“The Bitch has to go!”
You angrily proclaim.
“The Bitch MUST go,
only one of us must remain.”
“The Bitch (as you so phrase) stays!”,
I angrily say.
“That Bitch, my Mistress
has long helped me out of my malaise.”
During those long dark days,
when 20, I turned, She was there
to spur me on, to better,
There, during those long lonely walks
in an uncaring city, on feet of clay
laden with self-doubt and despair,
She was there to show me the way.
On the bridge over the river Avon,
as I peered hopelessly at the shallow
water below me; ‘stop your cravin’’
She sternly said. “Mellow, man, mellow!”
On dark lonely nights
when give up I might,
She whispered in my ear,
“come hither, come here!”
She led me to the lights,
burning bright: row upon row,
mounted high above: just waiting,
waiting to light up and glow.
The stage on which I strode,
lifted my head high, raised my voice:
I am here, I am who you want me to be.
Here, under this proscenium arch, I am free.
The make up, the costumes,
learning all those lines; let us resume,
“stand here, speak, move now, turn,
feel the passion, let it burn
from deep inside, I want it REAL!
I want to hear you, reach out and touch you
from afar, feel you beside me, inside me,
confide in me, reside for a special moment beside me.”
Oh, how I loved her, she loved me;
spurned, encourages and caressed me
in my moments of panic: “say it again, breath,
your words are weapons, tinkling bells to bind me
to your creation, your time in the lights:
work with me, don’t fight me,
I am your friend, your only friend
here in the half-light, this delicate mystery.”
I was young, I was old;
I was whatever I was told
to be: English, Kiwi or somewhere
on an island, a boatman
I was enthralled, besotted,
bound and enthralled to her touch.
“You aren’t here to play,
I want it all, I want it now. Is that too much?
Feel it deep inside,
learn to take me astride
to a world of wonder;
be it soft, be it thunder.
Feel it deep inside;
make me feel it too.
Standing up, lying down –
shake that which I stand on, the ground.
I am here to be pleased,
not merely appeased;
I paid my money, I want
what I want: here, now, with passion.
Open your mouth, loosen your tongue,
breath, art-ic-u-late! Let me feel your words
reverberate through my being. Faster, slower,
do it again. I didn’t come here for solitary pleasure.
I want to feel your performance,
from the top of my head to the tips of my toes;
do not break the thread that binds:
do not loosen me from the throes
of your passion, that only you can provide:
again, again: take me on a cosmic carpet ride.
For this brief moment in eternity, take my life
and enhance it in shades of a new reality. I will decide
whether you were successful, and worthy of doing it again
night after night (for a specified time);
whether you have the reason or rhyme
to be worthy of my patronage.”
Night after night, in that magic space,
delight after delight, none could replace;
begone, the tyranny of the mundane,
that was another time, another place.
We parted; ‘tis sad but true, after eleven years,
and one failed marriage; She was there first,
She was there last, holding my hand;
holding me fast: a refuge, a draught to satiate my thirst.
We parted, nonetheless; maybe She wanted new blood.
Have you guessed Her name, what be her Fame?
You might call Her, Theatre; I embraced her as Life.
She is too untamed, wild and free: exuberant and exultant; nobody’s wife.
It has been many years, we have been apart;
but still I can her voice: “again, again; feel the pain,
express the joy – make it real; this not just a part,
it is life (in the Theatre); no pain, baby, no gain”
Have I been unfaithful to Her? Possibly,
I have met, been entranced by, one her sisters. I call her Poetry;
She calls me to type poems at 2 am in the morning,
and abandons me without warning.
The Bitch must go!
The Bitch, I fear for you,
is here to stay.
10 March 2013, Copyright