Patter Song Poem by gershon hepner

When I want to say what doesn’t matter,
I break out into a poetic patter
not too unlike the songs that Gilbert wrote
with Arthur Sullivan, when not a note
is as important as the way each word
comes out just like a frenzied dairy herd
that must be milked––that’s what my patter needs.
Milk it for meaning like the bovine breeds
providing you with milk and cream and butter,
but be sure when you read it not to mutter.
Enunciate as clearly as the thoughts
in which it revels, and ignore the warts
that are mere minor blemishes. Who cares
about the blemishes of Gilbert and
his buddy Sullivan? In their vicinity
one doesn’t need a doctor of divinity,
or high lord executioner insiders
in the Mikado’s court, or Princess Ida’s
old father, Gama, or those poets who
in Patience gave an Oscar Wilde review,
or major-general or pirate king
to make my ruddy gory stories sing.

I dedicate this poem to my late mother-in-law, Ada Roer, who knew the libretto of every Gilbert and Sullivan Opera by heart. Anthony Tommasini review a performance of “Princess Ida” in the NYT, January 7,2008 (“That Gilbert and Sullivan Maiden With Mission and Education”:
Princess Ida” satirizes Victorian society’s preoccupation with women’s education. Set in vaguely medieval times, the daffy operetta tells of Princess Ida, daughter of King Gama, who has been betrothed since infancy to Prince Hilarion, son of King Hildebrand. Alas, the prince and princess, in their early 20s when we meet them, are strangers to each other. Ida has renounced men and founded a university for women at the isolated Castle Adamant. Aided by two adventure-loving friends, Hilarion sneaks into the castle to claim his intended. Gilbert, who adapted this three-act text from one of his existing plays, is not at his best here. The blank-verse dialogue is a little stiff and wordy. Still, the material clearly inspired Sullivan. The score deftly shifts from bubbly vitality to wistful elegance. There are elaborate ensembles, including an extended Act II finale for soloists and chorus, rousing music of almost Verdian grandeur. Sullivan again proves himself a master at evoking diverse musical styles, as in “This Helmet, I Suppose, ” a song for Arac, one of King Gama’s blockheaded warrior sons. This humorously ominous music, with its contrapuntal orchestral writing and walking bass line, is a riff on sturdy solo arias from Handel oratorios. It was solidly sung here by the bass-baritone David Wannen. But the mock-stentorian delivery of lines and exaggerated comic gestures were like what you would encounter from Gilbert and Sullivan societies at countless colleges. Mr. Bergeret believes in having his cast illustrate almost every word with broad hand and arm movement. Fingers stroke chins at the mention of “face, ” and arms sweep the sky when the chorus sings of “empyrean heights.” Remembering all these gestures must be as hard for the cast as memorizing Gilbert’s lines… Kimilee Bryant brought a plush soprano voice and lovely presence to the title role, though her diction was too often mushy. Other standouts were Keith Jurosko as the grave King Hildebrand and especially Stephen Quint as the hunchbacked, delightfully sour King Gama (who has the best patter songs) . Now and then Mr. Bergeret ably leapt to the rescue when the coordination between the orchestra and the cast in a complex ensemble threatened to go askew. But if not always tidy, the performance was supple, buoyant and winning. The musical performance, that is.


1/7/08