Christopher Sheard and Leah Karpal Photo by Nomee Photography

Directed by Christina Casano, Dear Elizabeth features Leah Karpal and Christopher Sheard as the poets on a set by Catalina Niño that is equal parts realistic writers' clutter and an expressionistic journey into their minds. Niño defines two specific areas for the poets on different levels, but she allows for a metaphoric connection in the other parts of the stage, which feature wave-like protrusions of the flooring to suggest the churning Atlantic Ocean and even a rope-and-pulley system to ferry some of the letters back and forth between them.

Casano does not keep her correspondents apart from each other throughout the play, each in their little portion of the stage. Rather, she indulges in the imagined interactions between them suggested by the tone of their letters. Karpal, on a higher level, occasionally comes down to Sheard on the apron of the stage, and he occasionally moves toward her as well. There are also depictions of the (too few, too brief) opportunities they had to be face to face, and the body language between them is perfect: stiff and overly formal in early meetings before they gradually get comfortable with each other, greeting with hugs when they reunite.

This is not a romance, and that is one of the reasons it works so well. Lowell was a serial monogamist, and he frequently discusses his current wife with Bishop, even introducing her to one of them, with whom she became friends as well. Bishop, who was gay, had two long-term relationships in her life, one of which is discussed at length here: a fifteen-year relationship with architect Lota de Macedo Soares, whose death inspired what is probably Bishop's best-known poem, "One Art." The only poem from either Bishop or Lowell to be used in its entirety in the play, it is a heart-wrenching reflection of the loss of her friend and lover.

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

–Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

I debated whether to include this, my favorite example of the villanelle form, but ultimately it seemed too important not to do so. Ruhl clearly thought so, and I completely agree. Besides, I spent almost forty years as an English teacher; I'm sure people considering seeing a play about two poets writing to each other probably won't mind a little erudition.

Both Karpel and Sheard are likable and warm as they create their characters. Sheard has perhaps the harder job, as Lowell, who won two Pulitzers himself, suffered from mental illness (bipolar disorder) throughout his life, and cycled forever between the disease's manic and depressive stages. Sheard plays both equally well, and we feel the pain of this genius writer whose own mind might be his worst enemy. Karpel, for her part, gives Bishop all of the New England intransigence she can while allowing her to grow on Lowell and on us. She rarely smiles, even though her character can be quite witty: this is not a woman used to letting people see her as she is.

Whether you like poetry or not, these are two fascinating people who are even more fascinating together. If you choose to spend an hour and a half with them, you won't regret it.

Dear Elizabeth, a Remy Bumppo production, runs through November 17, 2024, at Theater Wit, 1229 W. Belmont, Chicago IL. For tickets and information, please visit www.remybumppo.org.