Richibi’s Weblog

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Month: May, 2014

the Eagles, and the dramatic monologue‏


to get your summer groove on,
you’ll surely want to listen to this,
just click

then again, you just might find
that “you may never leave”

Richard

psst: Hotel California“, another, wonderful, dramatic monologue

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway;
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself,
“This could be Heaven or this could be Hell”
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say…

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year (Any time of year)
You can find it here

Her mind is Tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes bends
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys she calls friends
How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat.
Some dance to remember, some dance to forget

So I called up the Captain,
“Please bring me my wine”
He said, “We haven’t had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine”
And still those voices are calling from far away,
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say…

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
They livin’ it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise)
Bring your alibis

Mirrors on the ceiling,
The pink champagne on ice
And she said “We are all just prisoners here, of our own device”
And in the master’s chambers,
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives,
But they just can’t kill the beast

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
“Relax, ” said the night man,
“We are programmed to receive.
You can check-out any time you like,
But you can never leave! “

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life lessons from Ethel Merman and Donald O’Connor


just click

is this a dramatic monologue, I asked

it depends on who you think she’s
talking to, I answered

cheers

Richard

“Music”

Gustav Klimt's "Music"

Music (1895)

Gustav Klimt

______

not for lack of imagination, lately, but for,
rather, lack of confidence, the complaint
of any would-be poet, the complaint of
any proponent of oneself, one’s persona,
one’s own, however benign, however even
benevolent, ideas, I retreated into myself,
surrendering to forthright inspiration for
any, elusive enough, courage

inspiration, through its usual unsuspected
channels, and as ever categorically, gave
me, reliably, Music“, Klimt‘s ineluctable
masterpiece, not even for its iconic image,
but for its transcendental comment on
art’s interpretive counterpart, music

world’s meld

a “magical mystical miracle” happens, as
Katharine Hepburn, in her utterly
enchanting movie, Summertime“,
would have it, irrepressible as ever

I had to share

Richard

psst: note the juxtaposition of contrasting
colours, patterns, impressions, note
the Baroque presentation of Classical
imperatives, touched with Romantic
sensibilities, kicking off, not
incidentally, Modernism

“I’ve Got a New Attitude”‏


as the Beatles once sang, Roll Over Beethoven

I’d been touching up my blog, specifically my
Elizabeth Barrett Brownings
, which WordPress
had to my dismay defaced, when one of my
submissions, the XXXlst, gave me the choice
of his Appassionata or Patti LaBelle, to
accompany me on the dishes, my ritual
homage to Sisyphean labour before the
limitless

both are electrifying

but I opted for a change, the effect of, maybe,
springtime, chose Patti, who’d awakened by
her very name a world of magical memories
for me, even inspiring me to find finally a
long lost friend, an ardent fan, then, of Patti

I looked for an appropriate, concert, length,
enough to finish my dishes, this is what I
found

I’ve been hooked on divas ever since

I hope you’re also enjoying them

Richard

psst: more Patti

“Chiquitita”, revisited‏

Dear Richard:

The lyrics don’t make sense to me from a Mexican perspective. They do from a Spanish Republican perspective, particularly as they were written by a European from a country which decidedly was on the Republican side in the Spanish Civil War, at a time in recent history when Spanish Republican veterans could finally come out into the open (i.e. after Franco died and a constitutional democracy was established in Spain).

It would be interesting to find out for sure.

_________________

do you think this might help, Jim, just click

Richard

psst: a great read on the consequences
of the Spanish Civil War, by Javier
Cercas
, The Anatomy of a Moment

“Chiquitita” – Abba

here’s a new entry to confuse everything
if you’ve been following the discussion
about the setting for Fernando at
“Fernando”, revisited‘ on my blog,
Abba’s “Chiquitita”, again a dramatic
monologue
, note

Chiquitita, tell me what’s wrong
You’re enchained by your own sorrow
In your eyes there is no hope for tomorrow
How I hate to see you like this
There is no way you can deny it
I can see that you’re oh so sad, so quiet

Chiquitita, tell me the truth
I’m a shoulder you can cry on
Your best friend, I’m the one you must rely on
You were always sure of yourself
Now I see you’ve broken a feather
I hope we can patch it up together

Chiquitita, you and I know
How the heartaches come and they go
And the scars they’re leaving
You’ll be dancing once again and the pain will end
You will have no time for grieving

Chiquitita, you and I cry
But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you
Let me hear you sing once more like you did before
Sing a new song, Chiquitita
Try once more like you did before
Sing a new song, Chiquitita

So the walls came tumbling down
And your love’s a blown out candle
All is gone and it seems too hard to handle
Chiquitita, tell me the truth
There is no way you can deny it
I see that you’re oh so sad, so quiet

Chiquitita, you and I know
How the heartaches come and they go
And the scars they’re leaving
You’ll be dancing once again and the pain will end
You will have no time for grieving

