GK: It's April, it's Poetry Month and it's --
TR: Whan that Aprille, with his shoures soote The droghte of March hath perced to the roote And bathed every veyne in swich licour, Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
GK: It's the start of spring as well and it's--
FN (HIGH TENOR):
My heart leaps up when I do see
The daffodils so prettily
Toss their dainty little heads
In the lovely flower beds.
Fa la la la la la la hey nonny nonny no. (SHAWM)
GK: Poetry month and the start of spring and of course the season of love-- you're just about to sing, aren't you?
SS: Oui.
SS (HIGH, WAVERY):
Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en rose.
Il me dit des mots d'amour,
Des mots de tous les jours,
Et ca me fait quelque chose.
GK: Thank you very much. Thank you.--
SS (HIGH, WAVERY):
Il est entre dans mon coeur
Une part de bonheur Dont je connais la cause.
GK: Thank you. Poetry and spring and--
SS:
Quand il me prend dans ses bras
Il me parle tout bas,
Je vois la vie en rose. (DOOR SLAM)
GK: Poetry and spring and love and it's not all a bed of roses, as you'll find out when you get older. The course of true love does not always run smooth. Look out--
TR (ANGUISHED FRENCH)
GK: She was the love of my life, she meant everything to me, and she has thrown me over for an American.
TR: Americaine!
GK: An American.
TR: (ANGUISHED FRENCH)
GK: An older man with glasses.
TR: (ANGUISHED FRENCH)
GK: Someone she heard on the radio.
TR: (ANGUISHED FRENCH)
GK: I will kill him. I will-- (FAST FOOTSTEPS OF GK WALKING AWAY) (TR FRENCH CRY. GUNSHOTS. PARISIAN POLICE CAR SIREN APPROACHES) (FAST FOOTSTEPS)
GK: Hearts exalted, meant to be broken. Big scenes. Drama. Jealousy, passion, insane mood swings, betrayal. All a part of the story-- just like spring, a season of storms (THUNDER) and heavy rains (SFX) and landslides (RUMBLE), houses being swept away (CRUSHING DESTRUCTION), bridges falling (SFX). And poetry: a pursuit that is rife with ego, ambition
FN: I liked the poems of yours in the Ballard Literary Review--
TR: Oh yeah. Right.
FN: And the long poem about Lake Union.
TR: Right.
FN: (PAUSE) I liked them. I thought there was a real darkness to them, a sense of the dangerous, a sort of whiplike edge to them--
TR: Oh. Thanks.
FN: You ever go to poetry workshops?
TR: No. Why?
FN: Just asking. You might want to think about it.
TR: Think about what?
FN: They can be very helpful in sort of guiding a poet in the process of rewriting.
TR: Rewriting-- what are you saying?
FN: Just saying that workshops can help.
TR: I thought you liked my poems.
FN: I did. I do. They're very nice. Really.
TR: "Very nice" -- now they're very nice??? A moment ago they had darkness and danger and a sort of whiplike edge to them--
FN: I didn't mean to get you all upset, Frank.
TR: What are you trying to say, Brad? I should come to your poetry workshop and you teach me how to write crap like yours. Little odes to the transcendental beauty of swamps??? Huh? Wallpaper with leaves and flowers in it.
FN: I write wallpaper?
TR: You write wallpaper.
FN: That wallpaper is going to be published next week.
TR: Ha!
FN: In The New Yorker. (STING) The New Yorker, Frank. I'm being paid money. Big money. I've been offered a teaching position at Harvard. Harvard, Frank. We won't be colleagues anymore at Puget Sound Community College. I'm going to Harvard, Frank. And so we won't be roommates any longer. I'm moving to Cambridge -- with Fiona.
TR: Fiona????? She's going to live with you????
FN: Fiona has always been in love with me, Frank.
TR: She never told me.
FN: She fell in love with me through my poetry, Frank. Through my poetry. And I've written a poem about her. Called "My Home Between Your Breasts".
TR: Why you-- jerk--
FN: What are you doing???
TR: Put up your sword, fool. (SWORD FIGHT) (THEN GUNSHOT) (FN DIES, GROANS, FLOPS OVER) Huh? Let s hear you sing about that, boyo. Ha. (FOOTSTEPS AWAY) (CAT MEOW) Shuddup. (DOG BARK) You too.
GK: Spring. A turbulent time of year. Be careful out there.
BAND PLAYOFF