Bill Roberts, Poet

When Dinahshore Roamed

Saturday, December 12th, 2009

Her delicate bones

Are barely settled,

But once she roamed

This diminished planet,

Eating its veggies

And fruits and nuts

And the occasional cheeseburger,

Singing its praises

To the sky,

From peak to peak,

Shore to shore,

This talented

And now extinct Dinahshore,

So perfect God made only one.

It’s been tough going

Since you left, Dinalshore,

But, if it pleases you,

I’m still seeing the U.S.A.

In my Chevrolet….

Though it leaks oil badly.

(Published in the Summer 2001 issue, Issue No. 15, Vol. 7, No. 1, of Rattle:  Poetry for the 21st Century)

Note:  Dinah.  Was there anyone finah?  I’ve just come back from Palm Desert where I studied an old photo on the wall of a 5-star hotel, a picture of Dinah Shore in her golf finery, swinging a driver much like she could swing onstage.  What a beauty.  And what a great representative of this great country of ours – scolding us to see the U.S.A. in a Chevrolet.  Had one once.  It didn’t get me very far before it started leaking oil, chugged a death rattle, and stopped in the middle of M Street in D.C., zillions of motorists all about me screaming to get the hell out of their way – they still had plenty to see in the U.S. of A.

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Curtain Call

Wednesday, November 4th, 2009

If you’ve ever been a performer onstage,

you realize just how demanding it is for a fellow

entertainer to get up there, heavily made-up,

perhaps in a hot wig, a cumbersome costume,

open his mouth wide and sing with gusto.

To do this flawlessly, not missing a cue, a note,

a glance at his leading lady, and pull it all off

to near perfection deserves a heart-felt Bravo!

and standing ovation, well-deserved accolades

that you yourself probably never once received.

It’s okay, you say.  I understand.  And you do.

You were not trained for opera – if only you had

the gift of a fine tenor or baritone, how sweet

it would have been to be Alfredo in Traviata or

the Duke of Nantua or Siegfried for Wagner.

So when you witness an inspired performance

by one so highly trained and yet so deftly

restrained in a difficult role, stand on your feet

and applaud till your hands hurt, allowing tears

to stream freely down your cheeks.

Yell Bravo! to the brave fellow so overcome

with emotion from his role that he reels as he bows,

pats his heart, throws kisses to one and all of us,

suggesting perhaps that he sang only for us

and never before to such an adoring audience.

(Published in the inaugural issue, Winter 2004, of Lalitamba)

Note:  Here I’ve revealed my love of opera.  Have gotten to speak to and know several operatic practitioners and learned how much talent and training it takes to become a singer.  They make it look easy, up there in front of critical audiences -  singing beautifully, moving gracefully, acting believably, all in time with extremely difficult-to-master music.  Can I hear enough opera?  Never.  Oh, to have been gifted with a voice.  Well, I was given a voice, just not the one I wanted.  And so, alas, it goes.

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