The Butterfly upon the Sky
- Emily Dickinson
The Butterfly upon the Sky,
That doesn't know its Name
And hasn't any tax to pay
And hasn't any Home
Is just as high as you and I,
And higher, I believe,
So soar away and never sigh
And that's the way to grieve —
.
Saturday, February 16, 2013
Friday, February 1, 2013
January Poetry Corner
"One Today"
- Richard Blanco
One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores,
peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces
of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth
across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.
One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story
told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.
My face, your face, millions of faces in morning’s mirrors,
each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:
pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,
fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows
begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper -- bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,
on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives -- to teach geometry, or ring up groceries as my mother did
for twenty years, so I could write this poem.
All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the “I have a dream” we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won’t explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.
One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father’s cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.
The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains
mingled by one wind -- our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day’s gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.
Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,
or whispers across cafe tables, Hear: the doors we open
for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,
buon giorno, howdy, namaste, or buenos días
in the language my mother taught me -- in every language
spoken into one wind carrying our lives
without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.
One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed
their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked
their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:
weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report
for the boss on time, stitching another wound
or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,
or the last floor on the Freedom Tower
jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.
One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn’t give what you wanted.
We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always -- home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country -- all of us --
facing the stars
hope -- a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it -- together
.
- Richard Blanco
One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores,
peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces
of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth
across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.
One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story
told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.
My face, your face, millions of faces in morning’s mirrors,
each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:
pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,
fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows
begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper -- bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,
on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives -- to teach geometry, or ring up groceries as my mother did
for twenty years, so I could write this poem.
All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the “I have a dream” we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won’t explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.
One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father’s cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.
The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains
mingled by one wind -- our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day’s gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.
Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,
or whispers across cafe tables, Hear: the doors we open
for each other all day, saying: hello, shalom,
buon giorno, howdy, namaste, or buenos días
in the language my mother taught me -- in every language
spoken into one wind carrying our lives
without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.
One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed
their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked
their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:
weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report
for the boss on time, stitching another wound
or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,
or the last floor on the Freedom Tower
jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.
One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn’t give what you wanted.
We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always -- home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country -- all of us --
facing the stars
hope -- a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it -- together
.
Monday, January 7, 2013
2013-14 Corn Stock Winter Playhouse Season
The 2013-14 Winter Playhouse Season has been announced!
Evil Dead: The Musical
Directed by Ingrid Peelle
Oct. 4,5,11,12,13th, 2013
The Graduate
Directed by Chip Joyce
Nov. 1,2,8,9,10, 2013
Relatively Speaking (A Weekend of One Acts)
Directed by Blake Stubbs, Leaann Liesse, and Trevor Neff, Producer Sean Howell
Nov. 21-24th, 2013
A Piece of My Heart
Directed by Amy Williams
January 17,18,24,25,26, 2014
ART
Directed by Charlie Brown
Feb. 14, 15, 21,22,23, 2014
Superior Donuts
Directed by Alex Larson
March 14,15,21,22,23, 2014
.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Eastlight Theater - 2013 Season
Dream Girls
April 19-21 and 24-27
Jekyll and Hyde
June 21-23 and 26-29
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
August 2-4 and 7-10
Joseph 2013
Nov 29-Dec 1 and Dec 4-8
Youthlight show:
Disney’s Tarzan
September 13-15 and 18-21
April 19-21 and 24-27
Jekyll and Hyde
June 21-23 and 26-29
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
August 2-4 and 7-10
Joseph 2013
Nov 29-Dec 1 and Dec 4-8
Youthlight show:
Disney’s Tarzan
September 13-15 and 18-21
.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
October Poetry Corner
The Sea And the Hills
Who hath desired the Sea? -- the sight of salt wind-hounded --
The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber win hounded?
The sleek-barrelled swell before storm, grey, foamless, enormous, and growing --
Stark calm on the lap of the Line or the crazy-eyed hurricane blowing --
His Sea in no showing the same his Sea and the same 'neath each showing:
His Sea as she slackens or thrills?
So and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise -- hillmen desire their Hills!
Who hath desired the Sea? -- the immense and contemptuous surges?
The shudder, the stumble, the swerve, as the star-stabbing bow-sprit emerges?
The orderly clouds of the Trades, the ridged, roaring sapphire thereunder --
Unheralded cliff-haunting flaws and the headsail's low-volleying thunder --
His Sea in no wonder the same his Sea and the same through each wonder:
His Sea as she rages or stills?
So and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise -- hillmen desire their Hills.
Who hath desired the Sea? Her menaces swift as her mercies?
The in-rolling walls of the fog and the silver-winged breeze that disperses?
The unstable mined berg going South and the calvings and groans that de clare it --
White water half-guessed overside and the moon breaking timely to bare it --
His Sea as his fathers have dared -- his Sea as his children shall dare it:
His Sea as she serves him or kills?
So and no otherwise -- so and no otherwisc -- hillmen desire their Hills.
Who hath desired the Sea? Her excellent loneliness rather
Than forecourts of kings, and her outermost pits than the streets where men gather
Inland, among dust, under trees -- inland where the slayer may slay him --
Inland, out of reach of her arms, and the bosom whereon he must lay him
His Sea from the first that betrayed -- at the last that shall never betray him:
His Sea that his being fulfils?
So and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise -- hillmen desire their Hills.
.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Vernissage Art Show at Prairie Center for the Arts
The Vernissage is a great success and now is the time for the public to see the talent we have here in our own backyard!
