Day Twenty two, the Draffin workshop

As a cumulative step our learning, the workshop ended with three nights of “open rehearsals.” The first night was fine, if a bit tense. The second night was challenging for the group, and the third night, the group coagulated into a chorus. And as for my part with the text, it really matured in its own jo-ha-kyu over the three nights. On the final night, I reached a place where I felt- yes, it all comes together:

It began well. The chorus lay still, a field of corpses at my feet as I recounted the devastation of Thebes-

I saw a heifer slaughtered.....her body was a
sackful of filthy tar.....filthy bubbling tar

As I spoke, the air became thick and turgid. You could feel the swollen gaps between my words -

everywhere cattle are dead in the fields.....dead in
their stalls..... in silent farms there are bones in
cloaks.....skulls on pillows.....every gutter stinks
death.....the heat stinks.....the silence stinks

As I walked forward into the aching space, I walked with knowledge of my second night inside me, a knowledge of raw anger that had me clambering across the chorus, up a pole and swinging from rafters.

where are the gods.....the gods hate us.....the gods
have run away.....the gods have hidden in holes
the gods are dead of plague.....they rot and stink
too

How did I get up there? I thought, walking into the studio the next morning. It’s really high. Dust had rained down as I clambered hand by hand, blinding the chorus, who scattered ready to catch me in case I fell-
I now took this strength and put it in my voice. I took that intensity and compressed the space in my walk forward.

“Please don’t side-coach me,” I said to Draf. “I want to take responsibility for monitoring my own voice.”
“No. If you go under I’ll remind you.”

Our eyes locked in confrontation.

“I know when I’m backing away- I want to figure out myself how to recover. I want to take that responsibility on myself.”
“Okay, but if it goes on for too long I will say something-” he threatened…
............................

................................... limbs suddenly go numb
Head begins to pound.....your face flushes puffs
and swells.....you go into a stupor.....eyes come
bulging out

Because of its four syllable units, the Cantonese rendition actually pounds even more relentlessly than English. I love how the rhythm is set up and then broken-

你四肢麻木.....頭昏腦脹... 面紅耳赤 ...又腫又脹
你失去知覺 ....腹部滾火... 眼突耳嗚... 鼻流黑血
你向四壁亂撞 .....被咳声震碎
為咗心涼乜都燒毀 ....尖叫 ...攬石頭 ...飛身投河

The chorus clung to my legs as I waded forward. I strained onwards, trying to drag free of their collective weight. They grasped my hands. I fought tooth and claw. My voice ripped from earth through center as I flung the words across space in primal rage towards the heavens at the gods until my voice cracked and sundered.

God, it was exhilarating.


And now… in the aftermath of the workshop…. lines still hum in my head as I sprawl on the sofa, with my cat warm on my belly. Already my head is planning logistics for the new piece, “Concrete Jungle.” Actually, it’s all logistics right now... I look forward to actually spending time thinking about the piece itself. But I feel good about it. I press forward with the visceral knowledge of an immense capacity for strength and love-

And the knowledge that there are people with immense creative energy, who even as I write, are figuring out ways to build on our shared experience….