(Spoken remarks introducing the 2 poems at a reading-aloud series on 6/22/2000)

This strange creature known as SAGE or SPOTLIGHT ON is a family business. Meaning: once you perform with us, as with any extended family, for better or worse you're stuck with us. Our newest and youngest family member, although he won't get to perform with us, is none the less part of this family.

I was especially devastated to hear of his sudden and senseless death. We had so many similarities in our backgrounds: Jason got his degree in Music, as did I. And like me he ended up in the world of Ballet, and ultimately in Theatre. I had been working on a 1-man show about a 22 year old, which so closely fit him that he felt as if he had written it. He too was a composer, and the first piece he chose to program into a synthesizer was Bach's Little Fugue in g-minor, the very same piece which I chose when learning my synthesizer. The file is still there on my computer, and now it will never be erased.

For me, poetry is therapy - both reading and writing it. It forces the mind into a structure, when all seems like chaos - without rhyme or reason.

One aspect of Jason struck me most: As with many creative people, it seemed he was always in motion.

Moving

for Jason Nabeta

They say that when we're standing still

We're really moving.

And in five directions at once:

Around the world,

Around the Sun, Outward from the shining

Galactic rim,

Then the slow majestic rotation of

The galaxy itself, and

All creation expanding away

From everything else.

It's easy to see in the young and gifted;

Just look at them.

God, if I were you and had

My pick?

I'd take the young, the gifted,

And the good.

Louis Lopardi

6/13/2000

(remarks introducing second poem at reading 6/22)

Jason's instrument was the TROMBONE; although under duress he could play the TUBA in marching band.

The word TUBA refers to a very ancient instrument. Originally, TUBA meant that long flashy instrument announcing Caesar or the chariot races in Ben Hur. Eventually they 'coiled it up' for portability, and it became the hunting horn. But first they simply made it bigger and more profound - giving rise to the TROMBONE, the modern world's most ancient class of instruments. (What we call a TUBA today had a different genesis; it is more like a modern TRUMPET on steroids)

Since written music began, composers have resorted to the trombone family as their heavy artillery when dramatizing great mythological or religious moments. The sound strikes a 'resonant chord' if you will, in our collective unconscious. Whether it is the Dies Irae, day of judgement, or representing the gates of Heaven or Hell or Valhalla, you can be sure the trombone will be doing the heavy work.

And it is always used in the TUBA MIRUM, which is that section in the Requiem mass for the dead, in which the Last Trumpet announces the end of time.

Tuba Mirum*

for Jason Nabeta

I always wanted to play the trombone

Even as a kid I was fascinated.

Dad, there are no keys! Where are the notes?

"That's right, boy, it's not a trumpet.

You go Zinga zinga Zinga with a slide instead."

Older, I learned

This is a magical instrument: It can cry.

Like a violin, it can play

notes in the spaces between the notes that we know;

A magical space - Limitless . . .

What happens there? What are the rules?

I did always love the trombone.

As a choirboy, I longed for ancient sounds:

Tinny, exotic cymbals tingling the air in processions,

Mournful organ pedals moaning the Tuba Mirums.

Older, I marveled

At Montiverdi heralding heros to the underworld,

At Russian Tzars and droning Easter Liturgies,

At Berlioz announcing the Day Of Wrath.

I always wanted to play the trombone.

Will you teach me? Show me the magic?

Like that moment at the peak of a dancer's leap

When weight is suspended and time stands still.

We'll explore many such things: How minor keys

Can be happy, or a bright major key be sad. How

Does music begin - or words fail?

We'll go to Brighton Beach and buy

Russian preserves; From Chernobyl, you say? -

Then we'll watch the bottles glow at night!

And when we've mastered music and dance!

And cherry preserves, and rhythm, and rhyme!

We'll find at last that magical space - where there

Are no rules, no words, or notes, or time.

Louis Lopardi

6/15/2000

*That part of the mass for the dead in which the Last Trumpet announces the end of time.