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I have always considered myself to be faithful and true
to the woman of my life. Please do not scoff.
Through fate and choice there have been a few:
lover, mother, wife.
I have a secret; I do not try to hide.
There has been another walking by my side:
temptress, disciplinarian, teacher; all wise.
It is time to introduce her; lest you surmise
quite wrongly her intentions, her position in my life
She is not vindictive; set on causing strife.
Demanding, yes; impatient at times even;
she knows that I will return to her heated embrace.
In the pitch of battle, you might cry
“The Bitch must go; only one of us must remain!”
I angrily reply, “The Bitch (as you so phrase it) stays;
she - my dark mistress - has for a long time kept me sane”.
During those long dark days, when 20, I turned, She was there
to spur me on, to better,to persevere.
There, during those long lonely walks in an uncaring city,
on feet of clay laden with self doubt and despair,
She was there to show me the way.
On dark lonely nights when give up I might,
She whispered in my ear, “come hither, come here!”
She lead me to the lights, burning bright: row upon row.
The stage on which I strode, lifted my head high, raised my voice:
I am here, I am who you want me to be. Here, under this proscenium arch, I am free.
The make up, the costumes, learning all those lines; let us resume,
stand here, speak, move now, turn, feel the passion, let it burn
“I want it REAL!”, she said, “I want to hear you.
reach out and touch me from afar,
feel you beside me, inside me, confide in me,
reside for a special moment in me.”
Oh, how I loved her, she loved me;
spurned, encouraged and caressed me
in my moments of panic: “say it again, breath,
your words are weapons, tinkling bells to bind me
to your creation, your time in the lights:
work with me, don’t fight me,
I am your friend, your only friend
here in the half light, this delicate mystery.”
I was young, I was old; I was whatever I was told
to be: English, Kiwi or somewhere on an island, a boatman
I was enthralled, besotted, bound to her touch.
“You aren’t here to play, I want it all, I want it now. Is that too much?
Feel it deep inside, learn to take me to a world of wonder;
be it soft, be it thunder. Feel it deep inside.
I want your passion, your pain; the courage you gain
from constant repetition, to discover that which within you resides.
I am here to be pleased; not merely appeased;
I paid my money, I want what I want: here, now, with passion.
Open your mouth, loosen your tongue, breath,
art-ic-u-late! Let me feel your words reverberate through my being.
Faster, slower, do it again. I didn’t come here for solitary pleasure.
I want to feel your performance, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes;
do not break the thread that binds:us. do not loosen me from the throes
of your passion, that only you can provide: again, again: take me on a cosmic carpet ride.
For this brief moment in eternity, take my life
and enhance it in shades of a new reality. I will decide
whether you were successful, and worthy of doing it again
whether you have the reason or rhyme to be worthy of my patronage.”
Night after night, in that magic space, delight after delight, none could replace;
begone, the tyranny of the mundane, that was another time, another place.
We parted; ‘tis sad but true, after eleven years,
during which She was there first, held me fast: a refuge, a draught to satiate my thirst.
We parted, nonetheless; maybe She wanted new blood.
Have you guessed Her name, what be her Fame?
You might call Her, Theatre”. I embraced her as Life.
She is too untamed, wild and free: exuberant and exultant; nobody’s wife.
It has been many years, we have been apart;
but still I can her voice: “again, again; feel the pain,
express the joy - make it real; this not just a part,
it is life (in the Theatre); no pain, baby, no gain”
Have I been unfaithful to Her, to you?
I have met, been entranced by, one of her sisters. I call her Poetry;
She calls me to type poems at 2 am in the morning,
and abandons me without warning.
The Bitch must go! No way!
The Bitch, I fear for you, is here to stay.
Consider it a cosy arrangement; a dramatic menage a trois.
She’s not exclusive. You too can come to the barre.
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