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Light Verse 13: The Spanish Ambassador's Daughter
The Spanish Ambassador’s Daughter
The Spanish ambassador’s daughter has taken the room next to mine. Oh, honor unending! The thought of befriending near-royalty seems near-divine! I hope that the other girls spot her conversing with me. What a coup! Tener amiguita tan fina, bonita, y rica...I’ll seem like that, too! The Spanish ambassador’s daughter is surely my ticket to fame. I’m in her good graces, for cocktail-dress space is the one thing my closet can claim. She’ll visit me daily! She’s brought her vestidos to fill mi armario. Pues me debe favor, which is what friends are for, ¿verdad? No quiero oír lo contrario. The Spanish ambassador’s daughter is juggling three majors. (Such skill!) Compared to my neighbor’s, old Hercules’ labors were nothing. Through sheer force of will she carries a courseload to totter a Kinsey, a Kant, and a Keynes: la psicología, la filosofía, y la economía. What brains! The Spanish ambassador’s daughter is juggling three boyfriends as well. It seems that she studies with each of these buddies, and that’s why her grades so excel. Yet none of her trio has caught her off guard, at that breathtaking pace: la cena con Uno; con Dos, el desayuno; y siempre el almuerzo con Trés. The Spanish ambassador’s daughter can ransack my closet whenever. (It’s now her dominion.) She’ll ask my opinion of this or that outfit, but never can chat, because someone has bought her a ticket to something—a show... un baile...un juego... Con <<Bien...¡hasta luego!>> se va. We’re like sisters, you know. The Spanish ambassador’s daughter is making me feel a bit steamed. I thought she would take me to parties and make me accepted in circles I’d dreamed of moving in. Really, I thought her affection would have to be worth un puño de joya, mas se desarolla así: I’ve a fistful of earth. The Spanish ambassador’s daughter got kicked out of college this week! It seems that her smitten young novios had written her midterm exams. She would speak not a word when she came by and got her lamés. (Adiós, Tutankhamen!) Su crimen...¡profundo! ¡Subirse en el mundo por otros! We’d nothing in common. |
Of all the poems I read this one reminds me most acutely of my testy Victorian hero William Schwenk Gilbert. If Sullivan were alive he’d come up with one of his tunes. Of course – as far as I know – neither of them had the Spanish, though Gilbert made a bit of Italian go a long way in The Gondoliers.
I don’t have the Spanish either so I have to guess at these bits, though most of it really isn’t too hard to guess and we oold peple need a bit of a challenge to keep our brains in order. It’s a matterof the synapses firing, don’t you know? I think the turn, if that’s what you call it, in’I’d dreamed/ of moving in’ is a tad awkward. I’ve tried to imagine singing it and I think it would be difficult. Janet, we need your expert opinion on this. It is quite LONG for a bit of light verse, but it trips along so aweetly that I can forgive it getting onto a third page. What it has is CHARM. It is charming. That counts for much. Or I think so. PS I haven't got the italics in. I'll come back and fix that. |
Leonard Bernstein could have set it and that wonderful performer Patti Lupone could do it:
http://www.dating72.com/xem_phim_onl...eo/ms9-9BDOAQQ Hope that works. |
Did Stephen Sondheim enter? This is wonderful - my favorite. Have to leave now - will be back to comment more. Hooray.
(One nit - many of the Spanish phrases should be in italics. Check it out, John - the italics may have been lost in transmission.) |
This looks like a lot of fun for those who know Spanish. I like the English parts very much and I can make some guesses at the contents of the Spanish parts, but I don't know how to pronounce them, so I can't really hear the meter in my head when I get to those parts. I am also missing some of the jokes. The English parts are handled very well, and I can pick up the arc of the story, even if I feel a bit left out.
Susan |
A lot of fun. More Praed than Gilbert, I think.
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Apologies to the poet, but this is so bad that's it's almost funny. The meter is a disaster. The strange enjambments, the poor sense of line and poor pacing destroy the anapestic flow and instead create a halting, stuttering one.
