Dirge

Listen to:

Dirge (:43)

by Edna St. Vincent Millay 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

     Boys and girls that held her dear,

       Do your weeping now;

     All you loved of her lies here.

     Brought to earth the arrogant brow,

       And the withering tongue

     Chastened; do your weeping now.

     Sing whatever songs are sung,

       Wind whatever wreath,

     For a playmate perished young,

     For a spirit spent in death.

     Boys and girls that held her dear,

     All you loved of her lies here.

The Python

Listen to:

The Python (:49)

by Hilaire Belloc 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

A Python I should not advise, —

It needs a doctor for its eyes,

And has the measles yearly.

However, if you feel inclined

To get one (to improve your mind,

And not from fashion merely),

Allow no music near its cage;

And when it flies into a rage

Chastise it most severely.

I had an Aunt in Yucatan

Who bought a Python from a man

And kept it for a pet.

She died because she never knew

These simple little rules and few; —

The snake is living yet.

(Python sketch by Timothy Young)

Your Noble Son is Mad

Listen to:

Your Noble Son is Mad (3:01)

by William Shakespeare 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

as Polonius

and with Bobby Ann Loper as Gertrude

from Hamlet, Act II, scene ii

LORD POLONIUS

My liege, and madam, to expostulate

What majesty should be, what duty is,

Why day is day, night night, and time is time,

Were nothing but to waste night, day and time.

Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,

And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,

I will be brief: your noble son is mad:

Mad call I it; for, to define true madness,

What is't but to be nothing else but mad?

But let that go.

QUEEN GERTRUDE

More matter, with less art.

LORD POLONIUS

Madam, I swear I use no art at all.

That he is mad, 'tis true: 'tis true 'tis pity;

And pity 'tis 'tis true: a foolish figure;

But farewell it, for I will use no art.

Mad let us grant him, then: and now remains

That we find out the cause of this effect,

Or rather say, the cause of this defect,

For this effect defective comes by cause:

Thus it remains, and the remainder thus. Perpend.

I have a daughter--have while she is mine--

Who, in her duty and obedience, mark,

Hath given me this: now gather, and surmise.

'To the celestial and my soul's idol, the most

beautified Ophelia,'--

That's an ill phrase, a vile phrase; 'beautified' is

a vile phrase: but you shall hear. Thus:

'In her excellent white bosom, these, & c.'

QUEEN GERTRUDE

Came this from Hamlet to her?

LORD POLONIUS

Good madam, stay awhile; I will be faithful.

'Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar;

But never doubt I love.

'O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers;

I have not art to reckon my groans: but that

I love thee best, O most best, believe it. Adieu.

'Thine evermore most dear lady, whilst

this machine is to him, HAMLET.'

This, in obedience, hath my daughter shown me,

And more above, hath his solicitings,

As they fell out by time, by means and place,

All given to mine ear.

No Second Troy

Listen to:

No Second Troy (:50)

by William Butler Yeats 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late

Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great,
Had they but courage equal to desire?

What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,

With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind

That is not natural in an age like this,

Being high and solitary and most stern?

Why, what could she have done being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?

Two Hymns to Love

Listen to:

Two Hymns to Love (1:04)

by Robert Herrick 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

A Short Hymn to Venus

Goddess, I do love a Girl

Ruby-lipp’d, and tooth’d with Pearl:

If so be, I may but prove

Lucky in the Maid I love:

I will promise there shall be

Myrtles offer’d up to Thee.

A Hymn to Venus and Cupid

Sea-born Goddess, let me be

By thy son thus grac'd, and thee;

That whene’er I woo, I find 

Virgins coy, but not unkind.

Let me, when I kiss a maid,

Taste her lips, so over-laid

With Love-syrup, that I may,

In your Temple, when I pray,

Kiss the Altar, and confess

There’s in love no bitterness.

Michael Robartes bids his Beloved be at Peace

Listen to:

Michael Robartes bids his Beloved be at Peace (1:15)

by William Butler Yeats 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

I hear the Shadowy Horses, their long manes a-shake,

Their hoofs heavy with tumult, their eyes glimmering white;

The North unfolds above them clinging, creeping night,

The East her hidden joy before the morning break,

The West weeps in pale dew and sighs passing away,

The South is pouring down roses of crimson fire:

O vanity of Sleep, Hope, Dream, endless Desire,

The Horses of Disaster plunge in the heavy clay:

Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat

Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast,

Drowning love’s lonely hour in deep twilight of rest,

And hiding their tossing manes and their tumultuous feet.

from The Wind Among the Reeds (1899)

How Can My Muse

Painting by Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema

Listen to:

How Can My Muse (1:03)

by William Shakespeare 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

XXXVIII.

How can my muse want subject to invent,

While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse

Thine own sweet argument, too excellent

For every vulgar paper to rehearse?

O! give thy self the thanks, if aught in me

Worthy perusal stand against thy sight;

For who's so dumb that cannot write to thee,

When thou thy self dost give invention light?

Be thou the tenth Muse, ten times more in worth

Than those old nine which rhymers invocate;

And he that calls on thee, let him bring forth

Eternal numbers to outlive long date.

If my slight muse do please these curious days,

The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise.

Michael Robartes Remembers Forgotten Beauty

Listen to:

Michael Robartes Remembers Forgotten Beauty (1:24)

by William Butler Yeats 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

When my arms wrap you round I press

My heart upon the loveliness

That has long faded from the world;

The jewelled crowns that kings have hurled

In shadowy pools, when armies fled;

The love-tales wove with silken thread

By dreaming ladies upon cloth

That has made fat the murderous moth;

The roses that of old time were

Woven by ladies in their hair,

The dew-cold lilies ladies bore 

Through many a sacred corridor

Where such gray clouds of incense rose

That only the gods' eyes did not close:

For that pale breast and lingering hand

Come from a more dream-heavy land,

A more dream-heavy hour than this;

And when you sigh from kiss to kiss

I hear white Beauty sighing, too,

For hours when all must fade like dew

But flame on flame, deep under deep,

Throne over throne, where in half sleep

Their swords upon their iron knees

Brood her high lonely mysteries.

(from The Wind Among the Reeds)

Cosmopolite

Georgia Douglas Johnson

Listen to:

Cosmopolite (:41)

by Georgia Douglas Johnson 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Not wholly this or that,
But wrought
Of alien bloods am I,
A product of the interplay
Of traveled hearts.
Estranged, yet not estranged, I stand
All comprehending;
From my estate
I view earth’s frail dilemma;
Scion of fused strength am I,
All understanding,
Nor this nor that
Contains me.

The Invitation

Listen to:

The Invitation (1:16)

by John Clare 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

  Come hither, my dear one, my choice one, and rare one,
  And let us be walking the meadows so fair,
  Where on pilewort and daisies the eye fondly gazes,
  And the wind plays so sweet in thy bonny brown hair.

  Come with thy maiden eye, lay silks and satins by;
  Come in thy russet or grey cotton gown;
  Come to the meads, dear, where flags, sedge, and reeds appear,
  Rustling to soft winds and bowing low down.

  Come with thy parted hair, bright eyes, and forehead bare;
  Come to the whitethorn that grows in the lane;
  To banks of primroses, where sweetness reposes,
  Come, love, and let us be happy again.

  Come where the violet flowers, come where the morning showers
  Pearl on the primrose and speedwell so blue;
  Come to that clearest brook that ever runs round the nook
  Where you and I pledged our first love so true.

Spring Day

Listen to:

Spring Day (1:25)

by Amy Lowell 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

The day is fresh-washed and fair, and there is a smell of tulips and narcissus in the air.

The sunshine pours in at the bath-room window and bores through the water in the bath-tub in lathes and planes of greenish-white. It cleaves the water into flaws like a jewel, and cracks it to bright light.

Little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, dance, and their reflections wobble deliciously over the ceiling; a stir of my finger sets them whirring, reeling. I move a foot and the planes of light in the water jar. I lie back and laugh, and let the green-white water, the sun-flawed beryl water, flow over me. The day is almost too bright to bear, the green water covers me from the too bright day. I will lie here awhile and play with the water and the sun spots. The sky is blue and high. A crow flaps by the window, and there is a whiff of tulips and narcissus in the air.

Poetry

Listen to:

Poetry (1:58)

by Marianne Moore 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond

      all this fiddle.

   Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one

      discovers in

   it after all, a place for the genuine.

      Hands that can grasp, eyes

      that can dilate, hair that can rise

         if it must, these things are important not because a

high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because

      they are

   useful. When they become so derivative as to become

      unintelligible,

   the same thing may be said for all of us, that we

      do not admire what

      we cannot understand: the bat

         holding on upside down or in quest of something to 

eat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll, a tireless

      wolf under

   a tree, the immovable critic twitching his skin like a horse

      that feels a flea, the base-

   ball fan, the statistician--

      nor is it valid

         to discriminate against “business documents and

school-books”; all these phenomena are important. One must make

      a distinction

   however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the

      result is not poetry,

   nor till the poets among us can be

     “literalists of

      the imagination”--above

         insolence and triviality and can present

for inspection, “imaginary gardens with real toads in them,"

      shall we have

   it. In the meantime, if you demand on the one hand,

   the raw material of poetry in

      all its rawness and

      that which is on the other hand

         genuine, you are interested in poetry.

