“Fiddler on the Roof” #everymanplayhouse #liverpool #fab


man and every

woman and every

child and every

mild and every

wild and every

wonderful magician

of music and love and life,

and others and whithers

and thithers and stuffers

and singers do find

this glorious tradition of daughterly

rights and lights and

darks and smiles and sads,

and mums

and dads who only ever want

the best and

the rest and

the zest for the children

in question: those children

who question so much

in youth (and how I do

so love the youth

who youth the questions

the old now prefer to ignore).




And in the end, a life of

thriving and

diving headlong into dreams

and seems

and seams, and spirited

levels of ups and downs,

and frowns, and then of pogroms

and the storms of strange modernity

and the dance of the extraordinary

young people absolut[e], and the

elders who are wisers,

and are driven

to being [re]counters because

the Lord has seen fit

not to bless them with it:

not to bless them

with the empower-

me[a]nt of

a happier wealth, except

insofar as the appreciation

and the sighting

and the seeing

and the being,

and the dancing so proud

and so tall and so loud, and

then those bottles which might

accidental fall, and which

do extreme make


and grandly humour the




goddamn clear.




And sized this wisely as the

smallest of children to the

grandest of

nightmare, and the

brightest of future and the

guarantee of culture, and the

wisdom of nurture and the

lifetime of saying no,

and then the gorgeous

custom of finally admitting yes.




And everything I say above

the scroll

and every

way I manage to describe

these doves of

piece and

meal-broken bread, and the

candlesticking of

mudflinging, and in the end

where I now describe

no pretence of ease, but the

grandeur of emigration

to a promised land where

happiness may be pursued,

and the people and players

and makers and doers

are who we become

that astonishing day we

hit the brand-


Liberty of Statue and the

Island of Ellis: that

portal quite ancient we

ought all to treasure, and continue

to measure as the

sign of our sincerity and the

mark of our humanity.




For the quality, after all, of

any civilised

validity is how we re

fine ourselves through the

poorest in society, and de

fine ourselves through the

awfully, unkindly, smugly






So tell me if you can, dearest

peoples of this land:

when you see and smell and

touch the reality of

Tevye’s lives, and thrives and

survives and laughs and

loves, do you see

yourselves mirrored or

do you see yourselves


Where do you stand when

it comes to the poverty

of thought that

sold and bought does

assign these things still we

call civilisation?


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