Tag Archives: drama

From The Trial of Nesorna

CHORUS:

If far too often fate seems to be fixed
and all for nought, pray you remember this:
of our own choosing are these states of life,
both law and ruler from among us rise.

‘Tis in our hands, that much of being free
oft comes to nil, and so our apathy
determines how our democratic state
enslaves us with its silent, civil chains.

So, those who would be wise kings, please take note:
the clever word defeats the sharpest sword;
for those who rule the soul confine the mind,
and conquer silently the heart and hand.

Democracy holds promise great, if freed,
where liberty and justice count for all;
and though expressive right may tax the taste,
the alternate means none may choose their fate:

To choose the gods that suit one’s path and place,
may in the so-called pious cause alarm,
but free will gives this choice to each alone;
to interfere is to deny a right.

So tenuous is our hold on the truth,
that some may seek to have their will imposed,
and quench the fire in those who disagree,
while wand’ring lost themselves in faithless doubts.

Let not this trembling thought of fate unknown
breed trust in leaders boasting “sacred right”,
or you may silence longing in the heart
for principle, and thus destroy the state.

So stories go, and mine presents a time,
not past, not present, but of both constructs;
A fictioned tale, perhaps, but warning, too,
that our existence faces likewise tests.

For words divine, when jumbled, may distort,
and so confuse the heart and harm the mind;
converting honest fears and hopeful dreams
to damning, pure and simple ignorance.

Maybe a lesson is here to be taught –
that facts can quickly be repressed and scorned,
and that which passes for blessed and devout
may be manipulated and ill-used.

Without a warning, liberties we love
that thrive on the most tenuous of threads
may be no longer granted us from birth,
but lost to mem’ry in chasms of time.

A time when reason, logic and defense,
along with independence and free will,
may lose their place in definition books,
and be unknown to us who live in chains.

from The Trial of Nesorna, Act I, Prologue: Chorus Monologue

1990, 2004

Share This:

The Neighborhood from Otherhood

NEIGHBORHOOD:

Lissen up, lissen up, I got a story to tell
It might sell, it might not; if it don’t, then oh well
but I’ll get right to it, make it understood:
I’m your low-down, funky home neighborhood.

Think somethin’s goin’ on? Hell, I’ve been thinkin’ for years,
and I’ll be sittin’ right here when the last smoke clears.
Get the point? I know every inch of this joint,
and every king of the hill you’ve ever tried to annoint.

You end up disappointed and ya’ll come back here,
thinkin’ you got the only definition of fear
but I was right here waiting, anticipating your hatin’,
race-baitin’, matin’, creatin’ and disintegratin’.

Lissen up, lissen up, now I’ll say it again:
close up your mind against change, and you ain’t got no friends.
Push comes to shove, and you know how the story ends
somebody dies; and it starts all over again.

So here’s the story of a brother and an other:
two boys growin’ up thinkin’ they hated each other.
Who is the pusher, and who is the shover?
Just sit back and listen, and you might discover

somethin’ real, somethin’ to make you feel,
somethin’ as hard as steel; but hold out ’til the final reel
before makin’ your judgments about right or wrong
and judge the singers by the words of the songs;

because who is the weak, and who is the strong
when the river’s still flowing, but the mountain is gone?

1992

Share This:

Antonin Artaud

The play’s the only thing, upon this stage —
the one true line from which all tangents spring;
and if the actors move from joy to rage
in but a moment’s span, or seem to bring

a touch of madness to their roles, perhaps
reel in some strange delirium’s delight,
remember once the curtain’s drawn, these chaps
must face their critic’s mirror every night.

The lines that flow so freely from their lips
leave only bitter ashes on the tongue,
and in love’s arsenal, faded applause
serves as a scourge, and accolades as whips.
No wonder they seem mad and quite unstrung,
and break along their human seams and flaws.

09 DEC 2004

There is in every madman a misunderstood genius whose idea, shining in his head, frightened people, and for whom delirium was the only solution to the strangulation that life had prepared for him. — Antonin Artaud (1895-1948)

Share This:

Hello Dali

cast

andrew wyeth
pablo picasso
salvador dali
georgia o’keefe
francis bacon

THE ACTION TAKES PLACE IN A COFFEE SHOP IN MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE

SCENE ONE

AS THE LIGHTS COME UP, WE SEE WYETH, PICASSO, AND BACON SITTING AROUND A 50’s STYLE KITCHEN TABLE ALONG THE EDGE OF THE COFFEE SHOP. THE WALLS ARE DECORATED WITH KITSCHY ART-DECO TRASH RETRO TYPE STUFF. SOMEBODY’S HAVING AN ART OPENING (SOMEBODY’S ALWAYS HAVING AN ART OPENING SOMEWHERE).

A HEATED CONVERSATION IS IN PROGRESS AS WE JOIN THE THREE ARTISTS.

PICASSO:
. . . you don’t seem to understand, Andy. The world is not completely logical, nor is it able to be represented in non-abstract terms.

WYETH:
That’s all well and good, Pablo, but there seem to be so many quote artists out there that present what I think is nothing more than primer vomit on canvas; when you ask them what it they are capturing, they say, ‘this is a representation of my feelings about being raped by my father.’ You can’t argue with their experience, but is their expression, or rather, their exploitation of expression, valid?

BACON:
It’s all bullshit. You guys are looking for symbolism in a world that is just raw, sensuous image. There is nothing in the world except violence and pain. Pablo, in your work you seem to understand; why is it when you start to explain yourself you end up spouting endless philosophical crap? I don’t think the nose is really in the guitar, but your head is up your ass!

And so on and so forth.

1994

Share This:

Being Thirty Eight

Now that I am thirty eight (just this month)
it’s probably time I got my thing in
gear; or at least to some extent, figured
out what role it is I tried out for, since
it’s obvious at this point that the play
is into its second act, and it looks
like I got the part.

Not too sure right now
if it’s a walk-on or one of the leads,
but I seem to have a whole lot of lines
for somebody who’s just going to die off
in the middle of scene seven or eight.

It’s also not too clear whether this thing
is completely scripted as yet; feels like
a dress rehearsal at times, and then not.

Based on simple math, I can figure out
I’m not the suave young romantic rebel
who’s destined to lose his ideals en route
to some pie-in-the-sky notion of love;
also, the blocking leads me to believe
I’m not looking back and reflecting on
a span of years spent wasted in business
or watching my great beauty fade and dim.

So what’s my motivation, Strasberg?
My inner turmoil seems to be working
itself out; and angst is so hard to fake.

I worry that somewhere deep in Act Five
I’ll be dancing wild jigs across the lawn
and laughing. I’ll admit, not too worried.

It is a damn good part, no matter what.
And my co-stars are a dream to work with.

18 JAN 2003

Share This: