I Write In 2020

Redaction Poetry

Redaction Poetry – September 6, 2020

A dancer, in Indian classical Kathak style, appears on the stage and enters into a corporeal conversation with the seated vocalist and percussionist. He wears a clean white cotton kurta, metallic ghungroo around his ankles, jingling as he moves. Watching, you think of human connection, tradition, cultural identity, stability.

But the idyllic scene quickly transforms. Ropes hitherto leaning innocuously against the high, backwards-angled wall begin to move, slowly pulling away the few objects of “civilised” life — chairs, tables. Lights hanging over the stage flicker. The ghungroo transform into bandoliers, bells shaped into bullets.

The dancer’s moves become more contemporary, while foreboding words drift across the stage: “This is not war. It is the ending of the world.” The music too transforms, now an intense relentless industrial crescendo of violin, double bass, percussion, saxophone.

The stage blackens, the only light revealing the musicians on a platform above, as if floating ethereal beings in despair of what is to come. You are made acutely aware of the futility of resisting the imminent descent into chaos. I am transfixed, and already sobbing.

Notes: ▼

This is for "The Daily Poem" 
Due by 4 pm on September 6, 2020.

Here it is without all the words:

A dancer appears on the stage
he moves. Watching,
human connection, cultural identity, stability.

the idyllic scene transforms.
pulling away “civilised” life
into bells shaped into bullets.

foreboding words drift
not war
ending of the world.
music transforms,
an intense relentless crescendo

The stage blackens,
only light revealing
ethereal beings in despair of what is to come.
made acutely aware
of futility
resisting the imminent descent
into chaos.
I am transfixed,
sobbing.