Poetry

To quote the Bard (and paraphrase Anna Russell—Google her, she's a funny gal): "If music be the food of love, play on—but they don't say play on WHAT!!!"

Today was a poetry reading sponsored by a very earnest group—Toward International Peace through the Arts ("TIPA"). Unfortunately, earnest does not always equate with a great experience. They included a questionnaire, and my response was (in addition to not wanting to be on their mailing list or to volunteer with them), "Very entertaining, but needs some logistics assistance." The venue was The Actors' Chapel, St. Malachy's (RC) on West 49th Street. (I'm embarrassed to say that in my 35 years in NYC, this was my first visit.) They had an acrylic podium with a standing cordless microphone. It couldn't really be placed near enough to the podium for the few who needed amplification.

The poetry readers, in order, were: Conrad Rothbaum, Tammy Grimes, John S. Major, Betsy von Furstenburg, Bess Rous, Ronald Rand, Fritz Weaver, Lee Grant, and Stan Tannen. Whew!

I'll just hit highlights. Ms. Grimes (she walks with a walker these days) read three poems by W.B. Yeats. In an aside, she mentioned that her husband introduced her to Yeats' poetry, a rather touching aside. She was subdued, yet very effective. (She also fell afoul of the logistics, with a body mic and a standing mic.)

Ms. Rous was very effective—using her natural voice and nice modulations—in poetry of Vasko Papa, Robert Penn Warren, and Boris Pasternak.

Mr. Rand's rendition of "Very Like a Whale," by Ogden Nash was also very effective—with the poet taking a crack at poets.

Mr. Weaver was quite the orator (without being over the top) in "Waiting for the Barbarians" and "Fern Hill."

Ms. Grant's readings (despite a bit of laryngitis) were very clear and natural. And she wove in a great story about being blessed by a St. Malachy's priest once, when she suffered from stage fright.

Worth seeing? Yes. Seek out again? Not so sure. And HELLO!, if you're going to a poetry reading in a church space, turn off your cell phone!

ConcertMeister