Poetry From My Past

I’m going to put this in here as I’ve always loved this poem and have often thought about staging it performatively…


 

My Last Duchess – Robert Browning

FERRARA

 

That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall,

Looking as if she were alive. I call

That piece a wonder, now; Fra Pandolf’s hands

Worked busily a day, and there she stands.

Will’t please you sit and look at her? I said

“Fra Pandolf” by design, for never read

Strangers like you that pictured countenance,

The depth and passion of its earnest glance,

But to myself they turned (since none puts by

The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)

And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,

How such a glance came there; so, not the first

Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, ’twas not

Her husband’s presence only, called that spot

Of joy into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps

Fra Pandolf chanced to say, “Her mantle laps

Over my lady’s wrist too much,” or “Paint

Must never hope to reproduce the faint

Half-flush that dies along her throat.” Such stuff

Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough

For calling up that spot of joy. She had

A heart—how shall I say?— too soon made glad,

Too easily impressed; she liked whate’er

She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, ’twas all one! My favour at her breast,

The dropping of the daylight in the West,

The bough of cherries some officious fool

Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule

She rode with round the terrace—all and each

Would draw from her alike the approving speech,

Or blush, at least. She thanked men—good! but thanked

Somehow—I know not how—as if she ranked

My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name

With anybody’s gift. Who’d stoop to blame

This sort of trifling? Even had you skill

In speech—which I have not—to make your will

Quite clear to such an one, and say, “Just this

Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,

Or there exceed the mark”—and if she let

Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set

Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuse—

E’en then would be some stooping; and I choose

Never to stoop. Oh, sir, she smiled, no doubt,

Whene’er I passed her; but who passed without

Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;

Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands

As if alive. Will’t please you rise? We’ll meet

The company below, then. I repeat,

The Count your master’s known munificence

Is ample warrant that no just pretense

Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;

Though his fair daughter’s self, as I avowed

At starting, is my object. Nay, we’ll go

Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,

Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,

Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!


 

I have loved this poem since I first discovered it during my English GCSE, and the drama student in me has always thought how well it lends itself to a live performance. In terms of its relation to my solo, I think the idea of there being more than one side to a story; the Duchess’s, the Duke’s even the priest’s and the envoy’s, and there being more than one way of telling it; the painting itself, the Duke’s spoken confession, our re-reading of it, struck a chord with my ideas for the kind of piece I wanted to create. I did not want to write a neatly bound, beginning, middle and end, but rather question our deification of such ‘perfect’ stories and create a way of inviting the audience to do the same. Also, the Duke’s collection of trophies in this poem is not entirely dissimilar to my curator character’s collection of books.


 

Browning, Robert (1842), ‘My Last Duchess’, Online: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173024 (accessed 5 March 2015)

Insecurity

Trying to reign in / pin down concrete show ideas ready to put them forward in class. Help.

What I’ve got isn’t bad, it’s a show, or what could be. It just doesn’t yet feel like it’s doing my final undergraduate performance justice. Solo is an opportunity to put something out there, something of your own making, a piece of you for the world to see and judge and remember you by… currently, I feel a bit like I’m hosting a children’s tv show. It’s nice. And I think it’s nice because apparently I’m nice.

I get told this a lot, ‘Oh, you’

re so sweet’ ‘She’s such a nice girl’…

A ‘nice’ performance is not what I am aiming for. Now I’m not intending to go all Artaud and mentally scar my audience, but I would like to leave them with something more than ‘Yeah, that was nice… Whose is next?’