The O-town Scene

May 10, 2012

The O-town Scene - Oneonta, NY

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Byelorusse Polka I would press a leaf from these sprigs delicately In Praise of a Dancer In you, the dance has placed something of its essence— sensuous. Elegant. One knows that from your grace queens must keep their distance and their airs of pretense. All those impassioned words the mime never says may be all the dance has concealed — fragile, eternal — in its unfolding exaltation of a body's movement — eloquent, agile. One drawn after your every motion — incessant, pancaked, harlequin, severe — with a gaze that stares a hole through this page will savor the trace of a spirit's passage more vivid than his verse's extravagant fevers: When I rest, I think of you, and when I rise. You don't need to pull this old goat's ear twice. — Edgar Degas (1889), translated by Robert Bensen May 10, 2012 O-Town Scene 9 blossoming in soft April, softer for the anemones of winter's remains streaking the scalloped windows, and sit by the fire escape. There's a new, uncommon lightness in their step, this last rehearsal before dress. Their moves, the impossible choreography of February, fit them now, so the ranks more confidently chasser, canter and cavort and come down, down on the same foot— with what a sigh — no break — now with music. They're hot. The buns frizz. The tights itch and the kids pick. Remember Polka Time? Remember Frankie Yankovic? Annalee cranes Rachel to her tender feet, and they set. Check the precise crossing of arms, the hands, yes, the necks. Hold them here, lined up, a single silhouette. — Robert Bensen

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