Part III: "Joe Sent M.D.E." at Mercer County Community College - "Hurricnaes" from Elixir Productions Theatre Co. on Vimeo & YouTube
HURRICANES
Soon life's knowing will come.
it will dust the mind like talcum.
Meanwhile, everyone will dream
at least once
of times they tried to run.
but their legs got stuck
in the ambivalence of love's mud,
in the imagination's straining.
Our days are drenched by hurricanes
entering sideways in our minds
with no warning.
It's gray where the thinking thinks,
where the radar blinks.
It's the surge of you
that burns me crimson.
I am asleep, asleep all day,
blood running,
an accident of treason.
((My mother was the one
who laughed from other rooms
while I cried, the division between us
multiplied a thousand times))
You say (and I quote) Don't do the math
(end of quote), italics mine.
(Quote again) just come here (end quote).
So what if I do? I go nowhere with you,
and everywhere.
I am subsonic, plutonic, woebegone,
forlorn, language forgotten, towel shared.
I am scared, scarred, scarlet letter 'A',
hermit, Hamlet, tragic, victorious.
I am soldier, souvenir, medal of honor
attached to your pocket. I am intrinsic,
entropic, order, chaotic,.
limited to this word
I have just finished,.
conception of the infinite.
Masculine, feminine, everything is division;
days, dollars, mortgage rates,
bequeathed estates.
Leave me with nothing
more than your essence.
Invisible lover, indivisible number,
only then will I remember,
remember with my lack of logic.
With you I am myth maker, glass breaker,
soul taker, hip shaker. I am techtonic,
ironic, sardonic. With you I am purified,
pornographic, protean, prolific;
for you I am problematic,
acrobatic. Yes, like I said,
every crevice that cracks in me
I spread for you since that first night.
in my bed when the flash of my life.
turned your blue eyes red.
And so the story always goes
ending before the author knows.
Our days are drenched by hurricanes
entering sideways in our minds
with no warning.
© 2007 Vanessa Daou
Dance is language expressed by the body.
On 'Joe Sent Me', I set out to explore the hidden potential in poetry, the nuances of breath, recollection, regret, hesitation, the illicit, the many shades of meaning of Jazz and its secret coded language locked in its Prohibition-era inchoateness.
In 'Joe Sent MDE', choreographers Janell Byrne and Jody Person explore a myriad of physical as well as verbal murmurings, facial gestures and hieroglyphic movements that combine the contemporary with the historical to convey meaning. One aspect of Joe Sent MDE that resonates so much with my own aesthetic is how their combined choreographed language froths and fulminates but never fully boils over. Like seduction, it's the gestures that are hinted at, the implied movements that hover, the lingering moments that matter most.
About 'Joe Sent Me', I've written: "For me, music is a response to the world, and the voice imbues the words with life and gives them breath. I'm especially interested in the idea of recording as an act of preservation of experience. To be a recording artist is - quite literally - to make a record of sounds, voices, words, and breaths. Every record I create, I plunge into the depths of life in all aspects of experience: sound, images, dreams. Music is a time capsule, capturing, distilling and preserving the essence of what it means to be alive. The role of poetry, of words and language, is to remind us."
The role of Dance is to embody and set into motion those truths that are locked inside of us. Like our imaginations, our bodies can move in many, often opposing, directions: they stretch, stir, stagger, surge; this can be expressed beautifully, forcefully, ironically, irrationally, improbably, impulsively.
In dance, as in life, once a movement is made, it makes its indelible impression in time, space, and in our minds. 'Joe Sent MDE' reminds us that our physical selves are wrapped up in our mental selves, and that each generation holds within it a unique capacity to convey its own set of beliefs, motivations, dreams, & fears, as well as those of the past that continue to cast their shadows on the theatre of our collective memory.
View original post
No comments:
Post a Comment