Sonnet XXI
“Saints and poets maybe...”
For Renee
They énter, silent. Mise-en-scène.
The troupers—set to play their parts.
Lord Byron, in his opium den—
“Bring ín the frogs, prepare the darts!”
The blocking, always nonpareil;
Their lines, all perfectly rehearsed;
Each áffect, acted out so well;
The áudience, wholĺy immersed.
Éntr’acte; then She takes the lead—
(This únderstudy took Her notes)
Éxpectations méet, exceed,
Become the stuff of anecdotes.
Nor time, nor distance, can erase
the sacred imprint of Her face.
The troupers—set to play their parts.
Lord Byron, in his opium den—
“Bring ín the frogs, prepare the darts!”
The blocking, always nonpareil;
Their lines, all perfectly rehearsed;
Each áffect, acted out so well;
The áudience, wholĺy immersed.
Éntr’acte; then She takes the lead—
(This únderstudy took Her notes)
Éxpectations méet, exceed,
Become the stuff of anecdotes.
Nor time, nor distance, can erase
the sacred imprint of Her face.
Editor’s Notes
- The dek is taken from Emily’s final soliloquy, mourning the brevity of earthly life, in Thorton Wilder’s Our Town.
EMILY: Does anyone ever realize life while they live it...every, every minute?
STAGE MANAGER: No. Saints and poets maybe...they do some. - The diacritical marks are used in a manner similar to Gerard Manley Hopkins; see sprung rhythm.
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