Ben Greenman

Aaron Diskin and Annette Ezekiel Kogan perform FRAGMENTS FROM JEANNETTE! THE MUSICAL

Aaron Diskin and Annette Ezekiel Kogan give a rousing singalong performance for Ben Greenman’s musical fragment at the American Folk Art Museum on March 5. Watch the (low quality) video of their (high quality) performance here, read Ben Greenman’s lyrics below, come back soon for an Mp3 of the song, and check out other performances from the event here.


FRAGMENTS FROM JEANNETTE! THE MUSICAL

This musical was written as a tribute to the June 1881 sinking of the USS Jeannette, which was seeking passage to the North Pole through the Bering Strait. It was originally published in the New York Herald—whose publisher, James Gordon Bennett., Jr., owned the Jeannette and co-financed the expedition—in 1891, to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the tragic event. Unlike my more modern musicals, this one was written in the fashion of a Harrigan/Hart production; in fact, a critic at the time suggested that Harrigan play the role of the sailor, and that “seafaring is not so distant from The Mulligan Guards’ Surprise as one might imagine.” Because the musical itself was long—more than five hours—I have chosen to reproduce only its centerpiece, the mournful, jaunty “Sailor’s Overture.”

[The ghostly figure of a SAILOR appears. Icicles hang from his beard.]

SAILOR

The HMS Pandora
Her name contained a warning
Perhaps we should have heeded it
And avoided needless mourning

A few years after she was built
James Gordon Bennett, Jr. bought her.
From Le Havre to San Francisco:
That was where he brought her.

Bennett was a wild man
A rich man who lived fast
He published New York’s Herald
His fortune was quite vast

He paid for great adventures
He was a roguish dreamer
He placed his money and his trust
In this bark-rigged steamer

He renamed it the Jeannette
And said he couldn’t wait
To sail up to the North Pole
Via the Bering Strait

CHORUS
A ship can sail
A ship can float
A man can live
Aboard a boat
A man can live
Upon the sea
But all men die
Eventually › Continue reading

Tags: , , , ,

Sunday, March 14th, 2010 Aaron Diskin, Annette Ezekiel Kogan, Authors, Ben Greenman, Musicians, Objects, Shipwreck Comments Off

Mysterious Goo, Immune to Diseases, by Ben Greenman

“Except for waist-bands, forehead-bands, necklets, and armlets, and a conventional pubic tassel, shell, or, in the case of the women, a small apron, the Central Australian native is naked. The pubic tassel is a diminutive structure, about the size of a five-shilling piece, made of a few short strands of fur-strings flattened out into a fan-shape and attached to the pubic hair. As the string, especially at corrobboree times, is covered with white kaolin or gypsum, it serves as a decoration rather than a covering. Among the Arunta and Luritcha the women usually wear nothing, but further north, a small apron is made and worn.”

— W. Baldwin Spencer and Francis James Gillen, “The Native Tribes of Central Australia,” 1899

This description never fails to fill me with a mixture of longing (for the frank and carnal descriptions of the indigenous peoples) and boredom (I cannot abide the implication that it took two men to write that paragraph). But I do not want to remain focused too narrowly on those Central Australian women and the fur-strings that are fanned and attached to their pubic hair. Instead, I would like to turn to Spencer and Gillen, the two men responsible for this bit of informative, if somewhat wooden, prose.

As any student of Australian anthropology knows, Spencer was a principal of the Horn Expedition in 1894.  The expedition, the first to make a comprehensive attempt to understand Australia’s interior, left by train from Adelaide, proceeded to the railhead at Oodnadatta, and then left the tracks for camelback. The brave men of the Horn Expedition, Spencer among them, spent time in the Finke River basin, the Macdonnell Ranges, and Alice Springs. “It is beastly cold and beastly hot,” he wrote home to his elder brother, “sometimes simultaneously. In last evening [sic], I witnessed a buzzing bug the size of a dingo land upon the back of a wallaroo and drain the poor thing of its very vitality.” Spencer was prone to exaggeration.

Gillen was not. He was the more cautious of the pair, submissive and romantic. Though he was Spencer’s senior by five years, he was merely an assistant on the 1894 expedition. Following that journey, the two men struck up a friendship that blossomed into a professional relationship, and they soon collaborated on “The Native Tribes of Central Australia,” which was published in 1899, and from which the description above is drawn. I have been told by anthropologists that “The Native Tribes of Central Australia,” which runs to more than six hundred pages, contains valuable insights into initiation rituals, sun and moon myths, and the Witchcetty Grub Totem. I must believe them, as I have no desire to investigate for myself.

› Continue reading

Tags: , ,

Ben Greenman at Underwater New York launch

Ben Greenman reads his story, Wet Work, at the launch party for Underwater New York. Wet Work was inspired by the object “bodies,” and is set on a party boat much like the Lightship Frying Pan, site of the UNY launch.

Ben Greenman at Underwater New York launch from Underwater New York on Vimeo.


About the Author


Ben Greenman is an editor at the New Yorker and the author of several books of fiction, including Superbad, A Circle Is a Balloon and Compass Both, and the recent novel Please Step Back. He lives in Brooklyn.

Tags: , , , ,

Wet Work by Ben Greenman

Water is not simply a beverage, not simply a medium in which to swim or shower, and it is one of the egregious errors of our thinking to limit the role of this miraculous substance based on function, and in doing so to deny its ability to define, energize, and sanctify our daily lives.

Jason Santorini, having made this point in an interview, elaborated upon it in his journal.

“We are hell-bent on thinking of water at something at the end of a hose, or the leavings of a faucet, or what the sky deposits when it is displeased, or what fish are wont to soil,” he wrote, “but we do not admit the degree to which it is our parents, grandparents, and stern uncle all rolled into one miraculous molecule, an atom of oxygen sentinelled by two of hydrogen, in the fashion in which a certain cartoon mouse’s head was sentinelled by his two ears.”

In fairness, Santorini had been institutionalized since 1982, the year before this entry was written, and before that he was better known as a surrealist painter than a rigorous thinker in science or philosophy.

All the same, though, Santorini was especially conversant with the magical properties of water prior to his hospitalization.

“Water is in us all,” he wrote in 1978, “if we are fruit.”

This remark was taken as a joke in the spirit of one of his paintings or, at best, a glib comment on the rumors of Santorini’s bisexuality, but it was also a form of prophecy.

Scant months after writing that sentence, he met Sylvia Benton.

Benton was an apple heiress—her grandfather had hybridized several varieties and found his way to a large green specimen he called the “fantasmo.”

His name was Sylvio Antonelli, though he later Americanized it to Sam Benton and made millions from his fantasmos and their cousins: the brillantes, the ancoras, the saporitas.

His son, Jefferson Benton, was a responsible businessman who perished in a seaplane crash just off the West Twenties in his late forties, the result of which was that his granddaughter, Sylvia Benton, inherited the apple fortune when she was nineteen.

“That’s lots of high heels, cocaine, and rock-and-roll records,” she told a magazine columnist, who had the good manners to add that she “threw back her head (and the coppery red hair that was overgrown on top of it) and laughed.”

› Continue reading

Tags: , , ,

Navigate UNY Stories by Map -

Subscribe to Surfaced

Bi-monthly featured stories, & notification of upcoming events

* = required field