Back Story: Jess Knows This Entire Poem by Heart

We Can't Reach You, Hartford

An investigative history of the Hartford Circus Fire of July 6th, 1944. Nominated for a Fringe First at the 2006 Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

Daguerreotype

In the twilight of his life, famed photographer Matthew Brady must choose between the life he has built and the legacy he wants to leave behind.

Tone Clusters

Renowned prose author Joyce Carol Oates explores honesty, perspective, and denial through one couple's harrowing attempt to save the person they love

Monday, December 10, 2007

Jess Knows This Entire Poem by Heart

For serious.
As sort of an introduction into "What I Took in My Hand" (and a way for me to buy more time for the impending Dramaturgical Presentation™), let's start by talking about the title itself, which comes from a beloved Robert Creeley poem (or at least beloved by those of us who love one-eyed poets).

Song
by Robert Creeley

What I took in my hand
grew in weight. You must
understand it
was not obscene.

Night comes. We sleep.
Then if you know what
say it.
Don't pretend.

Guises are
what enemies wear. You
and I live
in a prayer.

Helpless. Helpless,
should I speak.
Would you.
What do you think of me.

No woman ever was,
was wiser
than you. None is
more true.

But fate, love, fate
scares me. What
I took in my hand
grows in weight.

Now, I know this a poem about women (I know this because one time I said this was a poem about a man afraid of responsibility and Jess told me that it was actually a poem about women. I didn't have the heart to tell her that most of the responsibilities that men are afraid of involve women, but that's a story for another day), but in thinking about Lindbergh, I'm struck by that last stanza. Our first play begins mere hours before Lindbergh lands in Paris and, to quote a passage from A. Scott Berg's phenomenal biography of Lindbergh that I've been reading as of late:

For several years, Lindbergh had lived according to one of the basic laws of aerodynamics-the need to maintain balance. And so, in those figures [the crowd waiting for Lindbergh on the Paris landing strip] running toward him, Lindbergh immediately saw repercussions. At first he feared for his physical safety; over the next few months he worried about his soul.

(Lindbergh, pg. 6)

To go from a mail-route pilot to an American hero in 33.5 hours has got to be a sobering prospect. How does a person deal with this? What do we do when what we take in our hands grows in weight? What do we do when it grows far heavier than we ever imagined?

posted by stephen @ 10:27 AM

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