The Second Birth Of Tragedy - Poem by Leila Samarrai
Gods too seek sanctuary in dreams
(Conversation of Hypnos and Melpomena)
(place of deed: the cave of Hypnos)
(Hypnos sits in front of the fireplace, wrapped in fur, shivers from the cold while simultaniously playing with a pendulum carefully observing it from all sides. It appears as though he deeply thought over, those thoughts brightening him. Melpomena enters, all in rags, unkempt hair, bare headed.)
Do not look at me with sleepy eyes! I know where I should be now!
(ripping the remains of the dress from her body and plucking hair. She wept.)
Have you canceled the play?
Not I her, but her me… Not I… No longer.
(Hypnos returns to the pendulum and wraps himself in a black chasuble, while he shivers with his entire body.)
(gazing at him)
Trickster, oh Hypnos
Wrapped you are in theater curtains
Blacker they are than thy cave
Wave towards me with your pendulum
I dreamt with an eye open
And I have seen reality, oh Киркане
That beloved lie of the Theater
For the whisk of the mad hypnothiser
Sways even the wings of Gods
The wings of a bird
Overshadoweded once a dream!
(A Shadow is hard to overshadow!)
Livid, pale, awake to death
I am no longer Melpomena!
An aggressive clown I am
In the theater of comedy!
(Follow me into the theater!)
Come! Do! Wave your hand!
In front the audience, the wild beast
With a thousand soft heads!
Overshadow me! There, in front of all!
Perhaps clean laught(mock) er(y)
Summons the mind to play
And Nature to believe the Truth
(Who to whome but an illusion to an illusion)
Perhaps destructive фортура
Fills the emptiness in the act
Either I sleep as before
Or close my eyes.
Let us go, but after I stoke the fireplace.
Yes, too cold is for dreams… And I…
Here and there…
Fixed her eyes on me, horrified!
Оh, my loving Hegote
From whose lips
Plunged the knife to hearts
In a role I play
And all that…
Miserable, miserably lifeless
Are furries prosecuting me?
Must be because of Megara
She set me against Talia
Maddened by jealous
So my wag sister
Derides me out of vengeance.
Let us go now, depart!
May the fire burn
Now that I have stoked it!
One wood is breaking
In the fireplace. It is raw.
His organic nature
Does not let it go aflame!
Same as I… Burning
With fire of violent passion.
Violence! Without passion! That is it!
And the violence!
She burns, but I do not see
Nor the senses feel her.
If I could like before
Believe in passion
I would birth the truth
And be the same old
I lost myself in the theater!
(Why, I? ! Melpomena!)
Merely I am a wild cavewoman
Strolling the theater, but not walkng it
The play does not survive.
Console yourself, Melpomena! That is good tragedy!
Unawakened by concious, how was she made? !
Not by my skillful hand!
She made herself!
Broke loose from her Createress!
No Muse to tame her!
What inspiration is it?
It is sinister grimacing
And roaring of omni-human
In a shroud of theater curtains
Dead souls, dead tongue awaits me.
I am life for I am Dream
I am Illusion and Companion
What I learned
And few more awakened Dreamers
Walking on dreams
Whipping their hopes
Waking untamed desires
Rinsing the dream of Gods!
That much double-natured I am!
No need for a sabre nor a blade
Nor a mask
To kill the knavish king
If you can see
The fire of fantasy in the fireplace,
Do not accede for untruth
And do not play from the heart (A Woman!)
Against the Stanislavic pendulum.
(As he spoke it, Tragedy reborn.)
Comments about The Second Birth Of Tragedy by Leila Samarrai
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye