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POETRYETC  2002

POETRYETC 2002

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Subject:

Re: A gee-gaw of sorts

From:

"david.bircumshaw" <[log in to unmask]>

Reply-To:

Poetryetc provides a venue for a dialogue relating to poetry and poetics <[log in to unmask]>

Date:

Mon, 21 Oct 2002 20:15:05 +0100

Content-Type:

text/plain

Parts/Attachments:

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text/plain (194 lines)

And this is Episode Two, I don't think I'll insult anyone's intelligence by
saying who are being parodied in this, but again, rip-off though it is it
too is serious.

Apologies for the formatting chaous again!

Best

Dave


THE ROCK GARDEN

Personae: Eneon; Nogniht (a failed anagram); The Voice Of The Dome.

Scene a frozen landscape of tundra under a grey sky. To the left obtrudes
the plastic skin of an opaque dome, its grey matching the sky.

Enter Eneon, a lead hanging from his collared neck.

En.
(distractedly)  Still life. Life still. A wound, a darkened room.
                     A bowl of cherries and grapes. A red story
                     with a green tinge. Nonsense. A table,
                     a heavy fist thumps down on't : thou dost.
                     What was that, dust? Nonsense, talk table,
                     a meal share, grace. That mars not marries with
                    -What? { pauses )

He bends down to a low barrow-like mound, banked with grey sterile fragments
of rock. A minute summit flesh-pink, projects from its far end. Eneon
cautiously extends an arm towards it, sniffs the air with circumspection. He
tweaks the little peak, then squeezes it like a horn.

Nog. (pained)
                   Me nosth, thno, thath hurth, thstopith, thstopth.

En.(to audience)
                  Obviously a connosieur of the fricative.
(to Nog)     Dental, North-West European? Haughty
                  Iberian? Or the glory that was Hellas, alas?
                  Ach, my damn'd head. Thou dost affect. My head.

Nog.         You hurt my nose. Hurt me. You were my friend.

En.(feigns  Was I really? (now pompously) Of what
interest)     nation are you, what affiliation and name?

Nog.         Nogniht is my name, my birthplace, pain.

En.            How int-eresting!

Nog.         You were called -

Voice Of The Dome.
                PEACE.

The Voice rebounds like thunder from the dome, which acquires a pinkish hue.

Nog.(desperate)
                And I was -
Voice (louder)
                                   PEACE.
En.                                            My head. Thou dust.

Nog.(plaintive)
                We were friends once.
En. (dementedly)
                Haven't had such fun in years.
                Not since Margate. Or was it Heidelberg?
                And the prince, he'd say:
Both                                               Very like a bawdy house.
En.           A short board for a soul.
Nog.                                             I have longer lodging now.

En.           Surer than the thrones of kings.
                Thou dost no malfeasance toll nor starv'd affliction
                 whip and goad. The very cherubim that -
Voice. (louder still)

PEACE.

Eneon grips his head in agony.

En.            A heavy fist thumps on't. O my good lord, ha, non-sense,
                 he never our table shared.

Nog.                                                He never came.

En.
Never will.

Nog.          Never cared.

They fall silent for a long time. Eneon looks out at the audience, then at
Nognight

En.            I need to end this now.

Nog.                                             Eneon, I'm scared.

En.           I'll stay here for you, Nog.

Nog.                                                  En, I'm still scared.

En.            The prince's sword, the hireling's borrow'd pride,
                 shall hurt not Nog, who takes the air for bride.

Nog.          You swear?

En. (taps his head)
                   By this empty bowl that holds life still.

Eneon shuffles purposively towards Nogniht, then halts, puzzles with a
dog-like curiosity at the dome. His nose wrinkles.

En.(boyish)     Nog, that half-globe dome thing, wassit for?

Nog.(flatly)     We're not allowed to say.

En.                                                        Aren't we? H'm,
so.

Eneon moves on to the stone-mound and begins to dismember it, delicately,
one rock at a time. Sobs are heard from it throughout, ever more faintly. He
places each stone apart in an invisible square. Eventually, there is but one
stone left. The sobbing ceases. And nothing more bar a nose. He picks it up.
It is made of a malleable plastic like rubber. He pockets it with a sniff.
Then changes his mind and throws it away. He squats down, staring into the
stones and silence. The dome glows, pink with satisfaction.

Curtain. Lights. Quiet shuffling in the aisles.



















David Bircumshaw

Leicester, England

Home Page

A Chide's Alphabet

Painting Without Numbers

http://homepage.ntlworld.com/david.bircumshaw/index.htm
----- Original Message -----
From: "Douglas Barbour" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Monday, October 21, 2002 7:43 AM
Subject: Re: A gee-gaw of sorts


Glad you enjoy the sigs, Candice.

I'm not really that Bleak, & haven't had time to make my way through the
big Dickens' so cant say I was 'alluding'.

And obviously, had no idea that Dave's gee-gaw might be too close to anyone
else's. Though I recognized a generic, so to speak, comedy at work there...

Doug

Douglas Barbour
Department of English
University of Alberta
Edmonton Alberta Canada T6G 2E5
(h) [780] 436 3320      (b) [780] 492 0521
http://www.ualberta.ca/~dbarbour/dbhome.htm

        The blank page
        as merely an interval or
        an intrusion. We could not rescue it

        nor could we huddle, as if the page were
        big enough.
                        Kathleen Fraser

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