Euripides – poems 2 die for

PRODUCTION

on the farm,
perforce, we
put our heads together

everything under the Sun
puts is head together

wheels
set in
motion

as
word speads

and Heraclitus of Miletus
stops by

a number of things
brings to mind

solid argument inclusive: that
all is
twice, thrice,
there is nothing that
is not in process

meanwhile (forgive the inadvertent South African
colloquialism) not
back
at the ranch
but in the heart of Johannesburg

they are staging a production
of Euripides’ The Bacchae
have
already
launched into
the opening scene

which very instant, being
in the audience my
mind
thirsting for
ecstasy
veers towards chaos, entropy,
fractal mathematics

as we suddenly welded into one
sift and exchange
that whole Pandora’s box
of memories and
recollections

whispers and ghosts
the very
incantations that
pull aside the veil, strip
off the veneer

speaking for myself
but
perhaps all

hardly able to wait, kill
that terminal longing,
set eyes
upon the mask
that is
dark Dionysus’ face

HERE

it was not a great play

the Danish constabulary
arresting Hamlet’s
uncle
in the final
scene

bringing him to justice
full force of the law

warm
inside we felt
but harrowing catharsis
was what we
paid for

nothing quite like the blood
soaked stage
that marks the escalation
to biblical proportions

full geometric progression
that marks the fulfiment
of desired revenge

likewise
love restored
Othello and Desdemona
working on jealousy and
self image
in partners’ therapy

or Dionysus giving Pentheus
a book to read
about his divinity help
this stupid
fascistic king

better understand
the god of ecstasy’s ultimate
terrible kindness,
beautiful power
(Nietzsche’s The Birth
of Tragedy
could do this well)

but
none of these cut it
none make the cut
regarding what
we need.

the hours spent in the theatre
must alter time, change
our perception

bring us
to the threshold of
apocalypse at the
insane spectacle

such as

is in flood across

the airwaves
.
as is presented here