The Best American Poetry

From "Showboat": "Make Believe" (Jerry Hadley, Frederica von Stade)

From Showboat (1927) -- seven and a half minutes of genius.  -- DL

"Come Rain or Come Shine" with Eileen Farrell & Leonard Bernstein

For Valentine’s Day tomorrow
I recommend Come Rain or Come Shine
with born-today Eileen Farrell
proving an opera singer
can sing great jazz and
Leonard Bernstein proving
he could have been a contender
in the jazz piano arena

Eileen Farrell (1920-2002), one of the great sopranos of the twentieth century, had a radio show in the 1940s, launched a sensational recital career in the 1950s (culminating in Carnegie Hall), sang with the Metropolitan Opera in the 1960s, and on one occasion pinch-hit for Louis Armstrong at a jazz concert. Her first theatrical role was as Little Buttercup in "H. M. S. Pianofore," though little she was not. She was married to a distinguished officer of the New York Police Department. This post is dedicated to another daughter of February 13, Stephanie Paterik. And let's not forget the heroine of Vertigo, Kim Novak, born on the thirteenth day of the second month.-- DL

See also https://blog.bestamericanpoetry.com/the_best_american_poetry/2019/02/come-rain-or-come-shine-a-perfect-division-of-labor.html

Happy birthday to you, Franz Schubert (January 31, 1797)

 

Columbia College 1967 #29 [by Mitch Sisskind]

Carlson Fenwick, Professor

In our years-long correspondence concerning
All things Shakespearian Alan Grosbeck and I
Sometimes amused ourselves by concocting
Hare-brained interpretations and pursuing
Them to their risibly illogical conclusions.
Aware for instance that in Elizabethan times
‘Nothing’ was a crude slang word for the
Female genitalia, we searched past the oft-cited
Double entendre of Much Ado About Nothing
And discovered that "nothing" was possibly
Shakespeare’s favorite word. In King Lear
Nothing appears eighteen times in just
Fourteen speeches including Cordelia’s
First words to Lear – ‘Nothing, my lord’ --
And in Lear as a whole we found "nothing"
Thirty-four times in twenty-nine speeches
While in The Winter’s Tale "nothing" appears
Thirty-four times in twenty-six speeches.
There’s plenty of nothing in Hamlet too.
So what was Shakespeare up to there?
Possibly nothing. But plenty of nothing.
We had some good laughs over it.

I miss Alan, interred now at Mount Auburn,
And he came to mind yesterday as I read
Sonnet 73 and recalled how we used to
Imagine all the possibilities of who is
Speaking to whom in these fourteen lines.
Oh, spare me the dull and obvious banality
That it’s an old man addressing a younger.
It could be an old woman and her cat or
A young girl and her doll. Why the hell not?
But then a rather novel interpretation came
To me which I wholeheartedly welcomed.
Was there really something new to say
About one of the most commented-upon
Poems in the English language? I hurried
To my bookshelves and consulted Dryden,
Johnson, Coleridge, the Marxists, Freudians,
The New Critics, and even old Yeats whose
Remark that Shakespeare is only a mass of
Magnificent fragments expresses not at all a
Denigration but instead suggests an analogy
Between Shakespeare and the post-Newtonian
Description of the whole far-flung Universe.

But it seems that no scholar in any age has
Proposed that the ‘speaker’ in Sonnet 73
Is actually the poem itself, nor that the subject
Of the poem is the experience of reading it.
‘That time of year thou mayst in me behold’ --
A coy invitation: If you’ve got a moment to
Engage your imagination, the poem says,
These ink spots on a page can conjure up
A windy fall day, some trees, and a ruined
Church or monastery, perhaps one of those
Closed by Henry VIII. And that’s only the
Beginning of what I, the poem, can disclose
If – and it’s a big if -- you have what it takes
To see it. My coy invitation was also a challenge.
You may ‘behold’ the images, or maybe not,
But the final couplet will offer a congratulation
On what ‘thou perceiv’st’ – with a reminder that
Perception won’t last forever. “This’ in line 13
Refers to the inevitability of conclusion, which
Has been universalized in the poem and is now
Demonstrated by the end of the poem itself.
Is there more? Yes, or maybe not. Oh dear God.

Ed. note: "There’s plenty of nothing in Hamlet, too." True, and the studious reader will note the allusion to this great song from Gershwin's Porgy and Bess.

No use complainin'. . .

Readers, vote for the best version. -- DL

Happy Birthday, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

"William Holden, Model Prisoner" [by David Lehman]

from The American Scholar 

<<<
William Holden, arguably the model for American men of his era, plays a prisoner of war in two major motion pictures. The Germans hold him and other American airmen captive in the close confines of Stalag 17 (1953), and in The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957), he sweats it out in a Japanese POW camp. In both movies, Holden’s character makes a daring, even miraculous, escape. His getaway happens at the very end of Stalag 17, but in The Bridge on the River Kwai, it marks the beginning of our hero’s adventures.

