Full as I am with off-the-wall ideas, I copied the following Stanley Kunitz poem off the wall of a subway train in New York (Gilbert, where were you?). It struck me as vaguely relate-able to Gilbert's remarks about the Richard III that more likely was -- from his alternate self's point of view:
My name is Solomon Levy
The desert is my house
My mother's breast was thorny
and fathers had I none.
The sands whispered Be separate.
The stones taught me Be hard.
I dance for the joy of surviving
on the edge of the road.
Sorry about that naughty Monmouth Henry, oh misjudged R III.
Other thoughts on the play? Please?
Ernst
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