Skip to main content

Sondheim's Art

 It's National Poetry Month, so here's a poem Sondheim once wrote; the speaker is about to be married.

Pardon me, is everybody here?
Because if everybody's here
I'd like to thank you all
For coming to the wedding.
I'd appreciate you going even more--
I mean, you must have lots of better things to do--
And not a word of it to Paul.
Remember Paul? You know, the man I'm going to marry
But I'm not, because I wouldn't ruin anything
As wonderful as he is.
Thank you all for the gifts and the flowers,
Thank you all; now it's back to the showers.....
Don't tell Paul, but I'm not getting married today.

The speaker is a mess and thinks she is not entitled to marry. ("I wouldn't want to belong to any club that would have me as a member.") Though she would like to be courteous to her guests ("I'd like to thank you all for coming"), the speaker (Amy) also wants to clear the decks. This is a source of humor; Amy actually suggests it's a bit of enlightened selfishness to leave the party. ("You must have lots of better things to do....") Finally, although she is capsizing her wedding, Amy doesn't want her fiance to know; somehow, he can be spared the knowledge that the biggest day of his life won't be happening. ("Not a word of it to Paul....")

Sondheim talks about form matching content, and you can see this in his syntax. A loony speaker gets a loony run-on: "The man I'm gonna marry but I'm not because I wouldn't ruin anything as wonderful as he is...." Also, our crazed Amy sees the wedding as a kind of sport, maybe a gladiatorial battle. ("Thank you all; now it's back to the showers....")

This is a favorite of mine, and I hope we'll get a chance to hear it back on Broadway sometime soon.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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...
3 comments
Read more

The Death of Bergoglio

  It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...
1 comment
Read more

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...
1 comment
Read more