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What Do We Make Of World Theatre Day?

The stage

Is as bare as my lady’s ass

In his lordship’s bedchamber.

Rough-hewn

In the most knockabout way,

Leaving splinters

In the palace lawns of the imagination.

There’s many a dip ‘twixt the trap and the lip.

It fares little better

Than hastily strewn boards

Covering parched ground,

With barely enough elevation

To keep the understanding masses at bay.

Were one fool enough

To come from out the wings,

And at centre front

Begin a soliloquy about the beauty

Of the wretched arena on which he stands,

To fight the resulting

And justified

Spontaneous combustion,

There would not be found one drop of piss

From any a Thespian’s hose.

For who,

Could allow

This sacrilege to be spoken?

Even the flag atop the pole knows

The magic is not yet arrived.

A stage without commercial trappings:

without solid doors and thick drapes;

uncluttered by pillars and arches,

tables and chairs,

windows and fireplaces;

sans orchestra,

sans balcony,

sans pit.

A stage revealing all its secrets.

Profound as emptiness.

A stage in wait.

For in this world writ small

– as in the globe around –

the audience has nothing to know,

nothing to learn,

until the actor makes an entrance,

prepares to fight past our eyes

to battle with those thoughts

and fears

which lurk in sheltered halls.

What’s Hecuba to him?

Why – nothing.

Merely a name in a script,

A cue at which to turn his profile thus.

It is what Hecuba becomes to we who wait,

that turns the key upon the heavy gate.

~DE BA. UE

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The Winter’s Tale On An Island

I’ve been reading
“The Winter’s Tale”
To Paw, my cat / kitten,
Black as a bear
With one white mitten.
I confess I emote with
Gusto,
Which he likes.
And I growl at the part
[Pursued by a bear]
Which he really likes.
And sometimes I,

(I confess),
G R O W L

Which makes Paw
Spit and bristle
And back up.

He even
– Sometimes –
Looks around the room.

Which makes me call his name,
Which calms him down.

I’m The Lighthouse Poet Laureate of Partridge Island /1821 – 2024 / A lot of stuff have I seen / A lot of stuff to report}

DE BA. UEL

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Buddy’s Ghost Was At The Theater And I Almost Said Hello

I once related the story of seeing my long-dead uncle driving past in a car. A learned, and much older gentleman, told others that I had had the common experience of seeing dead people. Up to that point, I didn’t know it was common. I’m not sure it is, as no one else has mentioned it to me.

But, at any rate, I saw Buddy’s ghost at the theater last night. It still takes me by surprise, though it no longer startles me. And I didn’t say “Hello”, because I thought it would startle the person, dead or not.

And a theater was the right place, for Buddy was an actor. A professional actor in his younger days, with a country-wide reputation. When I knew him, he had settled into being a theater/acting/directing teacher, affiliated with a university. He still did some turns on the stage. His advice was sought. His company was enjoyed. His personality was appreciated. Never boring. Never a bore.

And he was a damn good chef.  And a great story-teller over his meals.

And, at the theater, when I saw his ghost, there was his hat. Buddy could be a snazzy dresser. This guy was a snazzy dresser – stood out in the crowd – though I only saw him but the once. Not unusual that. I didn’t expect to see him again. I never saw my uncle again, either.

And – when all is said and done – I didn’t really have anything to say.

“How’s it going?”

“Well – you know.”

“How’s it going?”

“Well – you know. Much as you expect.”

“How’s it going?”

“You’ll know soon enough.”

I didn’t really expect to be told of Elysian Fields or Thrones of Gold or What is in Shakespeare’s tomb.

So, I didn’t approach him, and say “Hello”. And make him turn around.

And – in truth – a day later, I’m not so sure about the hat.

DE

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