Chiquitita, you and I cry

But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you
Let me hear you sing once more like you did before
Sing a new song, Chiquitita
Try once more like you did before
Sing a new song, Chiquitita

Try once more like you did before
Sing a new song, Chiquitita

which could be even Argentinian

is there a Rio Grande in Argentina, Jim

cheers

Richard

psst: hats off once again to Robert Browning,
lest we forget

“Fernando”, revisited‏


despite still so profound an emotional
impact I haven’t been the only one to
wonder about Fernando‘s specifics

what’s happening, apart from the
throbbing melancholy, glory

it turns out that there are a couple of
people here, two men, or maybe a man
and a woman, reviewing a long gone
night when they crossed the Rio Grande

so Mexico, rather than Spain, must’ve
been the setting, I conjectured

the Mexican-American War, 1846 –
1847, established the border between
the victorious Americans and Mexico

these two must’ve been remembering
a particular private night, but I suspect
a more momentous night, conquering
territory, however ultimately it may
have been, however ignobly, lost

Wes Carr, an Australian Idol contestant,
does an impressive interpretation of a
song that is too iconic
to much ever
overtake, not to mention overwhelm

but what do you think

Richard

“Fernando” – Abba‏

never anticipating a veritable abundance
of dramatic monologues as I undertook
this investigative journey, I started out by
picking out representative, though isolated,
I, naively, thought, examples, Miss Otis
Regrets
“, “Bohemian Rhapsody

here’s Abba doing the irrepressible
Fernando, thanks to the originator
of the idiom, Robert Browning

lest we forget

Richard

Saint Apollonia


"Saint Apollonia" - Francisco de Zurbarán

Saint Apollonia (1636)

Francisco de Zurbarán

___________

who ‘s Saint Apollonia, I asked my dentist
when he suggested I call on her to intercede
in this present mortification, I was sitting in
his chair undergoing treatment for a painful
abscess for which he’d aligned already
several instruments along my lower lip

the patron saint of toothaches, he replied,
as though she were a fairy

who knew, I marvelled, I’d only ever heard
of Saint Jude otherwise, patron saint of
lost causes, memorably

you must’ve been raised Catholic, I
interjected, Protestants don’t have
saints

yes, he stated, suggesting the shared
impact of an, however privately
relinquished, or distant, religion,
upbringing

he didn’t know about her time or place,
and counseled I should look into it

who wouldn’t

principally she lived in Alexandria, her
name alone could have given that away,
if Greeks had become Christian anywhere
it would’ve been in Alexandria then, 250,
a city close to the Christian source,
Palestine, and teeming with international
attention, though ruled long by Greeks,
you’ll remember Cleopatra had been of
Greek origin

in a wave of atrocities perpetrated by
Alexandrian mobs, unleashed during
commemorative festivities – see, for
instance, the Vancouver hockey game
riots to compare – roused by prophecies
of ill winds towards their city, set upon
Christians to appease their more raucous
gods, among them Apollonia

in Vancouver she was London Drugs
and the Bay

they pulled out her teeth, one by one,
which is why she’s represented with
pincers
, that done they threatened to
burn her alive should she not repeat
their profanities

she jumped, instead, herself, onto the
pyre

Jesus, Mary, Joseph, I exclaimed, quite,
quite uncharacteristically, but only other
too objectionable imprecations could’ve
reflected the extent of my consternation,
after that, I thought, what’s an abscess

later I brought him gratefully a bottle of
fine wine, to the fortified gate, however,
of his impervious secretary, though
serenely be she ever smiling, for having
tended with speed and alacrity to my
distress, however unworthy it may
have been of beatification

a French wine or a Marilyn Merlot, Napa
Valley, I had to ponder, bought both,
couldn’t resist, kept for myself, however,
not to render the choice to the intermediate
secretary, the Marilyn, my more familiar, and
headier, saint

cheers

Richard

“No 7” (2014) – Apollo‏

Photo on 2014-05-13 at 12.09 PM

“No 7” (May, 2014)

Apollo

_____

Apollo, my Charioteer of the Sun, God of Music,
God of Poetry, God of Countless Other Things,
is also a painter

just recently he graced my wall, newly painted
Burning Bush in a spirit of springtime
regeneration, a colour I hadn’t been able to
resist for its beatific implications, with his
“No 7”, so named in order not to influence
the journey taken to interpret it

call it what you will, he said, and I’m still
working on it

but the other evening at his place, four of us
together for a glorious indeed dinner, I created
a party game that could offer suggestions

what would you call it, I asked, what would
you call it, I’m still asking

“Splash”, “Flurry”, and “I Don’t Know”, are
out, for being already taken

have fun

thanks

Richard

psst: the solar mirror, incidentally, is also his
invention, that’s a Manet in its reflection,
a print of course