THESE LACUSTRINE CITIES
by John Ashbery
These lacustrine cities grew out of loathing
Into something forgetful, although angry with history.
They are the product of an idea: that man is horrible, for instance,
Though this is only one example.
They emerged until a tower
Controlled the sky, and with artifice dipped back
Into the past for swans and tapering branches,
Burning, until all that hate was transformed into useless love.
Then you are left with an idea of yourself
And the feeling of ascending emptiness of the afternoon
Which must be charged to the embarrassment of others
Who fly by you like beacons.
The night is a sentinel.
Much of your time has been occupied by creative game
Until now, but we have all-inclusive plans for you.
We had thought, for instance, of sending you to the middle of the desert,
To a violent sea, or of having the closeness of the others be air
To you, pressing you back into a startled dream
As sea-breezes greet a child's face.
But the past is already here, and you are nursing some private project.
The worst is not over, yet I know
You will be happy here. Because of the logic
Of your situation, which is something no climate can outsmart.
Tender and insouciant by turns, you see
You have built a mountain of something,
Thoughtfully pouring all your energy into this single monument,
Whose wind is desire starching a petal,
Whose disappointment broke into a rainbow of tears.
Hey you.
Just so you know, BAPF is One Intense Festival. You go away to a ranch in gorgeous Marin county for a few days and read your own work in front of nine other playwrights (who all read THEIR work as well-- a practice that is alternately revealing and humiliating), then the comments whiz around the room and you take frantic, indecipherable notes. THEN you rehearse far too few hours with your actors, make your mad dazed re-writes, and throw the whole thing up in front of a bunch of your peers. THEN you get (and give) more feedback, do MORE mad dazed re-writes, rehearse the new stuff with your actors, and heave it all up once again before sundry theatre lit people. And THEN you get tipsy on all the free wine and perform a few boozy torch songs to a crowd of equally drunk-dazed-mad theatre artists. (Last part optional.)
Sherry Kramer and I had the great priviledge of staying in a mini-mansion overlooking the Presidio belonging to the parents of the celebrated young puppeteer Basil Twist. He was in town for like three seconds-- he popped his head out of his room to see who the strange cackling women ascending his staircase were. (We happened to be squealing about an earlier encounter with a board member who had an especially expressive flatulence problem.)
Turns out the Twists are HUGE philanthropists-- I mean in a lifestyle kind of way. They go to Ecuador every year to meet with various shamans (shaMEN?) to help save the rainforest. Lynne Twist founded the Hunger Project and wrote a book called The Soul Of Money, the premise of which revolves around the idea of recognizing sufficiency and passing one's abundance on to those in need. A framed photo in the guest bathroom shows Lynne clutching the withering hand of, yes, Mother Theresa. (I know, right?) The woman even has her own Wikipedia entry.
The Twists are incredible people. They have a constant flow of amazing human beings passing through the many rooms of their home. One night Sherry and I came home to find a 19-year-old healer unloading a cardboard box of organic grains in the kitchen. He promised to remedy our ailments from his perch in the basement. That night both Sherry and I had horrible nightmares; I dreamed both my brother and Soph were killed in two separate car accidents, and Sherry dreamed someone was chasing her around the city trying to murder her. Perhaps we were being punished for not believing hard enough (like Tinkerbell).
There were other notable non-Twist-related encounters during our festival stay... one of them is reported here by Tim Bauer. What he forgets to mention is that the Mayor was inexplicably attired in a fireman's uniform. And drunk.
Anyhoo. Now I'm back in NYC for a short week, then we're off to Europe... visiting friends in Berlin, biking up to Copenhagen, taking a train to Oslo for the Ibsen Festival, then flying out to Dublin for a family wedding. I feel like I'm on a strange international campaign trail. I hope to gain some serious Joe-mentum...
See you in September.