I don't mind the Spanish phrases, though of course it makes me wish I knew Spanish. The story doesn't charm me, unfortunately, so there isn't much to make up for the technical problems. I have absolutely no idea who wrote this, but I'm sure they're capable of better. |
I like this a lot. I get the basic meter of the song (for it's a song at heart) in the first stanza, and after that I'm completely willing to promote and demote as needed, and I didn't find much need. The songness explains why "integrity of line" is beside the point and enjambments are not a worry.
I have only a year of high school Spanish from forty years ago; that's all one needs. It's got a story, and it's got the basic human foibles that light verse requires. |
What Petra said. This goes over like a lead balloon.
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Quote:
Metrical justifications aside...I like this piece for its upbeat, irreverent nature. True, I don't know Spanish and a basic understanding of that language would probably help me a bit...but like John says, it's not really necessary. You catch the spirit, and you assume that the poet just said something witty that went along with the fawning-to-jilted feel of the stanzas. Also like John says, I do think the change from fawning to jilted could use some work. There could perhaps be another stanza that shows the Spanish Ambassador's daughter's true colours, and how it affects the N. Overall, this will probably be in my top three come voting time. It's a delightful poke at the need for some people to tear down their idols once their humanness peeks through. Edit: I cross-posted with Maryann, and she sums up my thoughts perfectly: it's a song at heart. Think of the meter in those terms. |
I read it as a song lacking only its score. Whoever dun it, pls write the entire operetta and send me tickets for opening night. Center orchestra, please. Remember, I believed in you when no one else did. (Well, anyway I like it more than anyone else so send me the free tickets.)
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Big yawn. Barely got past the first lines. Couldn't finish it.
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I didn't really say that I think it's vital and funny because I was too busy looking for Patti Lupone. As an old purveyor of Rossini's funny patter songs I sense that it is eminently singable.
Maryann said most of what I would say. |
Except for the references to Kinsey, Keynes, and women attending college, this could have been written in the early 19th Century—or earlier. I wish the voice were more contemporary, more ironic.
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I made this one my first choice because it was so much more than just a collection of jokes. The language sparkled, the introduction of Spanish at the tail of each stanza added verve, many of the rhymes were elegant - and the poem developed an actual story line that unrolled as it went along. This one works, and works well, in many ways and on many levels.
Nits and suggestions? The meter seemed rough in a few places. And I think a cruder, beginner's Spanish (I'm not sure, but the Spanish in the poem seems reasonably sophisticated) would have been more suitable for the naive narrator. |
Some of the metrical bumps may exist only for Americans, who tend to add syllables to words like "juggling" and "cocktail". Even so, it could be smoother.
OTOH, it's a difficult form (this is a figure skating competition, isn't it?), and there's more to it than meter. Some good rhymes and clever little touches. Just needs a bit more work. |
Well, she was fun at the beginning, but she just danced away again, didn't she? I enjoyed the visit, while hoping for more bravura fireworks. surely they might be had, were she to make a return visit.
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I agree with Cantor's assessment, but not the suggestion about dumbing down the Spanish. Naivete doesn't preclude intelligence or application, and the choice would be limiting.
