Sondheim's Love Song

People think of Sondheim as being a bit frigid, but recall the love songs he has produced: "It Takes Two," "Johanna," "Not a Day Goes By," "Move On," "Loving You," "Tonight."

My favorite is "With So Little to Be Sure Of," which is sung on the occasion of two lovers parting (for complex reasons):

With so little to be sure of....

If there's anything at all....

I'm sure of here and now and us together.

Leave it to Sondheim to emphasize how scary and fragile life is, even in a love song! Emphasis so strong, it requires a repeated line ("If there's anything at all.....")

All I'll ever be I owe you....

If there's anything to be....

Being sure enough of you....

Makes me sure enough of me....

My favorite lines in the song. Watch how his mind zigs and zags. It's possible we aren't really anything in this world ("If there's anything to be....") The verb "be" sends Sondheim in a surprising direction: "Being sure enough of you makes me sure enough of me..." Can you think of a smarter way of pointing out the kind of support that two people can give to each other?

Thanks for everything we did...

Everything that's past....

Everything that's over too fast....

None of it was wasted:

All of it will last....

An appropriate note to land on: gratitude, for whatever this experience is that we're living through together. ("Crazy business this, this life we live in....")

I will think of this song when Sondheim dies. (Not to be morbid.) Bernadette Peters used it to end her famous Royal Albert concert in the nineties--wisely. Attention must be paid!

P.S. This is a lovely essay I found--about the song--online: http://blog.nyfos.org/stephen-sondheim-little-sure

Comments

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...

Liars and Saints

Search This Blog