admiring persistent skirted echinacea

and words just sit there in rows
unable to define the daily gift of 4 pm
the empathy of we live this together:
our organ recitals and understandings
on so many shared tastes
except my choice of clothes (I’m almost never right).

So can I write this poem?
You really seem to think so
and always have, since I insisted I was Mr. Right.
So here we are
still moaning urgently in the shadows
by the yellow brick wall
still wanting to undress each other
in spite of the cooling evening
that does not fit on paper.

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Review: Happy Days by Samuel Beckett

As I left the theatre on the final evening of the run, I saw Leah Cherniak, the play’s director, speaking to Peter Hinton, NAC English Theatre’s Artistic Director; and I had to express my reaction to the production: “Beautifully done.”

Although Beckett’s play fairly reeks of the experimental theatre of the sixties—with its premise of a woman buried, first up to her waist, then up to her neck; and the absurdist sections with Willie—it is still a compelling piece of theatre.

Victoria Wallace’s set, with its huge mound of what appeared to be solid Laurentian Shield bedrock, was effective and almost totally realistic. The hanging gossamer sky was another touch of sixties set design, lending a sufficiently other-worldly ambience to the location.

Through the course of the piece, Winnie, the main character, cannot move much at all, particularly in the second act, when her only movement was facial expression. Beckett seems to have created the play with a particularly cruel problem for the actor playing Winnie: “express a huge range of emotion from one fixed position during the course of the entire play.” In that regard, it seems more like an acting class exercise than a play. Tanja Jacobs was more than up to the challenge: with a little as a flick of an eyebrow to give layers of meaning to a phrase, she brought the second act to a boil so that when Willie makes his surreal entrance, struggles up the slope towards her and the pistol lying near her still-talking immobilized head, we really feel the intensity of will focused here.

About Willie: Beckett has written an incoherent babbler in the first act, playing with his back to the audience, mostly out of sight, nude. In the second act, he is mute, finally appearing, looking for all the world like the Monopoly tycoon, in top hat and tails, with a grand twirlable moustache. In Paul Rainville’s hands, the part is so natural, intense and focused that we believe his angst, which plays superbly against Millie’s for the most part mundane lines. It is these mundane utterances that contrast so ironically and vividly against the situation. Here is a woman imprisoned by the planet, who can babble on equally about a grandchild or the grand trap in which she lives. It is Willie’s indifference and pain that give perspective to it all—Rainville does so much so well with so little.

But it is Jacobs’ tour de force, and she played each note with precision and subtlety, expansiveness and bravura.

Again, all I can say is, “Beautifully done.”

The National Arts Centre presents
A National Arts Centre Theatre Company production

Happy Days
by Samuel Beckett

Directed by Leah Cherniak
Set and Costume Design by Victoria Wallace
Lighting Design by Jock Munro
Sound Design by Thomas Ryder Payne
Assistant Director Tanner Harvey

Tanja Jacobs …. Winnie
Paul Rainville …. Willie

Laurie Champagne Stage Manager
Jane Vanstone Osborn Assistant Stage Manager
Samira Rose Replacement Stage Manager

Running time: approximately two hours including one twenty minute intermission

Performance seen: September 4, 2008 7:30 pm

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Singing In A Quartet

Tomorrow night, for the first time, I will be practising with an established quartet. I have sung another quartets, and I have really liked the experience. Usually, I have sung the lead part (the melody), but this time. I will be singing the baritone part.

Among barbershoppers, the bari part is a good-natured joke. What we sing sounds really weird. When the arranger sets up each phrase, he gives the melody to the Lead, the Bass harmonizes with the Lead, the Tenor harmonizes with the Lead, and the Bari gets the notes that complete the chord. The result of this arrangement is that, if you hear the Bari part all by itself it sounds like a dirge for somebody who died a really terrible death, slowly, at the hands of a flesh eating alien. But, if you sing the Barry part, you understand that it is a unique way to hear the music from an incredible point of view.

The reason that this opportunity came up is that the previous Barrie died and his replacement, who is a better musician than I am, decided (as best I can determine). That’s singing in a quartet would demand too much of his time. I am thankful for that decision, because it gives me a chance. As I told the fellows when they asked me if I wanted to sing with them: I would sing any part to get into a quartet. This has been a dream of mine for a long time. I am really looking forward to it.

Wish me luck.

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