This past Friday I saw the Detroit Opera House's production of Le Nozze di Figaro, which was excellent. It was my first live, in person (more on that in a moment) opera, and I couldn't have been happier. Even though I was in the poor seats (read: the balcony), there was still an excellent view of the stage. The only thing that threw me off was the presence of surtitles (i.e. the translation of the Italian displayed on a screen above the stage). That production is now over, so I can hardly say "go see it!" but I do encourage you to see an opera at the Detroit Opera House, especially if you're a Michigan resident. The cost is hardly prohibitive (about $50). If you're a student, you can also get good deals (like seeing the next three operas for $85 total).
If you aren't in Michigan, and don't care to spend money to see one in person, I will now shamelessly plug the Metropolitan Opera's high definition video broadcasts. Last year the Met started broadcasting some of their operas to movie theatres all across the country, which was more successful than one would think. According to this article, the Met is tripling the number of theatres that it will be broadcasting to. The first opera of the high-def season is Gounod's Romeo et Juliette.* Tickets are $22, which is considerably more expensive than a normal movie ticket - but these are neither normal nor movies. It's also much less expensive than going to New York and getting tickets to the Met. I took in several productions through this medium last year (Eugene Onegin, The First Emperor, Il Trittico, and Il Barbiere di Siviglia) and didn't regret spending the money at all. In fact I was so smitten with Eugene Onegin (er, perhaps I should say smitten with Renee Fleming) that I saw it twice.
The only depressing thing about going to the Met broadcasts was that it made me fear for the future of opera - almost everyone attending those showings were fifty or older. If there is no young audience for opera, who will continue to fund productions? Who will be the audience for opera in thirty years? in one hundred years? If you are completely new to opera, I would recommend checking out one of these broadcasts - I suspect you will be pleasantly surprised. I was initially intimidated by opera, and suspect this is a fear shared by others. Let me assure you that it's a groundless fear - opera does not require more intelligence than an artful movie requires. In fact, it may require less. If you enjoy music, acting, and displays of great talent and virtuosity, you will enjoy opera. So buy tickets already!
*Don't go to this broadcast simply because you are taken with the Bard's language - no one can re-write Shakespeare, and Jules Barbier and Michel Carre (they wrote the libretto for Gounod's opera) were no exceptions.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Whole Grain: Collected Poems, 1958 - 1989
Reading through the poems of James Emanuel that have been collected here, I was both enlivened and saddened – enlivened because that is always my response to great poetry, and saddened because these poems have yet to find a wide and appreciative audience. That a poet of such quality has been neglected while lesser poets earn awards and titles speaks clearly to the wretched state of American letters. But this review is not meant to lament the current state of poetry, but rather to highlight one of its great living artists.
What is initially striking about the poetry of James Emanuel is that his voice – and do not doubt that it is an original one – is clearly discernable. Perhaps I should say that what is striking is that there is a voice to be found here at all. Any reader accustomed to browsing through the numerous literary journals of the day knows that most modern “poets” have no voice – their works blend together to form a congealed mass that only the insane or the clueless would care to examine. Yet these poems are clearly creations of a man who knows his craft well. Emanuel is equally adept at utilizing rhyming couplets and free verse; at addressing topics both weighty and commonplace. But regardless of the form or subject, the poems all buzz with a language that is distinctly Emanuel’s.
He is able, as few poets are, to render common occurrences in a language that is palpably fresh and exciting. One can only imagine what cliches a lesser poet would use to describe a snowfall, but Emanuel is able to turn the weather into lines like "snowflakes untraceably chaotic /dived into caves, laid hills on hills, /rode lavishly with every motion in the street." Or he is able to transform the passing scenery one sees on a train ride into lines like:
poppy-bloodied banks careened across her chin
and junkyard shears chewed steel before her eyes
and shit-soiled cows lashed wiry tails to score her brow
and hooded vans backed deepdark jaws against her breast[...]
I will gladly steal Ian Sansom's comment on Auden and use it for my own purposes: the poetry of James Emanuel is packed with language that makes us respond to its "sheer sexiness."
The volume itself is uniquely arranged, not chronologically, but rather by theme. One does not begin Whole Grain with the young Emanuel and end with the old; rather, the poems are grouped together under headings such as “How I Became a Poet,” “Some Woman’s Arms,” or “Afro-America, The Garden.” This was a bold move. Even the collected poems of major poets like Byron begin with juvenilia not truly worthy of inclusion - putting such works at the beginning allows the reader to say “ah yes, these poems are weak, but the poet was still young…” By organizing the poems thematically, Emanuel demonstrates that his early poems are capable of standing alongside his later ones. How many poets can that be said of?
It is truly a shame that literary convention cautions a writer not to quote excessively from his source, for there is much that is quotable in Whole Grain – there was a great temptation to fill this review with little else but the poems themselves. That is not to suggest that Emanuel’s poems are simply miniature stages set for memorable one-liners, however. They are memorable in the best sense of the word; they are, first and foremost, works by a writer who loves his language, and who has the talent to make it anew. Convention, at least, will allow me to close with a short excerpt. In the poem “Sonnet for a Writer,” Emanuel advises, “Far better to create one living line / Than learn a hundred sunk in fame’s recline.” Whole Grain demonstrates that James Emanuel is in no danger of having just one living line as his poetic legacy. Instead, he has left us a volume of two-hundred-fifteen poems, each of which is worthy of reading – and reading again.
