Preterition

The girls – Tink, Zeugma, and Tash – are happily devouring their birthday tuna, and it’s International Workers’ Day, and it’s also the day about which Chaucer said:

The briddes, that haven lefte her song, * *While thei han suffrid cold so strong * *In weeres gryl and derk to sight, * *Ben in May for the sonne bright * *So glade, that they shewe in syngyng That in her hertis is such lykyng, * *That they mote syngen and be light. * *Than doth the nyghtyngale hir myght * *To make noyse and syngen blythe, * *Than is blisful many sithe The chelaundre and the papyngay * *Than young folk entenden ay For to ben gay and amorous; The tyme is than so saverous.

• Hard is his hart that loveth nought * In May, whan al this mirth is wrought; * *Whan he may on these braunches here * *The smale briddes syngen clere.

The birds sing. The cats eat their birthday dinners. And today is the workers’ holiday, as well, a day of rest from work: a day of play. Chaucer, of course, was a media theorist:

How have I thanne suche a condition, That of al the floures in the mede Thanne love I most these floures white and redo, * *Suche as men callen daysyes in our tonne. To hem have I so grete affeccioun, As I seyde erst, whanne comen is the May, * *That in my bed ther daweth me no day * *That I nam uppe and walkyng in the merle, * *To seen this floure aye in the sunne sprede * *Whan it up-ryseth erly by the morwe; That blisful sight softeneth al my sorwe.

The mede and the merle: the space for interaction between God and man. Media. Poetry, as representation, served as medium.

Chaucer’s May is amorous. It’s the young lover basting his sleeves as he walks out the door. It’s throwing away books as work, on this day of work and pleasure. In some ways, it’s Julie Andrews in the Lerner and Loewe that gets such scant appreciation:

It’s May, the lusty month of May That darling month when everyone throws self-control away It’s time to do a wretched thing or two And try to make each precious day one you’ll always rue

It’s May, it’s May, the month of “Yes, you may” The time for every frivolous whim, proper or im- It’s wild, it’s gay, depraved in every way The birds and bees with all of their vast amorous past Gaze at the human race aghast The Lusty Month of May

I like the birds reference (Chaucer again), and Lerner and Loewe clearly knew what they were doing in their comedy-turned-tragedy, despite all the unfortunate critical emphasis on the Kennedys. Camelot is a fine bit of light opera that bewilders audiences because of the shift in tone. May might remind us, for all of our work and celebration of work, for our pleasure, for all our amatory adventures, there’s also what comes after: after winter, spring, and after spring, summer.

And after.