Reciting Vachel Lindsay at the Old State Capitol

Old State Capitol Building, Springfield, Illinois, September 10, 2011

Anyone who memorizes poetry to recite, instead of reading it well from a piece of paper, like a tight rope walker who works without a net, has no excuse for flubbing a line in public sharing. Reading a poem well from a page is far preferrable to reciting and leaving out a line or — worse — leaving character or mood of delivery when recovering from a flub that should not have happened. Getting ready to recite during Art In History Day at the Old State Capitol in Springfield, Illinois September 10, I prepared also to stay in FIRST PERSON MODE, as though I were Vachel Lindsay; the way Hal Holbrook “was” Twain and James Whitmore “was” Truman. For the first time as a reciter of Vachel I would dress for the role.
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The only poem that really concerned me was Vachel’s “The Kallyope Yell.” It’s been about three years since I’ve recited it at all, and my challenge was nailing a series of sounds, a series that builds to a climax at the end of the poem. Here is the first
“I am the kalliyope, kallyope, kalliyope.
Hoot toot, hoot toot, hoot toot, hoot toot
Willy willy willy wah HOO!
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the second
“I am the kallyope, kallyope, kallyope
Hoot toot, hoot toot, hoot toot, hoot toot,
Willy willy willy wah HOO!
Sizz, fizz.”
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the third
“I am the kallyope, kallyope, kallyope,
Hoot, toot, hoot, toot,
Whoop whoop whoop whoop
Willy willy willy wah HOO!”
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and the fourth and final
“I am the kallyope, kallyope, kallyope
Tooting hope, tooting hope, tooting hope, tooting hope
Willy willy willy wah HOO!
Hoot, toot, hoot, toot, hoot, toot, hoot, toot,
Whoop whoop, whoop whoop,
Whoop whoop, whoop whoop,
Willy willy willy wah HOOl
Sizz, fizz.”
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Anyone who has ever heard middle school students read aloud from a book in class (as I did for eight years as a substitute teacher, knows that punctuation has followed livery stables, spinning wheels, passenger pigeons. . . . and moderate Republican leaders . . . . . into extinction. Vachel’s poems — and many other poets including some by authors who remain alive today, use punctuation as a guide to readers. Punctuation is a beautiful thing, especially to writers whose message is more important than the haughty ahtsy-fahtsy tool that leaves it out. Vachel understood punctuation, but seldom have I heard a reader or reciter share a Vachel poem as though they even were aware of it. Delivering in a way that follows punctuation is as essential as maintaining original text, or text encountered in later revisions/editions by the author. And nailing that aspect of Vachel’s wonderful poem as a major goal for my Saturday recital.
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THAT goal was achieved. I began at 2:13 with “The Dream of All the Springfield Writers,” followed with “The Broncho That Would not Be Broken,” “The Mouse that Gnawed the Oak Tree Down,” “The Kallyope Yell,” “On the Building of Springfield” and concluded with “What the Sexton Said.”

Job Conger reciting Vachel Lindsay, Old State Capitol Building, Springfield

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One thing I was ready for: reciting no more than 20 minutes. I brought a small, battery-powered timer with large numbers which I glanced at occasionally during my presentation.  Holding to the proscribed time allowed me to show my respect for the event organizers and for the person who invited me to recite. That went well. Though late out of the starting gate, I spoke for the allocated number.
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Two things I wasn’t prepared for — and I should have been ready for one of them, having performed at Lincoln Home Visitor Center a number of times — were 1. No one gave me an introduction. Tom Irwin and Teresa,

who had played and sung for an hour (and very well, as well) told those in the restored Illinois State Senate Chambers that I would be following him. There was a “town crier” who announced my scheduled performance as Tom and Teresa finished.
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Unexpected Number 2: I had intended to say every word “as Vachel Lindsay” but I had to explain myself for a few minutes firest. It was like saying “Hello everyone, today I’m going to be an oak tree. Okay, now I’m an oak tree.” I found it hard to stay in character as audience members arose and left the Chambers and others wandered in. And attention distracted by that kind of fumbling around, in and out of character embarrassed me.
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Reciting poetry while embarrassed compromises my success.
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It didn’t compromise things much. If I could have had a “do over,” I would have repeated “The Kallyope Yell.” My major goal — getting the sounds out correctly — was accomplished, but I had a significant lapse in pace as I moved from part one to two, pretended (in character) to deliberately be putting on the brakes while closing eyes and adjusting stance to suggest a “pensive, soulful retarding” — which at that point in the poem made as much sense as a an octopus speaking Portuguese — and resumed the pace in four muddy lines.  I had tripped on the tight rope without a net below, but I succeeded before losing contact in pulling myself back upright and continuing — shaken but not stirred — to the destination, the poem’s final “sizz, fizz.”
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All in all I was happy to have been there. I believe people heard Vachel as they have never heard him before, many in the audience learned more about him than they knew coming in, and I served my art and the event with what I did there September 10.
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A poet can’t ask for better than that!
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Live long . . . . . . . . . . and proper.