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Onstage, I was never the ingenue.

quote by Kristen Johnston
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My alter ego is onstage. But it's not really that far from my real character. It's not like a character that I made up to put onstage. It's not me, but it's a side of me.

quote by Nikka Costa
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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(White Man) In Hammersmith Palais

Midnight to six man
for the first time from Jamaica
Dillinger and Leroy Smart
Delroy Wilson, your cool operator
Ken Boothe for UK pop reggae
With backing bands sound systems
if they've got anything to say
there's many black ears here to listen
But it was Four Tops all night with encores from stage right
charging from the bass knives to the treble
but onstage they ain't got no roots rock rebel
onstage they ain't got no... roots rock rebel
Dress back jump back this is a bluebeat attack
jones'in won't get you anywhere
fooling with your guns
the British Army is waiting out there
an' it weighs fifteen hundred tons
White youth, black youth
better find another solution
why not phone up Robin Hood
and ask him for some wealth distribution
Punk rockers in LA
they won't notice anyway
they're all too busy fighting
for a good place under the lighting
The new groups are not concerned
with what there is to be learned
they got Burton suits, ha you think it's funny
turning rebellion into money
All over people changing their votes
along with their overcoats
if Adolf Hitler flew in today
they'd send a limousine anyway
And the all night drug-prowling wolf
who looks so sick in the sun
and the white man in the Palais
But you go lookin' for fun
I'm only looking for fun
oh please mister, leave me alone
and I'm only looking for fun
looking for fun
(breathing)
ow!

song performed by 311
Added by Lucian Velea
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I thought I was going to be a lot more freaked out by being naked onstage. I think on film I would have been more freaked out, because film is less forgiving. But onstage it's lit so beautifully. It would make my mother look good.

quote by Lorraine Bracco
Added by Lucian Velea
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I still get really nervous, though, before each performance. It kind of hits about 15 minutes before we go onstage - sometimes I don't even want to go on. But once I'm onstage I'm fine.

quote by Alison Lohman
Added by Lucian Velea
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Homewrecker

Written by james young, dennis deyoung
Lead vocals by james young
Shes got heavy equipment
Shell turn your head in an instant
She like to rock and roll all night long
Shes a one woman wrecking crew
Playing the part of an ingenue
In your personal tragedy
Veiled in a false innocence, so clever
The poison catalyst of your self destruction
Shes a homewrecker
Like a real steam roller
Shes gonna drive you into the ground
Shes a heartbreaker
A real mischief maker
You know shell walk away & never look back
Just a near fatal attraction
Maybe a psychotic reaction
You just cant stop yourself, right or wrong
Your tangled web of sin
Put you in the state youre in
Trapped by her passionate design
Sentenced to loneliness, forever
Destined for emptiness & down on your knees
Just a near fatal attraction
Maybe a psychotic reaction
You just cant stop yourself, right or wrong
Your minds in disarray, left all alone to play
In the wreckage of your shattered dreams
But can you escape, no never
And there wont be any happy endings

song performed by Styx
Added by Lucian Velea
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I could never play the ingenue, the girl next door or the very successful young doctor. That would be a bore.

quote by Jennifer Jason Leigh
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I spend a lot of time at my son's school and I really wanted to do a movie that the kids could see. The good thing about being my age and not having to be the ingenue anymore is that I get to be a mom. I get to have kids in my movies.

quote by Virginia Madsen
Added by Lucian Velea
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In my fantasies, I always wanted to play the ingenue, but in reality, in my bones, I am so used to playing the grandmother that I don't feel safe or even sure that I can do it.

quote by Camryn Manheim
Added by Lucian Velea
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I've never wanted to be the ingenue.

quote by Debi Mazar
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I've never wanted to be the ingenue. Now that I'm getting into my forties, I think my time as a woman has arrived; I think I might have a new moment in my career. I have that drive left - just for a little while.

quote by Debi Mazar
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ballooning Acrostic 1783

Ballooning hope speeds, seeds scope's light,
All clouds disperse, all fears take flight,
On future graceful places dreams
On past despair trace fades, it seems
Ingenue fair finds fresh delight.

