BP guest parodist: Some editor at the Anchorage Daily News. (I can't locate his name now. Sorry, mister! Your employer shouldn't've made it so difficult for me to find you again!)
Anchorage Opera's upcoming production of Giuseppe Verdi's tragic romance, "La Traviata," will be sung in Italian with English translations projected above the stage. However, the translation will be in standard English, which might be unfamiliar to many Alaskans. Therefore, we provide this Alaskan English translation following the speech pattern found in the poetry of Robert Service.
The swells of Paree were dancing with glee
In sweet Violetta's salon,
Where rich married guys swilled champagne and made eyes
At mam'selles with virtue to pawn.
Sweet Vi, understand, was a French courtesan,
Who made money by pleasing admirers
With long pedigrees, dukes and counts and marquises,
Who funded her lavish desires.
Her whims, while emotional, were hardly devotional.
She'd tried being good but was through with it.
"Drink up and have fun!" she advised all and one,
And continued, "What's love got to do with it?"
Then she started to hack from a T.B. attack,
The disease that would soon be her doom.
The guests kindly turned, partied on, and adjourned
To a sumptuous adjoining room.
Thus Vi was alone and without chaperone
When in came Alfredo, a tenor.
With his mind on romance, he jumped at this chance,
And declared his intention to win her.
Violetta demurred, "Of sweet talk, I'm cured.
Affection's a marketing matter.
Though your song is divine, take a card, get in line,
And prepare for your young heart to splatter."
But Alfredo sang on till the first light of dawn
Sent the revelers home for the night.
As his song faded yonder, the courtesan pondered
Whether this guy might be Mr. Right.
And he was! So we knew when the set of Act Two
Showed the two of them living together
In a country chateau where, amid Cupid's glow,
They ignored both the gossip and weather.
But to buy foods and fuels, Vi sold all her jewels,
And Alfredo exclaimed, "This is bad!
I'll slip out to town and pay this debt down.
I get plenty of bucks from Old Dad."
And so he was out when Old Dad came about
And cornered Sweet Vi at her table.
"This gives me no joy," he said, "It's my boy --
Break it off with him soon as you're able."
"But I love Al!" she cried. "Need him here at my side.
He has shown me love's not about money!"
Dad passed her a tissue, and shrugged, "Here's the issue.
It's a family predicament, honey."
"His sister's engaged; the groom's folks are enraged
That her brother is living in sin.
They'll call off the vows -- one of their sacred cows --
Unless you consent to give in."
Vi wailed, "What a soap! But a girl must have hope,
So to rescue Al's innocent sister,
I'll pack up and flee and return to Paree,
Though the pain burns my heart like a blister."
So the tale had its end -- till Alfredo got wind
That Vi was back catting around,
Dispersing her charm, a baron on her arm.
He indignantly hunted her down.
They met in the glare of a gala affair,
Where, although he stopped short ofbrawling,
Al waxed vitriolic with insults most Gaullic,
And left Violetta there, bawling,
As you too will be, guaranteed, in Act Three,
Where we find her flat broke and now dying,
Though with symptoms peculiar in a patient tubercular,
Since she just keeps on singing and sighing.
And, wouldn't you know, here comes Alfredo,
With regrets for his previous blindness.
Old Dad's told him all (to the new in-laws' gall)
And he knows now she dumped him from kindness.
In her courtesan's soul beats a heart of pure gold.
Their love they renew and arouse.
Then she dies. And he cries. And the final chords rise.
And it's over, except for the bows.
They'd have lived happy after, with children and laughter
If they'd read Erich Fromm or Doc Chopra.
But this way is sadder, And what does it matter?
You want a self-help book -- or opera?
Stumble it!
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