She Was a Phantom of Delight

Listen to:

She Was a Phantom of Delight (1:42)

by William Wordsworth 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

William Wordsworth was born this day in 1770

She was a Phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;

A lovely Apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;

Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;

But all things else about her drawn

From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;

A dancing Shape, an Image gay,

To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon nearer view,

A Spirit, yet a Woman too!

Her household motions light and free,

And steps of virgin-liberty;

A countenance in which did meet

Sweet records, promises as sweet;

A Creature not too bright or good

For human nature's daily food;

For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine;

A Being breathing thoughtful breath,

A Traveller between life and death;

The reason firm, the temperate will,

Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;

A perfect Woman, nobly planned,

To warn, to comfort, and command;

And yet a Spirit still, and bright

With something of angelic light.

In a Vale

Listen to:

In a Vale (1:23)

by Robert Frost 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Robert Frost was born this day in 1874

    When I was young, we dwelt in a vale

    By a misty fen that rang all night,

    And thus it was the maidens pale

    I knew so well, whose garments trail

    Across the reeds to a window light.

    The fen had every kind of bloom,

    And for every kind there was a face,

    And a voice that has sounded in my room

    Across the sill from the outer gloom.

    Each came singly unto her place,

    But all came every night with the mist;

    And often they brought so much to say

    Of things of moment to which, they wist,

    One so lonely was fain to list,

    That the stars were almost faded away

    Before the last went, heavy with dew,

    Back to the place from which she came—

    Where the bird was before it flew,

    Where the flower was before it grew,

    Where bird and flower were one and the same.

    And thus it is I know so well

    Why the flower has odor, the bird has song.

    You have only to ask me, and I can tell.

    No, not vainly there did I dwell,

    Nor vainly listen all the night long.

from A Boy's Will

First published by David Nutt of London in 1913

The Song of Wandering Aengus

Listen to:

The Song of Wandering Aengus (1:19)

by William Butler Yeats 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor, 

And someone called me by my name: 

It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran 

And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering 

Through hollow lands and hilly lands, 

I will find out where she has gone, 

And kiss her lips and take her hands; 

And walk among long dappled grass, 

And pluck till time and times are done, 

The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

Sonnets Are Full of Love

Listen to:

Sonnets Are Full of Love (1:11)

by Christina Rossetti 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

(For my wonderful mother, Cruz Gonzalez, née Mondello, on her 84th birthday)

Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome 

Has many sonnets: so here now shall be 

One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me 

To her whose heart is my heart's quiet home, 

To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee 

I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome; 

Whose service is my special dignity, 

And she my loadstar while I go and come 

And so because you love me, and because 

I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath 

Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honoured name: 

In you not fourscore years can dim the flame 

Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws 

Of time and change and mortal life and death.

On Fruition

Listen to:

On Fruition (:38)

by Sir Charles Sedley 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

None, but a Muse in love, can tell

The sweet tumultuous joys I feel,

When on Cælia’s breast I lie,

When I tremble, faint, and die;

Mingling kisses with embraces,

Darting tongues, and joining faces,

Panting, stretching, sweating, cooing,

All in the ecstasy of doing.

 (from Works, 1722)

Aware

Listen to:

Aware (:41)

by David Herbert Lawrence 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Slowly the moon is rising out of the ruddy haze,
Divesting herself of her golden shift, and so
Emerging white and exquisite; and I in amaze
See in the sky before me, a woman I did not know
I loved, but there she goes and her beauty hurts my heart;
I follow her down the night, begging her not to depart.

  

Love’s Secret

Pablo Picasso "The Lovers"

Listen to:

Love’s Secret (:47)

by William Blake 

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Never seek to tell thy love,   

  Love that never told can be;   

For the gentle wind doth move   

  Silently, invisibly.   

  

I told my love, I told my love,

  I told her all my heart,   

Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.   

  Ah! she did depart!   

  

Soon after she was gone from me,   

  A traveller came by,

Silently, invisibly:   

  He took her with a sigh.

Why Should Your Fair Eyes

Listen to:

Why Should Your Fair Eyes (1:04)

by Michael Drayton  

performed by Bob Gonzalez, rhapsode

Why should your fair eyes with such sovereign grace 

Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit, 

Whilst I in darkness in the self-same place 

Get not one glance to recompense my merit? 

So doth the ploughman gaze the wandering star, 

And only rest contented with the light, 

That never learned what constellations are, 

Beyond the bent of his unknowing sight, 

O! why should beauty, custom to obey, 

To their gross sense apply herself so ill? 

Would God I were as ignorant as they, 

When I am made unhappy by my skill; 

Only compelled on this poor good to boast, 

Heavens are not kind to them that know them most.