(4 July 2008)

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Ballade at Thirty-five

This, no song of an ingénue,
This, no ballad of innocence;
This, the rhyme of a lady who
Followed ever her natural bents.
This, a solo of sapience,
This, a chantey of sophistry,
This, the sum of experiments, --
I loved them until they loved me.

Decked in garments of sable hue,
Daubed with ashes of myriad Lents,
Wearing shower bouquets of rue,
Walk I ever in penitence.
Oft I roam, as my heart repents,
Through God's acre of memory,
Marking stones, in my reverence,
"I loved them until they loved me."

Pictures pass me in long review,--
Marching columns of dead events.
I was tender, and, often, true;
Ever a prey to coincidence.
Always knew I the consequence;
Always saw what the end would be.
We're as Nature has made us -- hence
I loved them until they loved me.

poem by Dorothy Parker
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Be on your guard.

I do not think there'll ever be
A system that can guarantee
Absolute security.

Of data on the internet
Although it is certain bet.
This statement is bound to upset.

The expert firms prepared to claim
They have succeeded in their aim.
There's other players in the game.

Hackers working tirelessly
are sure in time to find the key
And intrude on our privacy.

Their motivations various.
Not of all of them nefarious
Some few are. merely curious

They have the capability
To circumvent security
And they intend to definitely

If you are wise then you will vet
All contacts on the internet
Cross checking is your safest bet.

Maintaining your security
Is your responsibility.
So when you check, check thoroughly.

Don't trust new friends too easily.
Don't share too much too readily.
Take security seriously.

I cannot tell you what to do
For in the end it's up to you.
To make quite sure their words are true..

Your long term friends can verify.
Your would be friends identity.
Reducing your uncertainty.

If they aren't known to your old friends.
You have to doubt what they intend.
so bring all contact to an end.

Better to be safe than sorry.
They may be hunters seeking quarry.

[...] Read more

poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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We Tried To Make Uneven Pieces Fit

Why can't I say I love you?
Without the previews,
That begin with tests to emphasize...
Your specialty is drama.

Why can't you just accept,
How I feel?
Without the need to see,
How deep you perceive...
A reality you can believe,
That you seek from me to reveal?

Both of us have survived,
Other relationships.
Both of us have said we tried,
To make uneven pieces fit.

And cried our eyes,
Until we squinted to see through slits.
Just to prove our cloudless eyes...
Can and did swell up a bit.

Why can't I say I love you?
Without the previews,
That begin with tests to emphasize...
Your specialty is drama.

With your re-enactments staged...
To portray the wounding done,
And suffered...
By a recovering ingénue?

Accompanied by sobbing...
To express,
'No one really knows what I've gone through? '

I do!

But I am not commited,
To revisit those scenes with you.
With those props to stop a heart,
In mid beat!

Poetically,
I can understand this.
A psychologist,
I am not.

I love you,
Not your past agonies.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The verger

the verger
-amiable
wears a white top
rights the lady chapel

The Catholic priest
- ingenue
Smiles at his flock
Clutches the Silver

poem by Michael Oliver
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American of the Century (for Bobcats everywhere...)

A jackdaw wisdom, tight-lined mouth and hands
Fashioned a diamond gift for the burgeoning culture
Like an alchemist drawing elements from the soil, but not so base.

Borrowing himself from bluesmen, small-town owners of the road,
From Rambling Jack, from Whitman, Guthrie,
Thomas and Rimbaud. And Macon’s finest too. Out of
Deepest Minnesota what would he choose himself to be?
The joker of the pack, claiming his slice of pie,
Convert-rabbi, neo-prophet, passing evangelist,
Unsentimental, unforeseen, unloved romanticist.
Wallflower gazer, laser, thrower of small verse grenades,
Painting threats of judgement in the mirrors
Of the mighty on the stolen hills.

A man too easy to dismiss, if not quite finally –
A contradicted, flawed, sometime-misogynist,
Ingenue, leaping the book from faith to faith.
However, when the time runs down
Those around may still recall all faith is one, a range
Of many a ledge and foothold. For those who have to climb.

