Anybody who went to New York City public schools in the forties was force-fed awful rhymed lyrics to such chestnuts as Danse Macabre, in order to provide us with a bit of couth. But I still remember:
The rooster crows at dawn you know,
telling the skeletons where to go.
Danse Macabre by Sant-Saens...
and Macabre was ma-CAB-re. Mrs. Bousefield insisted on it.
(I am also available for readings of Morning was dawning and Peer Gynt was yawning, and Greig was washing his face.. and the lovely tone poem Barcarolle from Tales of Hoffman, written by Offenbach and others. The shit that stays with you for seventy years or so absolutely amazes me.)
|