when i was cast as hippolyta in a midsummer night's dream i was surprised by her. a prize of war caught in a story of mixed up worlds and raging sexual energy, whose use of language is sparse and deep and second tongued. i needed to know what happened between her and theseus. how did she get here? here's my version of that unspoken tale: written for jy murphy (my theseus) and emilie faucher to notice how lichen and grasses never give up in
despair -1- i was matching my toes to the sounds of leaves. quiet leaves of dark green. huge leaves have a stench. the perfume of bogs. rotted wood. and curls of ferns. audible echoes of creatures. the pulse of beasts all cautiously walking within the emerald mass humid noise. i crept. listening for threat – and – forget in my folly amongst the little stones and half-open debris from oldens long fallen from the centuries. a silent journey where lost thoughts are narrowed to your senses. i topple and balance. leap. and smack the leaves with my hands pushing the palms like springs. coil. rumble. somewhere near. stop. hear. signal. from an animal. behind me like a snail’s shell, my woman clutches and crouches concurrently. surely, the green will cover our spines. no more silent thoughts with the moist ground. i signal. she follows. our bodies tense. searching with our ears. ready to flee or fight if need be. slowly, my women come, smelling the thick palms. thick with dread. thick with the air. hovering. hovering in danger. i catch their eyes and nod. command. come. something is about to happen. we are not prepared for this. my women are not prepared for this…… |
Authorcorey tazmania |