Hibbing was once a mining town. Must have had fragments of sharp refrain
Floating in the post-war air, around the ears of teens and babes: Ma Rainey, Mahalia,
Dock Boggs and Robert Johnson, all of the splendid choir. As the ore ran thin
A voice emerged that “could not sing”, against a pounded piano, harp and buzzed guitar.
And hit a chord of confluence that five decades would ring. Would seize
Its moment in the light of centre stage before an avalanche of dross
Would cover it again, but even then, left trace for anyone who cared.

Minstrel tunes, quick river songs. Railroad, fly tree, putdown songs,
Songs of desire, so numerous and singular that none in that haze century
Could interpret their plurality. You didn’t dance
And if you had to learn the words, he offered you good luck.
No marketplace, no double-track, rolling his stone down a single rail.
The first rap: homesick blues. And songs to power brokers
From the highways, blacks and jews.

He fanned the flames of heroes, names among the brave:
Medger Evers, Emmett Till, Rubin Carter, Davey Moore,
George Jackson, Hattie Carroll, Lenny Bruce and Catfish.
He unlocked and protested love, that broken-glass illusion of what little
Might be saved. The light went down, cold beauty fell away, sensibility
Waned. But again it grew with age, thus he
Survives today, not castaway, his vinyl digitized.
You can check the bins and racks:
Data units in the aisles, blood spilt on the tracks.

For you who hire to dull the danger’s edge
And promote disgrace of person for commercial gain

[...] Read more

poem by Frank Bana
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Rigoletto – Mobile Verse Parody Verdi

In this opera by Verdi, with the choicest of libretti
ranging up to alto, down to double bass,
to avoid the nitty-gritty of the plot would be a pity,
so in nineteen stanzas scan the rhymes encased.

Scene is set in some fair city where the search for someone pretty
was the past-time of a Duke with time to waste,
he’s the subject of this ditty which runs true to subject, witty,
wise, and well within the boundaries of taste.
.
Now this Duke had roving eyes bright, marriage ties seemed to despise quite,
all affection had forgotten for Her Grace,
Countess Cipriano one night spies at a party, quickly tries tight
to encircle, during dancing, by fair waist.

Noting, not without surprise where, anger blazing through his eyes’ stare,
the Count in fury fumed at the unchaste, -
she appeared a pretty prize there, perfect in both features, size, fair
and, despite his presence, to the dance made haste.

So the Count became besotto at the ball while most were blotto
when taunted by the jester of the place,
who, by name of Rigoletto did the dirty work, you bet, - oh
adding insult to the injury bare faced.

Through his wit had Rigoletto, using aphorism, motto,
angered every grandee he with wit outfaced,
so the spurned Count Cipriano allied with his friend Marullo
jointly planning jester’s fall and swift disgrace.

For Marullo did discover secret visits to a dove, a
mistress to whose house the jester nightly paced,
when this fact he did unover planned to cary off the lover
and deliver to the Duke her dainty face.

Rigoletto had a daughter, there are many might have thought her
most angelical in crinoline and lace, -
for at church the Duke had sought her and forthwith began to court her,
caring little for her fortune or her race.

Gilda was her name, her mother having passed away, no other
close relation, uncle, brother, had been traced,
Rigoletto tried to smother GIlda’s wish for freedom, lover,
saying in his heart she could not be replaced.

But by opening his purse there Duke bribed Gilda’s worthless nurse, -
woman scarce deserving either trust or place,
thus he triggered off a curse the jealous courtiers did nurse,
leading to the maiden’s murder vile and base.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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A vingt ans

À vingt ans on a l'oeil difficile et très fier :
On ne regarde pas la première venue,
Mais la plus belle ! Et, plein d'une extase ingénue,
On prend pour de l'amour le désir né d'hier.

Plus tard, quand on a fait l'apprentissage amer,
Le prestige insolent des grands yeux diminue,
Et d'autres, d'une grâce autrefois méconnue,
Révèlent un trésor plus intime et plus cher.

