Fiction, Poetry, and Essays by Waltzers Who Write
1999 Washington State Governor’s Writing Award Nominee


Published by Night Work Press
1999 / 32 pp.
~ price: $12. ~
Order inquiries and email: Night Work Press


« A fine little addition to a dancer’s library »
- Sid Hetzler, Splittree Farm 


You may not remember it, but you started out partner dancing somewhere around the tender age of 8 months. Dancing unsteadily with Mom, in open two-hand position, you studied the one-step-at-a-time. Remember that? How Mom cajoled you along, letting you cling to her fingers? How you struggled so valiantly with the raw technique, commanding leg to go forward like that, foot come down there, like her, see? And how you kept falling down, but wouldn’t give up? OK, me neither. But learning to dance – don’t it take you back somehow?

You think you started learning rhythm in Swing I? O Best Beloved, the only difference between walking and falling down is good rhythm.

	How slowly we learned the One-Step Requirement
	that when we stopped stepping we down in the mire went.
	Again and again we fumbled the beat
	and watched our intentions diverge from our feet.
	Sometimes we "stepped not" when stepping was merited
	and found that the prone, or supine, we'd inherited.
	Or saw a bright gewgaw, tempting and wondrous
	and our feet got excited and ran out from undrous.

                             - from « Essay With Doggerel: A Lesson In Dance » by Bejurin Cassady

 

I had to keep reminding myself that almost all great waltzes, from Viennese epics to Parisian musettes, and even those commercially-inspired pop waltzes from the first years of the Twentieth Century, were meant to be danced first and listened to as an afterthought. The composers set out to entice a connection between two people who had learned to twirl in tandem. Was it not Strauss who wrote, « Connection is the opiate of the waltzer »?

                                                          - from « Note to Walter » by Dean Paton

 

On this particular night there were five minutes left before I had to struggle into my rain gear. And suddenly, they were playing a song from my past. It was the autumn of 1961 and Audrey Hepburn – as the free-spirited Holly Golightly eating breakfast at Tiffany’s – stole my heart on the banks of « Moon River ». Now, hearing it for the first time since I’d learned to dance, I realized it was a waltz. I looked around for a partner, thinking this was one song I really wanted to dance.

                                                         - from « Moon River » by Eric Hutchinson

 

I had the hardest time getting used to the change of position required by leading. It felt awkward to put my arm around a woman’s back and hold out my hand for her to rest hers upon. And you know what? Women who are dancing have sweaty armpits and if you are putting your hand around her back, your wrist is in close proximity to her damp armpit. I was well used to the sweatiness of male dancers, having been dripped on by many partners, but I was surprised to discover that women sweat as well.

                                                         - from « Learning to Lead » by Waverly Fitzgerald

 

Appreciating the expression of the chakras in dancing depends largely on a person’s ability to perceive subtle sensations within the physical body and for some that’s not easy to do. It also depends on a person’s intention. For example, a waltz, which corresponds to the fourth chakra, could be ‘sexy’, which is the dominant characteristic of the second chakra, if a person chose to bring sexiness into the experience while waltzing. However, if no particular intention is imposed upon the experience, then the waltz will naturally find its way to and take comfort in the heart realm.

                                                         - from « Seven Chakras Turning » by Patrick Howe

 

« You walk differently » said my old friend,. « Yes, » I said. « Thank God. » Actually, I don’t walk at all anymore. I strut, I swirl, I swagger and pirouette. I slink.

My friend tried to introduce me to yet another new man. « What’s wrong with him? » I ask. « He’s perfect, » he says. « Tell me the truth now. What’s wrong with him? » « Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s a real dude. He drinks fresh-squeezed orange juice from Waterford crystal. If I were gay I’d do him myself. » « But can he waltz? » I ask.

- from « Night Work » by Jane Candace Bullard