Shakespeare’s 28th sonnet is, like Bottom, translated, by changing one letter in each word. The clinamen is in the 3rd line, where “oppression” is changed to “expression.”

SHAKESPEARE MISSPELLED

Now man, O when deturn on hoppy flight,
What ax debarked thy bone-fit or rust?
Then dad’s expression, as now, bas’d my might,
Cut hay be right, any fight my way oppresses.
Aid Bach trough, enemied, so Esthers feign,
Go on content, shame hinds, so tortur’d be,
Thy ore my soil, thy otter go cow-plain.
Hog for a boil, stall further, oft frog them.
O well she lay, so pleas’d his chou, act blight,
End dust his grave, then clouts so clot thy leaven:
Go flutter, O thy smart complexions tight,
Then sharkling scars twice hot Thor, milds’t thy oven,
Bat may both gaily drag by, morrows linger,
And light moth rightly made briefs lung’th, deem stranger.

A song from the White Knuckle Sandwich CD. Always a lively number!

Charles Cros: Collected Monologues is now available from Black Scat Books!

Charles Cros (1842-1888) was one of the most brilliant minds of his generation, equally adept at poetry, fiction, and scientific inquiry. He wrote smutty verses with Verlaine, synthesized gems with Alphonse Allais, contributed wild prose fantasies to Le Chat Noir, and experimented with color photography and sound recording, only to die young, poor, and alcoholic. Not incidentally, he also invented the comic monologue for the actor Coquelin Cadet. In these strikingly spontaneous and modern sketches, he introduces a gallery of fools and obsessives—The Clean Man, The Fencing Master, The Capitalist, The Friend of the Family—all nattering away, assaulting the audience with trivia, and blithely unaware of their own failings.

This edition collects all 22 of Cros’s monologues, translated, annotated, and introduced by Doug Skinner, as well as performance notes by Coquelin and two essays by his friend and colleague Alphonse Allais.

Available from Amazon; more info at Black Scat Books.

The tenth string quartet consists of arrangements of some of the songs from The Doug Skinner Songbook. Here’s part of one of them.

I recently translated the collected monologues of Charles Cros; the book should be out in the fall. Cros was a poet of the late 19th century, a colleague of Rimbaud and Verlaine, but with a distinctive voice of his own. He also pioneered the comic monologue, writing a series of lively little pieces for the actor Coquelin Cadet. They seem curiously contemporary, presenting a gallery of fools and obsessives who seem to have wandered on stage by accident. Here’s the beginning of one, in which the narrator is obsessed with a catchy tune:

OBSESSION

THE OBSESSIVE: M. Coquelin Cadet

   (He enters, pale and haggard.) Ah! I’m very sick. And yet, only two days ago I was so happy! I went to the theater, to the Délassements. They had an amusing little play! Oh, so amusing! There was a young lady (in the play), and then a young man who wanted to marry the young lady, and then people who tried to prevent the marriage, and then other people who were for the marriage, anyway I don’t remember very well what happens, but they get married in the end. Then everyone is happy, and they sing an air, oh! what a tune!

   Tra la la la, la la, la la la, etc. 

   (He sings the whole air.)

   When I left the theater I was happy; such a pretty little play. It was so cold!… I turn up my collar, I walk fast, la la, my shoes ring out on the pavement, la la, la la. I live one hour from the theater. I reach my door, I ring, bing, bing, bing, bing, bing. (Same air.) The doorman takes three quarters of an hour to open for me. Finally! I climb the stair (I live on the sixth floor), la, la, la, la. I light my candle, la la; I get undressed; I throw my coat on a chair, la la, my pants on another, la la; I jump into bed and go to sleep. 

   (Snoring to the same air.)

   In the morning, I wake up; the weather is superb; I had a ray of sunshine up my nose.

   I leap out of bed, tra, la, la, la, la; I duck my head in the water, glub, glub, glub, glub. (Same air.) I dry off, I knot my tie, la la; I was happy! There’s a knock at the door, I go to open, la, la, la, la. My concierge! Aha, it’s you? You really made me wait at the door last night, la la. What’s this? A letter… Versailles. (Gesture of opening and reading it.) La, la, la la. Ah, my God! My poor aunt… On her deathbed…! My hat! Coat, umbrella! I’m downstairs; I catch a cab: Driver! Saint-Lazare station, five francs for a tip, la, la, la la. I get to the station; I forget my umbrella in the car, car, car, car, car. (Same air.) The ticket window was closing, I got my ticket anyway, there I am in the train, oof, oof, oof (Same air.), the train that’s leaving is the express, press, press, press, press. (Same air.)

A piece for brass I wrote when I was sixteen, recently recopied for legibility. It was built on fourths, seconds, and hocketing, and, as I recall, was bracing and growly.

A piece for piano, taken from the third movement of my 9th String Quartet, for two violas and two ‘cellos. It’s sort of a cross between a minuet and a gavotte, going back and forth between 3/4 and 4/4. Here’s the first page…

The ninth string quartet is for two violas and two ‘cellos: a rondo (which includes a round, appropriately), a fervent andante, a moderato that shuttles between a minuet and a gavotte, and a tango. Here’s the first page: