Asymptotic

One aspect of concern in my own writing—one that has continually failed me—is closing the gap between written word and reality.  But this seems to be a gap that Anne Carson has little problem closing; however, it is not necessarily of any craft beyond ingenious structuring.  

When reading, I was fascinated by the format through which she chose to write.  For instance, many of the poems that open the book use reflection on some degree: use of reflection in mirrors, water, even in dreams and sleep.  Then, as I was most interested to read, there were a series of scenes from a play in the back of the book.  Looking at this not merely as words but as a reflection, the impetus becomes clear.  A play is also a reflection.  Not only a reflection of itself—being a performance of the written word—but a reflection of the words becoming image.  So, in the war between images and words, there is no victor.  The two become one.  

I thought this use of structuring was especially ingenious, whether intentional or not.  Currently, I had decided on writing a play, not because it offered a longer medium for my work, but because it appeared to be a more honest medium to express my ideas.  What I had neglected to consider until now, having read Anne Carson, was that it provided a reflection of my words as images, effectively closing the gap between written word and reality.  

Sometimes an image can suffice as poetry: a metal folding chair placed in an empty room in front of a mirror; the way light passes through a series of high windows into an attic; a tipped over trashcan spilling into the street.  In this way, words can never measure up; however, a reflection, or live representation of these words, in coordination with their reflection, can become more poetry than what either could accomplish alone. One can poetically say their heart is made of strings, that when tugged by their lover, run thin and vibrate with the saddest music; but if an audience has never felt that sense of longing, that lust and disappointment that distance brings to love, they will never understand the analogy.  But, astonishingly, even if to reflect this emotion in one’s face, an onlooker immediately understands all emotional implications of love and longing.  

There is a certain human connection and energy that occasionally lacks in poetry.  However, there is a certain depth that is often lacking in performance.  When the two collide … 

High Windows

Dramatis Personae:

ELI—the older of the two brothers: about 20. He is a college student: holds himself stiffly. He is dignified and upright, almost stately; however, this is contrasted with a hint of arrogance and shallowness. Eli dresses well: he is wearing khakis, a tight fighting button up shirt, and a tight blue sweater over it. His feet are dressed in argyle socks and brown leather loafers. Eli is pretentious, and many of his interactions with his younger brother err on the side of insincerity. Above all, he is polite, gentle, and patient, but because he knows these virtues are valuable; all these virtues, of course, are underscored and contrasted by his overwhelming insincerity and inability to make genuine human connection.

SAMUEL—the younger of the two brothers: about 17. Sam holds himself loosely, like an unravelled spool of yarn. He is gaunt and his head is shaved. His clothing is loose fitting: a pair of grey sweat pants, a loose green crew-neck sweatshirt. He is barefoot. Sam is sincere, but borders occasionally on hysteria and mania. He feels very deeply, unlike his “unfeeling” and hollow brother. This is not meant to be overdramatic; all of Sam’s actions are genuine and within reason. There is always tension in Sam’s voice when speaking with his older brother, as if there is some underlying resentment. Above all, Sam is obsessed with honesty, sincerity, genuineness, and so on. His words have weight, for he only says what he sincerely means—no fluff or “bullshit”; however, it is often difficult for Sam to articulate exactly how he feels or means, which lends to his ultimate frustration.  

Setting:

The entire play—one long conversation—takes place in an unfinished attic. The walls are bare; wooden posts and studs hold the room together like bones; the floors are hardwood, and scratched as if they have been lived on; there is the occasional fleshy insulation bleeding from the wall.  

On the far end of the room, where the gable meets the roof, there are two high windows illuminating the room. Beneath them, and in center against the gable wall, is an old tweed sofa that is sunken in and falling apart. Next to the sofa is an old Sony TFM 8000w radio. Throughout, it is playing quietly in the background. There is an attic door center stage from where Eli appears at the beginning of scene two.

Mechanically: the stage must be tall enough for a man to crawl underneath and appear from a trap. It would also be preferable if the set were designed in such a way that the walls of the set met the gable and roof, as is typical of many attics.

Note:

Throughout, Eli directly addresses the audience in form of narration. When doing so, he appeals to the audience from stage right and is lit by spot.  

High Windows

I : I

(Eli appears left on a dark stage. He is spotted with a dim light that reveals only his body. He’s not looking out to the audience, but looking down at his feet, bashfully twisting the toe of his right shoe into the ground as if crushing the butt of a cigarette. He begins to speak … )

ELI: 

Three days ago, he found the trashcan tipped over; it’s contents—all the half bitten apple cores and ripe sweating plastic sandwich bags coated in egg whites—were lying in the center of the street, for the neighbors to see. Very simple … really nothing. Empty. And yet, it spilled everything—all of it.  

(He looks up now, as if addressing the audience directly, and yet still deep in thought: pensive. The spot begins to brighten and spread.)  

So much spilled from that empty galvanized trash can. (Long pause; no longer looking at the audience, but up) I felt … like a yoke … without a shell; completely skinless.

(Another long pause; a vulnerable pause, as if Eli is naked in front of the audience; the tension is finally broken by a sigh—back to the audience as if appealing to them)

The worst of it?—It’s beginning to makes sense … so much sense … to me … like he’s infected and filled me with his trash—a baptism by garbage. (Half sighed, half laughed) Huh!

(The spot goes out)

I : II

(Light fills the room from the two high windows; after these are completely lit, other lights gradually begin to fill the stage. The radio is playing softly; there are intervals of static, and then finally an adequate channel is found. Samuel is sprawled on the sofa, staring up at the roof)

(Source: thatawkwardjesusfreak)