The phrase “Trip the light fantastic” derives from John Milton’s poem of 1632, “L’Allegro:”
Come and trip it as ye go
On the light fantastic toe”
Which means to dance nimbly with fancy footwork. It achieved permanent currency in the language thanks to a popular song of 1894:
Boys and girls together,
Me and Mamie O’Rourke
Tripped the light fantastic
On the Sidewalks of New York.
For me, the word “trip” became more specific when I tried to learn tap dancing from a world expert, Honey Coles.
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Dancing is truly wonderful, whether one approaches it as a participant, an observer (as in ballet) or a columnist sharing favorite dance moments in poetry. And for me, this starts with a brief but beautiful moment in Shakespeare’s “Much Ado About Nothing,”
Don Pedro: To be merry best becomes you; for, out of question, you were born in a merry hour.
Beatrice: No, sure, my lord, my mother cried, but then there was a star danced, and under that was I born.
(Is it too much to think that some Shakespeare-savvy TV producer snitched that line in naming today’s “Dancing With the Stars?”)
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A number of name-above-title writers and philosophers have endorsed dancing as a prime expression of human endeavor. Here are several.
Friedrich Nietzsche:
We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once.
Molière:
All the failures of the great leaders have arisen merely from a lack of skill at dancing.
Groucho Marx:
I could dance with you till the cows come home. Better still, I’ll dance with the cows and you come home.
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More seriously . . . much more seriously . . . our own W.E.B. DuBois wrote:
Art is not simply works of art; it is the spirit that knows Beauty, that has music in its being and the color of sunsets in its handkerchiefs; that can dance on a flaming world and make the world dance, too.
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Among our favorite poets, Emily Dickinson was one who never appeared on stage. Her performance space was the paper she wrote on. And in her imagination lived the excitement and fulfillment of a dance.
I cannot dance upon my Toes—
No Man instructed me—
But oftentimes, among my mind,
A Glee possesseth me,
That had I Ballet knowledge—
Would put itself abroad
In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe—
Or lay a Prima, mad,
And though I had no Gown of Gauze—
No Ringlet, to my Hair,
Nor hopped to Audiences—like Birds,
One Claw upon the Air,
Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls,
Nor rolled on wheels of snow
Till I was out of sight, in sound,
The House encore me so—
Nor any know I know the Art
I mention—easy—Here—
Nor any Placard boast me—
It’s full as Opera—
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Arguably, the most famous dance in all of ballet is the Waltz of the Flowers from ”The Nutcracker.” Tchaikovsky, the composer, was not specific about what kind of flowers he had in mind, but the poet. William Wordsworth, was quite certain about what flowers were dancing in his best-loved poem.
I wandered lonely as a Cloud
That floats on high o’er Vales and Hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden Daffodils;
Beside the Lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:—
A Poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the shew to me had brought:
For oft when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude,
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.
The British poet Henry Austin Dodson (1840-1921) has not appeared in these pages before, but he earns a place for reminding us that dancing and love have close ties.
O, Love’s but a dance,
Where Time plays the fiddle!
See the couples advance, —
O, Love’s but a dance!
A whisper, a glance, —
” Shall we twirl down the middle?”
O, Love’s but a dance,
Where Time plays the fiddle!
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The prominent American poet, William Carlos Williams, wrote a piece describing how he would dance when the household was asleep.
If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
“I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!”
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,—
Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
Williams called his poem “Danse Russe,” and he wrote it just three years after an astonishing and important ballet premiere took place in Paris. Impresario Serge Diaghilev and the Ballets Russes presented “Le Sacre du Printemps” (“The Rite of Spring”) with music by Stravinsky, choreography by Nijinsky, and a riot by everyone else.
Dissonant thumping
And primitive pratfalls
Were answered by stomping
And whistles and catcalls.
Which means I would have loved to be there!
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In Broadway and Hollywood musicals, dancing is paramount, and sometimes memorable lyrics celebrate that art form. Here is a Howard Dietz song from “The Band Wagon.”
Dancing in the dark ’til the tune ends
We’re dancing in the dark and it soon ends
We’re waltzing in the wonder of why we’re here
Time hurries by, we’re here, and gone.
Looking for the light of a new love
To brighten up the night, I have you, love,
And we can face the music together
Dancing in the dark.
And from “The King and I” this lovely lyric by Oscar Hammerstein.
We’ve just been introduced,
I do not know you well,
But when the music started
Something drew me to your side.
So many men and girls,
Are in each other’s arms.
It made me think we might be
Similarly occupied.
Shall we dance?
On a bright cloud of music shall we fly?
Shall we dance?
Shall we then say “Goodnight and mean “Goodbye”?
Or perchance,
When the last little star has left the sky,
Shall we still be together
With our arms around each other
And shall you be my new romance?
On the clear understanding
That this kind of thing can happen,
Shall we dance?
Shall we dance?
Shall we dance?
Finally, I’ve been saving up what to say if ever I were asked to address a graduating high school class:
Now is the time to go out dancing.
You mustn’t deny yourselves the fun.
For youth is a treasure,
Intended for pleasure
And for finding your place in the sun.
Out there a world of dreams lies waiting
And songs that are longing to be sung.
So when life’s reached December
You’ll smile and remember
The romancing,
The taking-chancing,
How you went dancing
When you were young.
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VIDEO. After a call to action from Lord Byron, we visit five dance settings, beginning with a Grand Imperial Ball from the days when ladies and gentlemen all knew how to dance. The soulful fellow wandering through is Eugen Onegin.
Then a synchronized tap dance Irish style, fast and fastidious.
Followed by some slow drag tap dancing. At the end of the line trying to keep up is a chap named Dick Cavett.
And then, a special kind of performing called Adagio Dancing. It features high lifts and air spins. With your kind permission, I would like to introduce my wife, Marina, on the occasion when she and her partner won the national championship on the “Star Search” television program,
CLICK ON THIS LINK FOR VIDEO: TRIP THE LIGHT FANTASTIC
