Sondheim at 90

 Sondheim at 90

His nature – not long in modesty
At eighteen he felt Broadway bound
No question he was a prodigy
But not all did he astound 

Oscar gave him a nuanced review:
“Stephen, it’s terrible!”
To Sondheim these words were new
But here’s what made it bearable:

Line by line, the sword of Hammerstein  
The score bled red ink
Could there have been a better design
For teaching an artist how not to think?

Friend/father/mentor Oscar was there
Advising, guiding, reining in ego
And in time Stephen took to the air
And went wherever we go

He was raised on Central Park West
A privileged boy of Manhattan
At twenty-five, worked with the best
In a play that was surprisingly Latin

(well except for the actors
But back then there were so many factors:
Like it was OK to be racist and dumb
I wish I could say how far we’ve come)

Anyhow

With a face of you-can’t-ignore-me
He dazzled, delighted, found a home 
Barely-beyond boy bound for glory
West Side Story,  Lenny, Jerome

Success was no panacea
He worried his words weren’t gritty  
A poor Puerto Rican Maria
Urbanely singing  “I feel pretty”

(If that is as bad as he gets
Lord let me suffer those regrets )

Then he worked with Ethel Merman
Because he’d learned from an Oscar sermon
“You’ll grow as a writer if you write for a voice”
Though he couldn’t abide her he made that choice  

(trivia: she married Ernest Borgnine 
Annie Oakley and Marty Mchale
I like to imagine morning time
No coffee and a marriage fail

“There’s no coffee like your coffee like no coffee I know. 
Everything about it is so jolting. 
Everything just says ‘I want it now!’ 
It’s the only thing you do that’s not revolting. 
It’s for your coffee, I took a vow!

There’s no sugar like no sugar so I got no get-up-and-go
I do not like how this is unfolding
You better do something about it now 
You ain’t gonna get past hand-holding
unless you fix this, I don’t care how

Even with a husband who is overweight
Out of date, it’s not too late
Get me a cup of joe or find another mate
And let’s go on with the show

Yes. Let’s. Shall we?

A funny thing happened  
Do I hear a waltz anyone can whistle? 
Flops were as bad as he’d imagined
Just say critic and watch him bristle

Being aware of being alive
With friends we love and hate
In their company we more than survive
(though, come on, Bobby is straight?)

I’m still here or am I losing my mind
Strong women captivating, morose,  mad
Cliche to say but one of a kind
Follies fun and man, can he ever do sad. 

He adapted Bergman? Who does that?
(a disturbed, absurd man who didn’t write Cats)
Have a handkerchief handy for the jewel in the crown
Karaoke kandy: “Send in the Clown”

(I used the singular there 
Had to get the perfect thyme
And I know I fucked up back there on that/Cats
Guilty of  Sondheim crime

And since we’re on the subject
Wouldn’t one clown be enough?
Maybe keep in mind the budget!
One clown can do stuff!)

Anyhow, Night Music takes my breath
(and no not because of said clown)
It’s how every day a little death
Elegantly knocks me down 

That there is death all around
In the buttons in the bread
Perfect blend word and sound
And we go where we are led

Then Prince Hal says “How about, you know
Admiral Perry and Japan, it’s the shit!
They sign a treaty, be a fantastic show!”
What the fuck? They did it!

My first Sondeim? Broadway Sweeney Todd
Up until that time I did not believe in God
I mean…what the? What is this even?
So yeah, fell in love with Stephen

I saw him live a few years ago
(he had long been sainted) 
What he said I do not know
I screamed and then I fainted

Another flop with Merrily 
Stephen and Hal fall apart
Sondheim went on unwarily 
Sunday, Paris, the nature of art

Then a prince in agony reprise
And fairy tales go dark
Happy ever after? Pa-lease!
Stephen continues on his arc

With Lapine writing the book
A score more than aching
Passion looks beyond The Look
Love is in our breaking

Then an ambitious search for truth
In our nation’s assassinations
Lee Harvey, Hinkley, Booth
Initially no ovations

In time, it found favor
Eventually got its due
But will there be more to savor?
Tell me he isn’t  through.

For years he’s been adapting
Buñuel movies for the stage
I imagine he’s doing that hat thing
And where once a blank page

There are measures, modalities varied
And lyrics yet to rhyme
And sometimes he is carried
Someplace back in time

At his teacher’s knee he sat
And to Oscar he was dutiful
“Hey Ockie, I made a hat!”
“Stephen, it’s beautiful”

denny caraher  2020