There's no theater that's not
theater of the absurd because
in every case humans sit
observing humans acting
like humans. Every human
in the whole theater-building
has a task, which both is
and is not what brought each
task's corresponding human
to the building. The building
is a product of innumerable
tasks. So is the play. All tasks
are ultimately meaningless.
So is the play. The theater-
building is filled with pretending
humans watching other humans
pretend, and this is reality,
and this is play, and if God
doesn't exist, then none of it
means anything ultimately,
and if God does exist, then
none of it means what it purports
to mean, and one additional absurd
thing is how ordered, dutiful,
polite, and amused we are as
we perform our tasks. We play
the game of As If as if it
weren't a game, and that is
acting, and that's absurd, and
that's quite a performance.
Copyright 2007 Hans Ostrom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem