A poet is born
A poet dies
And all that lies between
is us
and the world
~ Lawrence Ferlinghetti
That's how Mr. Ferlinghetti began "An Elegy on the Death of Kenneth Patchen." Today's New York Times brings the sad news of another poet's passing: Fran Landesman, whose lyrics are revered by theatre dorks and jazz lovers alike.
Ms. Landesman was a true, wildly unconventional original; that she was one of relatively few women to achieve renown among the sometimes misogynistic Beat poets speaks, I think, for itself.
Jack Kerouac played bongos outside her window and tried to date her. She turned a T. S. Eliot poem into a song sung by Ella Fitzgerald and Barbra Streisand. Bette Davis memorized one of her poems.
The poem Bette Davis memorized is called "Life's a Bitch." As for the Eliot poem, "April is the cruelest month," Fran Landesman's variation on that theme is an inspired lyric, sweet and heartbreaking in equal measure.
Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most
Once I was a sentimental thing;
Threw my heart away each spring.
Now a spring romance
Hasn't got a chance.
Promised my first dance to winter.
All I've got to show's a splinter
For my little fling.
Spring this year has got me feeling
Like a horse that never left the post.
I lie in my room staring up at the ceiling.
Spring can really hang you up the most.
Morning's kiss wakes trees and flowers,
And to them I'd like to drink a toast.
But I walk in the park just to kill the lonely hours.
Spring can really hang you up the most.
All afternoon the birds twitter-twitt.
I know the tune. This is love, this is it.
Heard it before and I know the score.
And I've decided that spring is a bore.
Love seemed sure around the new year.
Now it's April, love is just a ghost.
Spring arrived on time, only what became of you, dear?
Spring can really hang you up the most.
Love came my way; I hoped it would last.
We had our day, now it's all in the past.
Spring came along, a season of song,
full of sweet promise — but something went wrong.
Doctors once prescribed a tonic.
Sulfur and molasses was the dose.
Didn't help one bit, my condition must be chronic.
Spring can really hang you up the most.
All alone, the party's over.
Old man winter was a gracious host.
But when you keep praying for snow to hide the clover,
Spring can really hang you up the most.
I first heard this song many years ago, performed by a young singer in a sparkling evening gown, standing in a pool of light on the stage of a dimly-lit, smoky cabaret; it broke my heart and I instantly fell in love with it.
So have a long list of singers and musicians, from the above-mentioned Ella and Barbra to Sarah Vaughan, Rickie Lee Jones and Chaka Khan. Here's a very nice rendition by one of my favorite cabaret artists, Jane Monheit. (I'd be remiss in not giving credit to the song's composer, the great Tommy Wolf. This is a near-perfect marriage of music and words.)