Homer’s Butoh-fu Prologue
I am the story itself
Hung on this walking wandering bone
I recite now not
To you in the presence of my voice
The fourth wall is there
Just behind you the generations just beyond you yet to be
The true audience watches us gather
For the story of this flesh
Blind to its fate
Blind to its origin
Yet the grape seeks to know its vine
As the vine seeks to know its wine
Flesh most divine
Blind drunk in its own mystery
Its story will not die cannot die
Ripened fruit falls to ferment
On the ground beneath above
Branch same as root
Drink from this sacred place of gathering
Would you walk up close to peer
Deep into the blue sky of my eye
Would you hear this story whisper on as I die
Thank you Rainer, Fulya, and Cynthia for the expansive and enlightening discussion after the performance last night about the play, the production, and general dramaturgy of theatre.
Friends and peers, please come see George Hunka’s What She Knew and hang with us afterward if you can for discussion.Â Only six performances left!
One thought on “Homer’s Butoh-fu Prologue”
I second that heartfelt emotion.
Comments are closed.