From my good friend Peter, now of Berlin, come as an email this morning with a Hanukkah gift of a poem. He writes, “Here’s a poem I’ve written to celebrate the blast from the past”:
Are you feeling better yet?
Or are you still the Andy Kaufman
of the “please pity-me set”?
The Illnesses ran from your
head to your toes.
Where the Cancer sprouts up next
Only your little Muse knows.
A pair of crooked canes
and a skip-stagger gait
A tyrannical bark
held every question in ‘mate.
As Actress you excelled
no Pause did you leave.
But on the sanity scale
you were ‘all about Eve’.
We marvelled, we sighed
we shed our share of tears
And you strung us all along
for those many years.
With your mortally important needs
And the fatal threat of any Error
You kept us on our toes
With your pseudo-Medical Terror.
You jumped from high ladders
And leapt before cars.
I’ll bet in ‘007 you even had SARS!
Oh how we wonder at your Thespian skills
Your elaborate diets and your generous bills.
But for us that’s all over, Thank Goodness
Good Riddance, all over at last
And we look back with humour
At your Byzantine past.