Please help us get the word out by letting folks know that the Prairie Center of the Arts is open at these times.
•Monday-Friday 10-4
•Saturday, Oct 13 1-4
•Saturday, Oct 20 1-4
•Saturday, Nov 10, 1-4
As a bonus, on Saturday, Oct 13, Ron Rae will give a guided "gallery walk" at 2 pm.
Thanks for making central Illinois a wonderful arts community.
http://prairiecenterofthearts.blogspot.com/
This is the finest show I have seen in Peoria. It is such an expansive collection of the many talented artists who call Peoria home.
DO NOT MISS IT!
.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
- Theater Review - 9 to 5 the Musical
Featuring the regional premier of "9 To 5 - The Musical", Peoria Players Theater opened their 2012 - 2013 season not with a bang but with a whimper.
"9 To 5 - the Musical" is based on the 1980 movie "9 to 5" starring Dolly Parton, Lily Tomlin, and Jane Fonda as three downtrodden office workers who become feminist heroes when they kidnap their mean chauvinistic boss (Dabney Coleman) and take over the company.
The stage adaptation adds musical numbers but follows the movie perhaps too closely, even using exact dialog from the film.
In many ways this sets up a difficult challenge for the actors. After all, Dolly Parton has awfully big ... shoes ... to fill.
There are aspects of the Players production that should have resulted in a fine show, but in the end it simply did not come together.
All the principals have good voices and for the most part delivered their songs well. (Choreography, well, that's another story!)
Rachel Lewis as Doralee (the Dolly role) delivered well vocally but plodded through her numbers with a lack of energy and enthusiasm. The number "Back Woods Barbie" is all about confidence in her identity. It should have been a fun and rollicking number but Ms. Lewis barely cracked a smile and made it seem like a chore.
Kelli Mathis as Violet suffered from the same timidity. Her dance numbers were painful to watch as I could almost see her counting her steps, stone faced.
I suppose this can be chalked up to the direction.
Perhaps Director Nate Downs concentrated too much on technique rather than encouraging his actors to let go, inhabit their roles, and have fun.
The third lead, Katie McLuckie as Judy had just the opposite problem as the other two. Her take on the character was way too much confidence!
Ms. McLuckie wowed us a season or two ago with her exceptional portrayal of Kitty in "The Drowsy Chaperone". While that role is all about "mugging for the camera", her Judy would have been much better if dialed back a notch.
I couldn't help but imagine that the show would have been vastly improved if Ms. McLuckie and Ms. Mathis had switched roles.
The one actor who got the correct mix of technique and confidence was Carolyn Briggs-Gaul as Roz. She stole the show with her strip-tease number on the boss' desk.
It was the show-stopper of the evening!
Despite the problems with this show, the audience (one of the smallest houses I have seen at Peoria Players) gave the performance a standing ovation.
I realize that an opening night audience is probably heavy with friends and families of the performers who felt obligated to give a pity ovation.
However, it drives this theater snob crazy that Peoria Players patrons think EVERY show there merits a standing ovation. This one just didn't.
Anyone who would stand for this production has spent too many hours on the sofa anticipating the antics of Honey Boo-Boo.
.
"9 To 5 - the Musical" is based on the 1980 movie "9 to 5" starring Dolly Parton, Lily Tomlin, and Jane Fonda as three downtrodden office workers who become feminist heroes when they kidnap their mean chauvinistic boss (Dabney Coleman) and take over the company.
The stage adaptation adds musical numbers but follows the movie perhaps too closely, even using exact dialog from the film.
In many ways this sets up a difficult challenge for the actors. After all, Dolly Parton has awfully big ... shoes ... to fill.
There are aspects of the Players production that should have resulted in a fine show, but in the end it simply did not come together.
All the principals have good voices and for the most part delivered their songs well. (Choreography, well, that's another story!)
Rachel Lewis as Doralee (the Dolly role) delivered well vocally but plodded through her numbers with a lack of energy and enthusiasm. The number "Back Woods Barbie" is all about confidence in her identity. It should have been a fun and rollicking number but Ms. Lewis barely cracked a smile and made it seem like a chore.
Kelli Mathis as Violet suffered from the same timidity. Her dance numbers were painful to watch as I could almost see her counting her steps, stone faced.
I suppose this can be chalked up to the direction.
Perhaps Director Nate Downs concentrated too much on technique rather than encouraging his actors to let go, inhabit their roles, and have fun.
The third lead, Katie McLuckie as Judy had just the opposite problem as the other two. Her take on the character was way too much confidence!
Ms. McLuckie wowed us a season or two ago with her exceptional portrayal of Kitty in "The Drowsy Chaperone". While that role is all about "mugging for the camera", her Judy would have been much better if dialed back a notch.
I couldn't help but imagine that the show would have been vastly improved if Ms. McLuckie and Ms. Mathis had switched roles.
The one actor who got the correct mix of technique and confidence was Carolyn Briggs-Gaul as Roz. She stole the show with her strip-tease number on the boss' desk.
It was the show-stopper of the evening!
Despite the problems with this show, the audience (one of the smallest houses I have seen at Peoria Players) gave the performance a standing ovation.
I realize that an opening night audience is probably heavy with friends and families of the performers who felt obligated to give a pity ovation.
However, it drives this theater snob crazy that Peoria Players patrons think EVERY show there merits a standing ovation. This one just didn't.
Anyone who would stand for this production has spent too many hours on the sofa anticipating the antics of Honey Boo-Boo.
.
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