Interesting to read. Cole Porter without music. Much more, then, is being asked of the lyrics, as if what’s on a page is meant as poetry, poetry usually meaning geared mostly for silent reception, or at most for recitation.
So Cole isn’t being taken wholly if taken wholly on a page.
What can be said, weighing him not even against the ‘musicality’ of noted poets – say, Swinburne or Yeats or Dylan Thomas – is this:
He’s educated as much as any college grad I’ve met, and then some. And he’s educated in the ways of the New York high life of his time and of his calling as a sophisticated showman. Does he name-drop? Neatly. Can he be risqué? Mais, certainement! Does he distribute cheer? By the flute-full.
You’ll recognize from their words his classical pieces of The Great American Songbook. Fewer fingers than we have are those that equal the number of masters from whose company 20th Century American popular music was fashioned. Hum the tunes you find called to mind here. Some you’ve never heard.
It’s hard to name anyone half this clever, a quarter as spirited, as Cole Porter.
Feel free not to read this as poetry. Go instead page by page checking the flex of his feminine end-rhyming. This is a guy who knows play. Living can be a game like this.