kumari giles, in ‘things i cannot speak’, with ‘young palms lined with old stories’ shared some stories as part of the Young Creators Unit at Buddies in Bad Times on the weekend. Memories of Sri Lanka, coming-out, the power of the haircut, of grandmothers, infused the piece. Of war ‘you cannot erase a people without erasing yourself.’ kumari shifted from characters easily, perhaps too easily, as at times one wasn’t sure whose pov was being presented – which, in a way, underlines the difficulty of maintaining any identity in our culture.
a moment of shelflessness
Simply staged, with good use of red fabric – it was blood lines and restraints at times – sound effects and lighting. A simple, evocative performance in which I identified with the way we become ‘impressed’ with actions of the past – how we take on mannerism of parents without realizing it – I have my father’s aches.
put your drawers down
Next up was Andre Prefontaine, in ‘(mE)dith Piaf’, ‘read the smoke’ of his past for us as he shared his recovery and his love of Piaf. Like kumari’s performance he shifted from character to character but his piece was about self-destruction and self-discovery. Funny, clever, emotionally vulnerable and satisfying. He touched on the recovery process without being industrial; queer life & the sex trade without being defensive or exploitive. An honest, direct & accomplished piece.
Ikea magic
The staging was as simple as the first piece but with a greater sense of theatricality – the evocation of Piaf via lighting was excellent. Sound effects propelled the story perfectly as Andre created characters with lighting, accents and appropriate finger-snaps. Looking back the piece also mirrored Cabaret: the musical about sex, drugs and self-discovery right down the Joel Grey like personification of cocaine. Je ne regrette pas le voir.
a piece of mine about sex, drugs & rock’n’roll
Unmasked
background:
Hendrix: burning the midnight lamp
soon … I wish I was a merman
foreground:
messy coffee table
open bottles wine beer Scotch
weed rolled in papers too thin to write on
yet strong enough to hold a shared dream
midground:
three of us
Del me Kathy
share this joint enterprise
laugh at a phrase I was going through
hands touch to pass
the precious opener of minds
or rather the opener of pants
as Del loudly called it
his eyes on Kathy
she gave him a look
that said ‘see you later’
then left with her cigarettes
and the remains of the wine
‘uptight bitch’ Del laughed
as the door shut
he stayed
the supply on hand
held more appeal than
the supply leaving the room
that Jimi guitar
hooked its way around our brain
led our vision across patterns
my voodoo child eyes would wander
all along the corduroy
that hugged and held Del
he invitingly pushed the coffee table away
to make room on the floor
we had become so smoke soft
only the backless floor could
hold our floating
rolling
bodies
till we found ourselves
naked
I could feel the crosstown traffic of my heart
the sensation of his tongue on mine
the coarse grind of pubic hair on stomach
a move for a breath of air
to refresh the disguise of liquor
thighs hands lips
trimming a midnight lamp
that still burns today
but no longer needs
a smoke-screen
the bottled mask of permission
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Cool poem! Good post. Much love and naked hugs! 🙂