De poëzie in de operaregie

Poetry in Opera Direction


He walked in... That's what the reception told me... A walk-in guest...
I mentally geared myself for a half an hour's encounter with a tourist just walking in to 'see' vijnana kalavedi... there's nothing to be seen here. The culture, the arts, the food, the people, all have to be felt...
But, no, this was no tourist...
It was an artist...exuding the fragrance of a satisfied life...
He was pure happiness and content just as his hair was pure white...
He vibrated such positive energy...such a radiance...and such love for all things beautiful...
He was a knowledge seeker, a lover of books...
When Gilbert Defloe talked about the many opera he had directed, his experiences came alive...
When he talked about witnessing a lunar eclipse in france...the hushed silence, the eerie light which he tried to recreate later on stage... you live in his memories...
He made the day special...
He walked in...and changed the very air i breathe...
I spent a marvellous day with him...

I am God

Here I Lie
A Puppet in Human Hands
Child of His Fears and Dreams
Here I Lie
Created in His Likeness
Sharing in His Weakness
Here I Lie
I Live for His Dreams
I Die for His Fears
Here I Lie
They Sang for Me
They Danced for Me
Here I Lie
To Bring Them Luck
I am Set Afloat on the Mahanadi
Here I Lie
They Fight for Me
They Die for Me
Here I Lie
In the Dying Light of the Day
I'm Washed Ashore
Here I Lie
Having Lost My Pretensions
I'm Exposed to the Seeker
Here I Lie
All Pass Me By
None Seeing Me
Here I Lie
A Little Child Stands Looking at Me
The River Dancing in Her Eyes
Here I Lie
She Sees Me True
And Says, Oh, You are God
Here I Lie
I See Her True
And Say, No, You are God
Here I Lie

Child Unlimited!

Here's one of my favourite children...
He was naughty, I was too...
He didn't know my language, I didn't know his...
Yet he liked my stories, I liked his...
We met, we loved...
And we journey on...
Each in our own stories...
We might just live in each other's memories...
But, he loved me, I loved him...

An Ode to a Friend!

I would like to tell you the story of a small friend whom I came across on my journey ever on. My friends’ name is Virali. Oh, that’s what her Tamil friends call her lovingly. Her official name is Dodonaea Viscosa (impressive, eh?).



She’s found the world over, from India to Africa to Middle East to Australia to America to South East Asia to Hawaii (a real world trouper!). No wonder, her fruits which are cream to red are winged, usually two-winged, but sometimes three or four winged!



She’s a flyer!
She’s a very hardy species and can re-sprout from the base. She has wide tolerance for different soils, winds and heat.



She's strong!
She can grow healthy in all kinds of soils, even in rocky, gravelly or limestone ground or on disturbed ground. She requires very less maintenance if you want to cultivate her. She’s drought and cold resistant. In Hawaii were for every occasion guests are garlanded with flower/fruit necklaces, a garland of dried Virali fruits would be a compliment to you for your resilient and hearty nature. In the Nilgiris, the indigenous community hangs the leaves of Virali from the thatches of their huts on auspicious occasions like a marriage. The tender leaves of Virali are succulent, analgesic (pain-killer!) and have mildly euphoric effect (stimulating was another word!) and slightly toxic in overdose, among numerous other medicinal properties. She favours areas that receive full sun (don’t ever be miserly with her in matters of love, give it fully!). Her kind is propagated through wind, when the pollen dances on the wind horse from flower to flower!



So if you find a faint whiff of a fragrance around you, ah! there she is…

She’s the best sort of friend you would want and keep. Resilient, hearty, loyal, winged, pretty, adventurous, and slightly intoxicating, one whose deep love for performing arts defines her very world!



For a dose of stimulation, please check out http://virali.wordpress.com

To My Love

Oh, because you never tried
To bow my will or break my pride,
And nothing of the cave-man made
You want to keep me half afraid,
Nor ever with a conquering air
You thought to draw me unaware --
Take me, for I love you more
Than I ever loved before.

And since the body's maidenhood
Alone were neither rare nor good
Unless with it I gave to you
A spirit still untrammeled, too,
Take my dreams and take my mind
That were masterless as wind;
And "Master!" I shall say to you
Since you never asked me to.

Sara Teasdale