***
Well, that’s the review. If you are already familiar with the man’s poetry, then you know how inadequate my few words about his work are. I would have liked to have written so much more, but as I have said before (and will say again) I am no critic – I simply do not have the words to give you an adequate idea of why this is important poetry. I do, however, intuitively know that it is. Perhaps that’s good enough. Regardless, I still feel the need to apologize for my unworthy and stumbling attempt to convey what I found in these poems that is worthy of your attention.
One can only hope that in the coming years there will be some sort of awakening of this country’s literary conscience – and a corresponding interest in neglected poets such as James Emanuel. Perhaps this is a pipe-dream, but it is one that I allow myself to entertain. If you are not at all familiar with his poetry, then I urge you to find a copy of Whole Grain and spend time reading it. You won’t be disappointed.
What is initially striking about the poetry of James Emanuel is that his voice – and do not doubt that it is an original one – is clearly discernable. Perhaps I should say that what is striking is that there is a voice to be found here at all. Any reader accustomed to browsing through the numerous literary journals of the day knows that most modern “poets” have no voice – their works blend together to form a congealed mass that only the insane or the clueless would care to examine. Yet these poems are clearly creations of a man who knows his craft well. Emanuel is equally adept at utilizing rhyming couplets and free verse; at addressing topics both weighty and commonplace. But regardless of the form or subject, the poems all buzz with a language that is distinctly Emanuel’s.
He is able, as few poets are, to render common occurrences in a language that is palpably fresh and exciting. One can only imagine what cliches a lesser poet would use to describe a snowfall, but Emanuel is able to turn the weather into lines like "snowflakes untraceably chaotic /dived into caves, laid hills on hills, /rode lavishly with every motion in the street." Or he is able to transform the passing scenery one sees on a train ride into lines like:
poppy-bloodied banks careened across her chin
and junkyard shears chewed steel before her eyes
and shit-soiled cows lashed wiry tails to score her brow
and hooded vans backed deepdark jaws against her breast[...]
I will gladly steal Ian Sansom's comment on Auden and use it for my own purposes: the poetry of James Emanuel is packed with language that makes us respond to its "sheer sexiness."
The volume itself is uniquely arranged, not chronologically, but rather by theme. One does not begin Whole Grain with the young Emanuel and end with the old; rather, the poems are grouped together under headings such as “How I Became a Poet,” “Some Woman’s Arms,” or “Afro-America, The Garden.” This was a bold move. Even the collected poems of major poets like Byron begin with juvenilia not truly worthy of inclusion - putting such works at the beginning allows the reader to say “ah yes, these poems are weak, but the poet was still young…” By organizing the poems thematically, Emanuel demonstrates that his early poems are capable of standing alongside his later ones. How many poets can that be said of?
It is truly a shame that literary convention cautions a writer not to quote excessively from his source, for there is much that is quotable in Whole Grain – there was a great temptation to fill this review with little else but the poems themselves. That is not to suggest that Emanuel’s poems are simply miniature stages set for memorable one-liners, however. They are memorable in the best sense of the word; they are, first and foremost, works by a writer who loves his language, and who has the talent to make it anew. Convention, at least, will allow me to close with a short excerpt. In the poem “Sonnet for a Writer,” Emanuel advises, “Far better to create one living line / Than learn a hundred sunk in fame’s recline.” Whole Grain demonstrates that James Emanuel is in no danger of having just one living line as his poetic legacy. Instead, he has left us a volume of two-hundred-fifteen poems, each of which is worthy of reading – and reading again.
***
Well, that’s the review. If you are already familiar with the man’s poetry, then you know how inadequate my few words about his work are. I would have liked to have written so much more, but as I have said before (and will say again) I am no critic – I simply do not have the words to give you an adequate idea of why this is important poetry. I do, however, intuitively know that it is. Perhaps that’s good enough. Regardless, I still feel the need to apologize for my unworthy and stumbling attempt to convey what I found in these poems that is worthy of your attention.
One can only hope that in the coming years there will be some sort of awakening of this country’s literary conscience – and a corresponding interest in neglected poets such as James Emanuel. Perhaps this is a pipe-dream, but it is one that I allow myself to entertain. If you are not at all familiar with his poetry, then I urge you to find a copy of Whole Grain and spend time reading it. You won’t be disappointed.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Love In the Time of Cholera
If you would like to be spared wasting two hours of your life that you will never be able to regain, I would caution you to avoid seeing Love In the Time of Cholera. Instead, go to a used bookstore and pick up a copy of the novel - spend your time reading that.
