The play over, the fiction dead,
the audience goes home.
Lights to black.
But, the theatre is real,
and so too are those realms and themes
for which no temporal or rational constraints exist.
They live, bred or transformed by the play,
in us, in our dreams,
and in our lives thereafter,
between us, during discussions,
on the drive home,
and over our after-theatre desserts.
Per writes a poetic response to the play,
but it is not the play we saw,
its moments, poignant or not,
its plot and characters,
but, rather, the play through his eyes,
through his heart
and experience of it.
Per does not profess to scrutiny of structure,
to analysis of character,
to precision of examination,
to perceptual reliability and validity.
There are neither stars nor “thumbs up” here.
No attempt at objectivity of judgment.
But that’s the point.
Per, in his ekphrastic rendering, is everyman,
every audience member,
and, same time, none but his unique self,
defined by his particular knowledge,
by his previous experiences,
by his biases and needs,
sensitivities and sensibilities.
Yet, somehow, I know the play,
its realms and themes,
better after reading his poem
than if I had read a three-column review in the Free Press.
When Per writes about the play,
I hear him -- not a reviewer ex cathedra.
Per’s voice, his excitements, his engagements,
Per wanting to dialogue
about its realms and themes
over coffee at Starbucks.
(reviewed 21 days after purchase)