My nit: the homophonic rhyme -khamen/common weakens the ending a tad. |
Thanks for your interest in this one! (I’m particularly grateful to those who didn’t like the poem and took the time to explain why). Below is a revised version with more of the metrical bumps smoothed out, and a somewhat-simplified version of the Spanish (with translation provided). And as promised on the results thread, here’s the backstory:
When I was a freshman at the University of California at Berkeley in the late 1980s, I was astonished to find that a significant number of my female dorm-mates were still quite unapologetic about coming to college mainly to pursue an Mrs. degree—preferably by snagging a husband who would have a career in politics, which is where the real money is. Appropriately for this 1950s mindset, a vast array of stylish cocktail dresses was still obligatory for coeds who intended to marry a future governor or senator. I never attended any sorority or fraternity events myself, and those who did so might say otherwise; but I got the distinct impression from my class-conscious roommate and neighbors that a girl couldn’t just show up to the schmooze-fests of the better Greek houses in overly-casual attire. (After all, you’d be seen there by the youngest generation of the most important families in business and politics—i.e., potential husbands, and people who could make or break that husband’s later career.) And you certainly couldn’t show up in whatever designer number you had worn to any of the TEN PREVIOUS sorority or fraternity events, or they’d suspect you didn’t really belong in their social circle. Hence the closet space crisis...on which I clumsily tried to capitalize when I discovered that my next-door neighbor was a quasi-celebrity. My boyfriend at the time, whom I’ll call Tom, clued me in to the fact that my illustrious neighbor was dining alone with one or another of the three same guys at nearly every meal. It was he who nicknamed them Número Uno, Número Dos, and Número Tres. I thought that the flurries of public cheek-kissing she lavished on them were mere Continental politeness; she certainly didn’t act as if she were trying to get away with anything improper. But even I had to admit that none of these three “boyfriends” seemed to know that the other two existed, and that all three were obviously head-over-heels in love with her. Tom claimed that he saw Números Tres and Uno pass each other in the hallway almost every day (as Uno was on his way to a study session with her and Tres was just leaving one), yet these two guys never showed the least recognition of each other—no eye contact, no visible effort to avoid eye contact, nothing. My boyfriend was endlessly fascinated by the possible implications of her apparent “boyfriend-juggling.” (A little too fascinated. Our own relationship didn’t last long, because Peeping Tom was endlessly fascinated by other women. But that’s another poem.) On re-reading my twenty-three-year-old original this August, I finally saw the irony of my self-righteously damning someone for "using others to get ahead in the world," when I had intended to make similar use of her, but was just too inept to succeed. Hence the ironic identity rhyme on "We had nothing in common" in the completely fictional final stanza. Yes, completely fictional. So far as I know, my amazing next-door neighbor never did get caught doing anything she shouldn’t have been doing; and she was brilliant enough that it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that she DID graduate with honors in all three majors, on her own merit, though I never heard anything about her after our freshman year. (That’s not strange, as it was a big campus.) She’s probably a major political figure somewhere in the world now, and someone I really shouldn’t be so foolish as to risk annoying. But I’m not too worried. I assume that I am as far beneath her notice now as I was then. One of the headaches I had with the Spanish verse is the mandatory elision of neighboring vowels (including diphthongs and vowels separated by h). So, what looks like a gazillion Spanish syllables in a line actually gets trash-compacted into seven, eight, or nine, depending on the meter of the English line to which it corresponds. (I did cheat a little in one of the lines by putting punctuation between two vowels I wanted to keep separate.) Again, thanks for your interest, and helpful comments. The Spanish Ambassador’s Daughter The Spanish ambassador’s daughter .....has taken the room next to mine. ..........Oh, honor unending! ..........The thought of befriending .....near-royalty seems near-divine! I hope that the other girls spot her .....conversing with me. What a coup! ..........Tener amiguita ....................................To have a little friend ..........tan fina, bonita, ....................................so refined, pretty, .....y rica means I’m someone, too! ....................and wealthy The Spanish ambassador’s daughter .....is surely my ticket to fame. ..........I’m in her good graces, ..........for cocktail-dress space is .....the one thing my closet can claim. Our friendship was sealed when she brought her .....vestidos to fill my armario. ............................dresses........wardrob e. ..........Me debe favor— .........................................She owes me a favor— ..........what friendships are for! .....