Both films were celebrated. Playing Sefton in Stalag 17, the cynical POW with the smarts to profit by bartering with the camp guards and running gambling schemes to fleece his fellow prisoners, Holden won the Academy Award for best leading actor. The Bridge on the River Kwai won eight Oscars, including those for best picture and best director.

To some extent, the repetition illustrates the success principle: if at first you succeed, try, try again. Nevertheless, if you identify Holden with the masculine ideal of the postwar years, the coincidence is too keen to overlook.

Aside from Holden and the POW camps, the contrast between the two movies is striking. Stalag 17 is a black-and-white studio production directed by Billy Wilder, whose other masterpieces include Double Indemnity, Sunset Boulevard, and Some Like It Hot. It’s set in late December 1944, and man, is it cold. References to Bastogne make it clear that the Battle of the Bulge is raging, and the Nazis are the enemy. The POW camp commandant (Otto Preminger) tells the prisoners they can forget about having a “White Christmas,” a song written, he says, “by one of your composers who stole his name from our capital” (Berlin). Later we hear “Jingle Bells” and “Adeste Fidelis” in the background.

To balance the surfeit of sentiment, we get the comic antics of two of the prisoners, Harry Shapiro (Harvey Lembeck) and his friend the “Animal” (Robert Strauss). There is essentially one set: the barracks housing the American POWs. It’s easy to tell that a Broadway play preceded the movie.

At one point in Stalag 17, the men improvise a Christmas party by marching around the barracks singing “When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again.” When a couple of guys in a makeshift band play the old Harlan Thompson and Harry Archer tune, “I Love You,” some of the boys pretend to be girls. As they dance, Harry Shapiro is the stand-in for the Animal’s adored Betty Grable. Once, when I dropped in on my Miami-based mother, then in her 80s, she was watching Stalag 17 on television and we watched that particular scene together. A sweet number, I thought, and wondered if Sinatra had recorded it. When I returned from Miami to New York, I listened to “I Love You” sung by Sinatra on a Capitol Records compilation. That was an amazing moment. I recommend you do the same if you want an object lesson in the difference between a pleasing rendition of a song and a masterly performance.

Clocking in at 161 minutes, 41 minutes longer than Stalag 17, The Bridge on the River Kwai was shot in vivid color on location in Sri Lanka. Directed by David Lean, whose other movies, similarly epic in scope and length, include Lawrence of Arabia and Doctor Zhivago, the film follows U.S. Navy Commander Shears (Holden), one of the very few men who have not succumbed to disease or the sadism of the camp commandant, Colonel Saito (Sessue Hayakawa). It’s beastly hot, which gives the producers multiple chances to show William Holden without his shirt on: sweating as he digs a grave in the POW camp or sipping martinis as a free man on the beach. Here, the Japanese are the enemy and Allied victory does not yet seem inevitable.

In both movies, Holden displays great survival instincts, resourcefulness, guile, and the weary self-interest that Bogart expressed in Casablanca: “I stick my neck out for nobody.” He is very lucky, too, until his luck runs out. As Shears in The Bridge on the River Kwai, he manages to escape from the isolated prison camp that needed no gates or surveillance because there was no place to escape to—the camp is bordered by a steep promontory from which few would survive a jump or a fall.
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Click here for the rest of this essay.

 

Bobby Darin, "Beyond the Sea"

Born Roberto Cassotto in East Harlem, Bobby Darin went to Bronx Science. Rheumatic fever as a boy shortened his life -- he died at age 37 following heart surgery. Here's his best live perfomance of one of his greatest hits, "Beyond the Sea," a swinging version of Charles Trenet's "La Mer." If memory serves "Beyond the Sea" was on the flip side of "Mack the Knife," which reached the top of the charts for Mr. Darin. Little known fact: he also wrote songs, such as "Splish Splash" (which took one hour to compose) and "Dream Lover." He was a fantastic performer on stage and did great impressions. When he tries he can sound exactly like Andy Williams doing "Moon River." And you can look it up.

 

Dave Brubeck, "Besame Mucho" -- and Andrea Bocelli!

 

 

"But Beautiful" with Billie Holiday and Barbra Streisand

 

Louis Armstrong, Saint Louis Blues

I hate to see the evening sun go down.. .

 

And that would be but beautiful

Great song by Mr. James Van Heusen

 

Happy birthday, Ludwig Van!

My father, Joseph Lehman, shared his birthday-- December 17 -- with the greatest of all composers (who was baptised on December 17). Here is Beethoven's "Grosse Fuge" (opus 133). -- DL

 

"The Birth of the Blues" on FS's Birthday

Note what he does with the word "weird" -- DL

 

"But Not For Me" (Happy birthday to you, Ira Gershwin)

 

One of Ira Gershwin's greatest lyrics:

"They're writing songs of love, / But not for me.  . ."

"With love to lead the way, / I've found more clouds of gray / than any Russian play / could guarantee.  . ."

"I was a fool to fall and get that way / hi ho alas and also lackaday."

