O Rose, thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
I read this yesterday. Can’t get it out of my mind fully, wanted to note it, in my moment off before the preparation for a feast. Return to it at some point.
I don’t want to think about it from a literary perspective (for me this is not a being in pieces of paper) but from a performance one, where it is a living breathing thing. This is of course not an exact science but it is a creature of craft and technique.
All audiences are different and you adjust to the situation, which can utterly alter the form, but from a cold reading I can predict that I have a very high chance of capturing the whole room and absorbing it whole right from the start.
I can also get a sense of how I have to move everyone through it. This processes of performance (I think it starts with conjuring a very real presence of something physically real and intimately close) almost seems to contradict the sense of the poem, perhaps better put, you can begin to detect a pattern or shape that is intriguing. You want to play with it more as it moves and alters in an interesting way.
Altering sense of shape, time and space. How to you find the mark and keep time within a movement which appears to involve a number of differing rhythms?
Simply speaking it and working with it will resolve these problems. Wondering if I can learn something more from it.