Was it Chaucer who said, “Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote / The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote” which, loosely translated from Ye Olde Englishie, means “April follows March in the Gregorian calendar as established in 1582.” Clinical, yes. But you could see that Chaucer was indeed psyched by the season we call “Spring.”
I’ve been known to lose my bonnet over the months of begonias and bloodroots. Was it me who said, “A light exists in spring / Not present on the year / At any other period”? Yes, a little obvious, I know. Now that I look at that again. Yeah. That’s a bit crap.
With the promise of spring comes the promise of good writing. And that excites me. To no end. I believe it was me who penned “If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.” Totally and completely psyched. I mean it. I’m talking like the Zapruder film, where rhyme is the grassy knoll and rhythm is the Texas School Book Depository. Like that kind of psyched.
So, I’m super pleased and in wall-eyed wonder to have been asked by Sir Tristram Stjohn Bexindale-Webb (editor-in-chief) to give a peekaboo of some of the playwrights to be published on The Good Ear Review this spring. You will be seeing monologues by Catherine Harvey (UK), William Cameron (USA), Robert McClure Smith (USA), Taylor Gould (USA), Kevin McCann (UK), Celine Gibson (New Zealand), Lee Sutton (UK), Judy Darley (UK), Lucas Johnson (Canada), Kate Kogut (USA), Katherine Burkman (USA), Ann Harvie (Scotland), and Marjana Cosic (Serbia).
See? Look at her dancing already. Jesus, everybody’s got the spring fever. Did you reset your clocks an hour forward, by the way? If you’re too lazy-assed, get your Irish maid to do it. You don’t want to be all circadianly out of whack. Get with the programme—it’s the mid-19th century already, sugar tits.