(Es tonto decir lo contrario.) ...................................(It’s stupid to say otherwise.) The Spanish ambassador’s daughter .....can juggle three majors with skill. ..........Compared to my neighbor’s, ..........old Hercules’ labors .....were nothing. Through sheer force of will she carries a courseload to totter .....a Kinsey, a Kant, and a Keynes: ..........la psicología, ..................................psychology, ..........la filosofía, .....................................philosophy, .....y la economía. What brains! ...................and economics. The Spanish ambassador’s daughter .....is juggling three boyfriends as well. ..........Intently she studies ..........with each of these buddies, .....and that’s why her grades so excel. Not one of her tutors has caught her .....distracted, in spite of the pace: ..........la cena con Uno; ..............................supper with One; ..........con Dos, el desayuno; ......................with Two, breakfast; .....y siempre el almuerzo con Tres. ..............and always lunch with Three. The Spanish ambassador’s daughter .....can ransack my closet whenever. ..........(It’s now her dominion.) ..........She’ll ask my opinion .....of this or that outfit, but never can chat, because someone has bought her .....a ticket to something—a show... ..........un baile...un juego. ...................................a dance...a game. ..........Con <<Bien...¡hasta luego!>> ...............With “Well...see you later!” .....se va. We’re like sisters, you know. ...............she goes. The Spanish ambassador’s daughter .....is making me feel a bit steamed. ..........I thought she would take me ..........to parties and make me .....accepted in circles I’d dreamed of moving in. Truly, I thought her .....affection would have to be worth ..........un puño de joya, ...................................a jeweled cuff (or a handful of jewel), ..........mas se desarolla ....................................but it turns out .....así: I’ve a fistful of earth. ................................like this: The Spanish ambassador’s daughter .....got kicked out of college this week! ..........It seems that her smitten ..........young novios had written ............................boyfriends .....her midterm exams. She would speak not a word when she came by and got her .....lamés from me. (¡Chao, Tutankhamen!) ........................Ciao (Bye) ..........Qué vicio profundo: .................................What depths of vice: ..........¡subirse en el mundo ................................to climb in the world .....por otros! We’d nothing in common. ....................by means of others! |
Congratulations again for winning the popular vote, Julie. It’s especially cool since you recently won the translation bake-off (I hope you send something to Deck the Halls and go for a grand slam!). Thanks for giving us the story behind this poem.
I have to apologize for the way I worded my earlier comment. This isn’t a workshop, so I don’t want to say too much, but I do want to point out that it wasn’t the meter per se that I couldn’t grasp; yes, I could see a few bumps here and there, but they weren’t a big issue. But I always think of meter as more than just the correct number of beats in a line; I felt the meter was working against the line and the content, and consequently it didn’t work for me. I know somebody out there is going to think I want everything end-stopped, but that’s not what I mean. Instead, it was very much about the types of line-breaks, the pacing, caesuras. The first stanza worked for me, but there was always something in the other stanzas that made me lose the meter (rhythm). This stanza (part of it) is the one that best exemplifies what I mean: The Spanish ambassador’s daughter .....is making me feel a bit steamed. ..........I thought she would take me ..........to parties and make me .....accepted in circles I’d dreamed of moving in. Truly, I thought her .....affection would have to be worth Anyway, most people didn’t have any problems with the meter so clearly you don’t need to change your line-breaks. It may also be that I don’t read enough poems with anapestic meter, and that these kinds of breaks are more common than I’d expect. Cheers |
No apologies necessary, Petra! John also singled out the enjambments and caesuras in the same part--specifically, "in circles I'd dreamed/ of moving in"--as feeling awkward and out-of-kilter; and plenty of other folks mentioned that they repeatedly felt off-footed. So your objections are legitimate, and I clearly have some more tinkering to do.
The Bake-off would lose much of its value if it became nothing but a praise party, with negative reviews viewed as inappropriate. We're all here to learn what works and what doesn't! [Edited back to say]--Limericks have an invisible pause at the end of lines 1, 2, and 5--the equivalent of an extra anapest--and I guess I was expecting people to recognize the limerick pattern and take this extra foot of silence into account regardless of enjambment across those spots--just as people do for more traditional limericks. (Granted, my stanzas aren't truly limericks, since I've doubled the line count and changed the rhyme scheme...but I never guessed that enjambments across those invisible feet might cause some folks to omit those pauses entirely. Clearly, I was wrong!) |
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