Only for my birthday, a visit to the Great White Way, to see the show called Ham–like the theater nerd I am.
The price I paid was serious, to have the full experience. I can’t explain, was I insane? But, oh…the show was all that’s claimed.
The music, lyrics, genius- born; design & lighting, three snaps up.
And if the hooks were not enough, choreography did all its stuff–
with pops and slides and steps and quakes, and slo-mo moves owning the stage.
Lin-Manuel was sure not messin’, when he conceived this history lesson.
Messages/themes both past and present:
Power, freedom, human condition, jealousy, legacy and ambition.
Lovers and Kings & fathers and sons.
“Immigrants: we get the job done.”
Great work changes how we see things.
Moves the needle in creating.
Borrows, samples, adds new heights, morphs the art and rocks the mic.
My great takeaway is this: Art must always be ambitious.
Take the form and give it bling.
For this writer, this play’s the thing.
February also has its shades of gray.
A frosted leaf,
A stark sky,
The muted bark of trees,
The shadowy forms of huddled pedestrians,
Darkened snow drifts,
A somber heart.
I love poetry. Some of it causes me to respond with a gasp or a chuckle or a ‘wow.’ Poetry cherishes the word as the novel cherishes the sentence. Well written phrases in prose can demand one’s attention for a few seconds, or longer, but the reader of a novel only gives brief admiration to the craft before she moves on in search of the story.
Poetry demands one to linger with the word; re-read it; even say it aloud. Poetry wants to be experienced and invokes not only meaning but memory and visceral response.
I started thinking about this more as I searched for a poem I like by Gerard Manley Hopkins (I haven’t found it, yet); and also as I read a wonderful poem by Joe E. Weil in an anthology called Working Words (edited by M.L. Leibler).
The National Public Radio program, Tell Me More recently celebrated National Poetry Month by asking its listeners to submit poetry via Twitter (140 characters or less). The tweet poems were curated by Washington, DC based poet, Holly Bass. I submitted several “poetweets” it was fun and I still like them, so here they are:
Oaks waken from their slumber and burst full upon nature’s scene. Ejaculates aided by spring zephyrs that wreak havoc in its human hosts.
Popcorn kettle style so salty sweet your lips sting. Film noir gem-great gams/gumshoes/gangsters; perfect date night.
“No” to bookFace and to mySpace; tweeting gives my heart a race. First it’s pat & then pitter how I love this thing called Twitter.