"It all began so well, but what an end. / This is the time a fellow need a friend, / When every happy plot / Ends in a marriage know, / and there's no knot for me."

A Brief Digression on Critics and Cops [by David Lehman]

Why do award committees pin the tail on the horse’s ass? Because award committees combine a universal truth (“everyone’s a critic”) with an old punch line (“the committee in charge of designing a horse came up with a camel”). What is a critic? According to the critic Kenneth Tynan, “the critic is one who knows the way but cannot drive the car.” According to Kierkegaard, the critic resembles a poet as one pea another except that he lacks the anguish in his heart and the music on his lips – that is, everything.

When Annie Get Your Gun opened on May 16, 1946, with Ethel Merman as Annie and one of the most glorious scores ever written for the stage, the critic Ward Morehouse of the New York Herald-Tribune wrote that la Merman was “in her best form since Anything Goes” but that “Irving Berlin’s score is not a notable one.” Brooks Atkinson of the Times seemed to concur, characterizing the songs – There’s No Business Like Show Business, They Say It’s Wonderful, Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better, and the rest – as “routine composing.”  Recall, too, the reviewer who left the theater after a performance of Roberta complaining that Jerome Kern’s score lacked tunes you can whistle. Maybe his mind was elsewhere when the orchestra played Yesterdays, Let’s Begin, and Smoke Gets in Your Eyes. But for dumbness after the fact, it is hard to top the assessment of Guys and Dolls that appeared in the London Sunday Times in May 1953 (three years after the show’s debut on Broadway). Quoth the critic: the show, “despite its striking, incidental merits,” is “an interminable, an overwhelming, and in the end intolerable bore.”

On the screen, the critic is depicted often enough as a venomous, haughty lout (Clifton Webb in Laura), a conniver (George Sanders in All About Eve) or sometimes a guy who needs a drink because he has to choose between telling the truth and keeping his job (Joseph Cotton in Citizen Kane). But in song-and-dance movies with Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly in them, the critic is transmuted into the figure of the cop who looks on the festive proceedings and glares skeptically (as at the end of Kelly’s performance of the title number in Singing in the Rain) or with amused toleration (as when Fred Astaire, sporting a boater, does his shoeshine number in The Band Wagon). The cop is the reviewer saying, You’re not supposed to be having such a good time. Don’t you know there’s a war going on? Don’t you realize that life is serious and art must be the same? Art has a moral imperative. Literature is a criticism of life. To which line of objection, the best answer is the movement of a dancer, the smile on Gene Kelly’s face as he wraps himself around a streetlamp and lets the rain pour on his face, and the recollection of the late John Simon's typically brutal and wrong-headed attack on that landmark movie, The Godfather

The Greatest Songs to Lose the Academy Award [by David Lehman]

In 1937 the award for best song went to "Waikiki Wedding." Nominated was "They Can't Take That Away From Me" by the Gershwin brothers, neither of whom ever won the award.

In 1941 the award went to a worthy song, "The Last Time I Saw Paris," music by Jerome Kern, lyrics Oscar Hammerstein. But "Blues in the Night" (music Harold Arlen, lyrics Johnny Mercer). "It was the only timer an Oscar [award] was stolen by an Oscar [Hammerstein]." Pictured at left is Harold Arlen, who could take solace in know that, with lyricist Yip Harburg (with an assist from Ira Gershwin) he wrote the music of the most popular of all Oscar-winning song, "Over the Rainbow."

In 1953 Harry Warren's "That's Amore" as delivered by Dean Martin should have gotten the nod over Sammy Fain's "Secret Love."

In 1954 "Three Coins in the Fountain" by Jules Styne and Sammy Cahn won the prize, and it's a good song, especially as sung by Mr S, but an even better song was "The Man That Got Away" by Harold Arlen and Ira Gershwin sung by Judy Garland in "A Star is Born."

In 1960 do you really believe "Never on Sunday" is better than "The Second Time Around"?

In 1964 "Chim Chim Cher-ee" collected the most votes. Among the also-rans was the vastly superior "My Kind of Town" by Jimmy Van Heusen and Sammy Cahn, perhaps because the two of them had already won four times each.

After 1965, when "The Shadow of Your Smile" was named the winner, it no longer mattered, but for the record here's the full list starting in 1934 when "The Continental" was winner number one.. -- DL

Mozart's 40th: "The Great G Minor Symphony" (for which we give thanks)

 

Lauren Bacall sings at Eddie Mars's Casino [in "The Big Sleep"]

"Yes, her tears flowed like wine. She's a real sad tomato, she's a busted Valentine."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmK-gF8nEh4

That Old Black Magic [music Harold Arlen, lyrics Johnny Mercer]

This version of the song -- as sung by Louis Prima and Keely Smith -- was my introduction to the Arlen/Mercer standard. I liked the collaboration of Arlen and Mercer so much that in my mind their names merged into one: Merlin. Happy birthday, Johnny Mercer. -- DL

Helen Forrest and I wish you a happy birthday, Johnny Mercer