From a projected book of my verse, here’s a translation of a song by the surprisingly prolific Jules Jouy (1855-1897). The problem was to translate the lyrics as closely as possible, within the original meter and rhyme scheme. It’s a paraphrase, but (I think) comes closer to the original than a literal rendering could.

THE FUNCTIONARIES
(Jules Jouy, 1888)

The man, retiring for the night,
His mellow candle brightly shining,
Inspects the blankets for the sight
Of insects, faithful to the lining.
He beats the bedding, on and by
The corners, where the bedbug tarries.
He massacres, with practiced eye,
A multitude of functionaries.

The woman, baring all her curves,
Explores, with resolute precision,
Her skin, where, sampling his hors d’oeuvres,
A flea lies just outside her vision.
She scans her faultless silhouette
With many muttered commentaries.
Upon her beauty, the coquette
Is hunting for the functionaries.

The toddler shakes his golden locks,
And lifts his hand to scratch within,
For that is where elusive flocks
Parade across his tender skin.
The toddler, with a nervous air,
Complains about his “adversaries,”
And in his thick and curly hair,
He fattens up the functionaries.

Another piece from my student days: a jaunty march for nine instruments, or some combination thereof, made up of ostinati. I performed it a few times back then, especially as a string quartet. Here’s the title page, flute part, and oboe part:

This piece for violin and piano, in a slightly different form, originally served as the overture for “Harlequin and His Master Wed,” the second half of Bill Irwin’s show The Harlequin Studies, produced by the Signature Theater in 2003. I eliminated the drum part, and came up with a shorter title.

My version of the Faust legend is 152 lines, in tetrameter couplets alternating masculine and feminine rhymes. It has a cheerier ending than most; Faust and the Devil get drunk, become friends, and open a bar together. Here’s how it begins. I’ll cut it off before we get to the sex magick.

Perhaps you’ve heard of Johann Faust,
Who got in Dutch when he got soused.
Young Johann was a model student,
Punctilious, humble, pious, prudent,
Who did his work and paid his debts,
Which got him what that often gets.
And so the starving boy’s ambition
Provoked him to become magician;
But, sad to say, his charms and spells
Raised nothing but unpleasant smells.
So, one night as he sipped his Rhenish,
And tipped the bottle to replenish
The sweet intoxicating wine
The vintners make along the Rhine,
He vowed to frame an invocation
Obscene enough to earn damnation…

Drawn from Black Scat’s eight editions of the master French absurdist, this compendium is a sublime introduction to the wordplay and black humor that shocked and dazzled Bohemian Paris in the raucous “Banquet Years.” The READER includes the celebrated pataphysical text “A Thoroughly Parisian Drama”–a favorite of both André Breton and the Oulipians–as well as stories, plays, an excerpt from his only novel, and the classic exploits of Captain Cap and Francisque Sarcey. The translator, Doug Skinner, has added notes and an illuminating introduction.

Available on Amazon; more info at Black Scat Books.

Here, for the holidays, is a song about the many sterling qualities of Santa Claus. It’s also the only song I’ve written in Italian. It begins:

Babbo Natale pranza in letto.
Babbo Natale balla sul tetto.
Babbo Natale evita le frotte.
Babbo Natale viaggia di notte.

Santa Claus eats in bed.
Santa Claus dances on the roof.
Santa Claus avoids crowds.
Santa Claus travels by night.

I was happy to be part of “The Jim Turner Smorgasbord of Koo Koo,” a benefit for Manhattan’s Dixon Place, which took place at Dixon Place on Dec. 1, 2018. The lineup included Jim Turner, naturally, as well as David Felton, Mark Fite, Dale Goodson, Toby Huss, and 2 Headed Dog.

I sang five of my songs: “A Different Point of View,” “Little Two-Headed Kitten,” “James,” “Peepee Caca Fucky Fuck,” and “Ptooey.” The audience was large and enthusiastic, and Dixon Place made some money.

Another piece from my student days: a brief outburst for flute, ‘cello, and piano four hands. I was 17 at the time.

A short trio for flute, clarinet, and bassoon, with a few notes for offstage violin, just to confuse the audience. I wrote this when I was 17; it’s been recopied for legibility.

A setting for women’s voices of a brief prayer by Benjamin DeCasseres: Give me this day a corroding doubt and deliver me from single-mindedness and all faith that I may scan the Centre from each point on the marvellous Circle and scan each point on the Circle from the illusive Centre; and let not my procreating disbeliefs fall away from me, and defraud me not of pain.