Ann's Stage

It Was Always Ann's Stage

It was always Ann's stage,
I knew this by her reputation
That it was an audition
When I got her casting call
To come and present my disheveled solo,
And took her notes on the badly enacted episodes
That made up my life in the arts and letters.
She said she would get back to me
But it could only get better,
Once I had done a little re-write
With more proper language
Following her cues to the letter
And annotated receipts.
And it went like this for twenty-one years.
So without apologies to Will,
I shall take my twenty gold stars
And the best charge of my affairs I can
As learned from the greater stage manager.
Our dearest Ann,
Who with wit and irony dismissed all fears
When I found myself apparently
In disgrace with fortune, under IRS eyes,
Or alone in some imagined outcast state,
And she would say, “You should see the other guys
Look at you, you're doing great”.
Every one of us gave up a story.
Her legion of troupers singing our entwined libretto
For which she constantly rearranged the score
So that each part became an untangled scenario
And left with little room to audit
But always wanting a little bit more of her company,
And maybe me wishing like to one more rich.
Ann would say, “You are in life and in love if not in cash
Take that to the bank pal, it's all that lasts”.
I am certainly not the only one to make note
How she closed the house on New Years Eve,
Leaving us desiring more of her art and scope,
To laugh, to cry and grieve.
Still it was her stage,
Her time to leave,
And now with that cherished theatre dark,
We,
Her story,
Her cast,
Her grand production,
Celebrate her gifts to us and then disperse.
And if in this what I most enjoy contents least
And if with these words I find myself in reprise
Of the blues I sang when I met her first
Happily I think on Ann, and then my state.
“Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”

Stuart Cudlitz
New York City
2009

Presented at the memorial for
L. Ann Wieseltier by Julie Chimenti
San Francisico
January 25, 2009

Songs And Poems Index

	It Was Always Ann's Stage It was always Ann's stage, I knew this by her reputation That it was an audition When I got her casting call To come and present my disheveled solo, And took her notes on the badly enacted episodes That made up my life in the arts and letters. She said she would get back to me But it could only get better, Once I had done a little re-write With more proper language Following her cues to the letter And annotated receipts. And it went like this for twenty-one years. So without apologies to Will, I shall take my twenty gold stars And the best charge of my affairs I can As learned from the greater stage manager. Our dearest Ann, Who with wit and irony dismissed all fears When I found myself apparently In disgrace with fortune, under IRS eyes, Or alone in some imagined outcast state, And she would say, “You should see the other guys Look at you, you're doing great”. Every one of us gave up a story. Her legion of troupers singing our entwined libretto For which she constantly rearranged the score So that each part became an untangled scenario And left with little room to audit But always wanting a little bit more of her company, And maybe me wishing like to one more rich. Ann would say, “You are in life and in love if not in cash Take that to the bank pal, it's all that lasts”. I am certainly not the only one to make note How she closed the house on New Years Eve, Leaving us desiring more of her art and scope, To laugh, to cry and grieve. Still it was her stage, Her time to leave, And now with that cherished theatre dark, We, Her story, Her cast, Her grand production, Celebrate her gifts to us and then disperse. And if in this what I most enjoy contents least And if with these words I find myself in reprise Of the blues I sang when I met her first Happily I think on Ann, and then my state. “Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.” Stuart Cudlitz New York City 2009 Presented at the memorial for L. Ann Wieseltier by Julie Chimenti San Francisico January 25, 2009 Songs And Poems Index


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