Mais on ne fait jamais que changer d'infortune :
À l'âge où l'on croyait n'en pouvoir aimer qu'une,
C'est par elle déjà qu'on apprit à souffrir ;

Puis, quand on reconnaît que plus d'une est charmante,
On sent qu'il est trop tard pour choisir une amante
Et que le coeur n'a plus la force de s'ouvrir.

poem by Rene Francois Armand Prudhomme
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Ecrit en 1827

I

Je suis triste quand je vois l'homme.
Le vrai décroît dans les esprits.
L'ombre qui jadis noya Rome
Commence à submerger Paris.

Les rois sournois, de peur des crises,
Donnent aux peuples un calmant.
Ils font des boîtes à surprises
Qu'ils appellent charte et serment.

Hélas ! nos anges sont vampires ;
Notre albâtre vaut le charbon ;
Et nos meilleurs seraient les pires
D'un temps qui ne serait pas bon.

Le juste ment, le sage intrigue ;
Notre douceur, triste semblant,
N'est que la peur de la fatigue
Qu'on aurait d'être violent.

Notre austérité frelatée
N'admet ni Hampden ni Brutus ;
Le syllogisme de l'athée
Est à l'aise dans nos vertus.

Sur l'honneur mort la honte flotte.
On voit, prompt à prendre le pli,
Se recomposer en ilote
Le Spartiate démoli.

Le ciel blêmit ; les fronts végètent ;
Le pain du travailleur est noir ;
Et des prêtres insulteurs jettent
De la fange avec l'encensoir.

C'est à peine, ô sombres années !
Si les yeux de l'homme obscurcis,
L'aube et la raison condamnées,
Obtiennent de l'ombre un sursis.

Le passé règne ; il nous menace ;
Le trône est son premier sujet ;
Apre, il remet sa dent tenace
Sur l'esprit humain qu'il rongeait.

Le prince est bonhomme ; la rue
Est pourtant sanglante. - Bravo !
Dit Dracon. - La royauté grue

[...] Read more

poem by Victor Hugo
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La Fée Et La Péri (The Fay And The Peri)

I

Enfants ! si vous mouriez, gardez bien qu'un esprit
De la route des cieux ne détourne votre âme !
Voici ce qu'autrefois un vieux sage m'apprit : -
Quelques démons, sauvés de l'éternelle flamme,
Rebelles moins pervers que l'Archange proscrit,
Sur la terre, où le feu, l'onde ou l'air les réclame,
Attendent, exilés, le jour de Jésus-Christ.
Il en est qui, bannis des célestes phalanges,
Ont de si douces voix qu'on les prend pour des anges.
Craignez-les : pour mille ans exclus du paradis,
Ils vous entraîneraient, enfants, au purgatoire ! -
Ne me demandez pas d'où me vient cette histoire;
Nos pères l'ont contée; et moi, je la redis.

II

LA PÉRI
Où vas-tu donc, jeune âme?... Écoute !
Mon palais pour toi veut s'ouvrir.
Suis-moi, des cieux quitte la route;
Hélas ! tu t'y perdrais sans doute,
Nouveau-né, qui viens de mourir !
Tu pourras jouer à toute heure
Dans mes beaux jardins aux fruits d'or;
Et de ma riante demeure
Tu verras ta mère qui pleure
Près de ton berceau, tiède encor.
Des Péris je suis la plus belle;
Mes sueurs règnent où naît le jour;
Je brille en leur troupe immortelle,
Comme entre les fleurs brille celle
Que l'on cueille en rêvant d'amour.
Mon front porte un turban de soie;
Mes bras de rubis sont couverts;
Quand mon vol ardent se déploie,
L'aile de pourpre qui tournoie
Roule trois yeux de flamme ouverts.
Plus blanc qu'une lointaine voile,
Mon corps n'en a point la pâleur;
En quelque lieu qu'il se dévoile,
Il l'éclaire comme une étoile,
Il l'embaume comme une fleur.

LA FÉE

Viens, bel enfant ! Je suis la Fée.

[...] Read more

poem by Victor Hugo
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