I was disappointed by this film on many levels. First, it was in English. Judging by the accents of the actors, everyone knew Spanish - there was no practical reason for putting our language on their tongues. (Perhaps Americans simply equate foreign language films with "boring films." If that is the case, then I can at least understand the decision to go with English as a marketing strategy.) There was also a certain amount of incongruity when it came to the language - at one point Fermino refers to one of his ships as "New Fidelity," and moments later we see a shot of the ship with the name "Nueva Fidelidad" painted on the side. You could also catch some of the very minor characters (and extras) speaking Spanish - I noticed this during the first funeral scene. If you're going to abandon a language and replace it with our bastard English, at least be consistent about it. They also botched (as all directors do) recreating a realistic pre-Vatican II Mass. For instance, the priest would not have faced the people, but rather would have been facing the altar. Also, the he would not have said "Corpus Christi" when placing the host on a communicant's tongue, but rather "Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vitam aeternam." (I am aware that this has no real relation to the artistic merit of the film, but is a pet peeve left over from my short-lived time as a devout Catholic. That, and I demand historical accuracy of filmmakers, especially in cases where doing so would be painfully easy.) There was also an obnoxious amount of Shakira (yes, Shakira) in the soundtrack. (Though from what I understand Garcia Marquez is to blame for this - apparently he approached Shakira and asked her to come up with several songs for the movie. Perhaps he has grown senile in his dotage.)
The casting was also a let-down. This criticism has perhaps more to do with my distaste for Benjamin Bratt than anything else, but he is the last person I would have chosen to play Urbino. I also found it interesting that they used two different actors to represent Florentino Ariza at different ages, but used only one actress to play Fermina (who, as has been noted elsewhere, was not particularly convincing as an elderly woman).
As it's been years since I've read the book, I can't critique the film properly. From what I remember, however, I finished the novel liking Florentino - yet at times during the movie I wanted to reach through the screen and slap some sense into him. The New York Times capsule review of the movie hit the nail on the head when it said that Florentino "comes off as a crazed stalker, a guy who needs to get a life (as well as a sturdier stomach)..."
I am hoping that someone over at Cosmoetica does a review of the movie. Given Schneider's assessment of Garcia Marquez as a writer (one that I do not agree with) I suspect I can guess the substance of the review. Had I the time I would like to reread the novel, but I have more books at my bedside than I currently have time to read.
Tomorrow I will finally post my review of Whole Grain. I am afraid that I have mentioned this review so much in earlier posts that you will be expecting something more complete. There is much to be said about James Emanuel and his poetry, but I am no critic; I will leave the truly substantive commentary to those more competent than I.
I was disappointed by this film on many levels. First, it was in English. Judging by the accents of the actors, everyone knew Spanish - there was no practical reason for putting our language on their tongues. (Perhaps Americans simply equate foreign language films with "boring films." If that is the case, then I can at least understand the decision to go with English as a marketing strategy.) There was also a certain amount of incongruity when it came to the language - at one point Fermino refers to one of his ships as "New Fidelity," and moments later we see a shot of the ship with the name "Nueva Fidelidad" painted on the side. You could also catch some of the very minor characters (and extras) speaking Spanish - I noticed this during the first funeral scene. If you're going to abandon a language and replace it with our bastard English, at least be consistent about it. They also botched (as all directors do) recreating a realistic pre-Vatican II Mass. For instance, the priest would not have faced the people, but rather would have been facing the altar. Also, the he would not have said "Corpus Christi" when placing the host on a communicant's tongue, but rather "Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vitam aeternam." (I am aware that this has no real relation to the artistic merit of the film, but is a pet peeve left over from my short-lived time as a devout Catholic. That, and I demand historical accuracy of filmmakers, especially in cases where doing so would be painfully easy.) There was also an obnoxious amount of Shakira (yes, Shakira) in the soundtrack. (Though from what I understand Garcia Marquez is to blame for this - apparently he approached Shakira and asked her to come up with several songs for the movie. Perhaps he has grown senile in his dotage.)
The casting was also a let-down. This criticism has perhaps more to do with my distaste for Benjamin Bratt than anything else, but he is the last person I would have chosen to play Urbino. I also found it interesting that they used two different actors to represent Florentino Ariza at different ages, but used only one actress to play Fermina (who, as has been noted elsewhere, was not particularly convincing as an elderly woman).
As it's been years since I've read the book, I can't critique the film properly. From what I remember, however, I finished the novel liking Florentino - yet at times during the movie I wanted to reach through the screen and slap some sense into him. The New York Times capsule review of the movie hit the nail on the head when it said that Florentino "comes off as a crazed stalker, a guy who needs to get a life (as well as a sturdier stomach)..."
I am hoping that someone over at Cosmoetica does a review of the movie. Given Schneider's assessment of Garcia Marquez as a writer (one that I do not agree with) I suspect I can guess the substance of the review. Had I the time I would like to reread the novel, but I have more books at my bedside than I currently have time to read.
Tomorrow I will finally post my review of Whole Grain. I am afraid that I have mentioned this review so much in earlier posts that you will be expecting something more complete. There is much to be said about James Emanuel and his poetry, but I am no critic; I will leave the truly substantive commentary to those more competent than I.
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