As If. They Came Out. Of Birth. (Deconstructing Churchill)

Act 1

And this would be my personal and unabashed thoughts on the Caryl Churchill drama Far Away. As if I haven't said enough in class, right? Maybe I haven't. However, still, I have this suspicion that there is something rotten in Denmark. As if we have been lured away from the “real” truth that our auteur is wilier than we originally thought. This is to say that we have been led astray by the language, and baroque hats, and the language. The language seems to clue us toward the notion that there is a lot being concealed from Joan, and I’m beginning to wonder, has the language also clued us in on the fact that there is a lot being concealed from us; the reader?

Act 2

“We are far too trained? Have our noses turned up, to be hooked? Pulled? Are we the alchemists that our fathers warned us about?” By abusing the products of our knowledge, Churchill has reassured us that we can still construct full-fledged narratives from thinning mechanisms. I don’t know if I’m sold on seeing the apparent connective tissues that bind these three acts. Besides the dramatic schemas insisted on by Churchill, this work does not ensure a proper elucidation of how one should exactly understand what is happening in the text. Aside: From the normative aesthetics of the dramatic form, Churchill does not wish to explicate any single dramatic narrative. Yet, by being exposed to redundancy, we have constructed one. We are too gestalt for our own good?"

Act 3

Though we insist on confabulating notions that have not even insisted themselves, I think it would be rewarding to begin to see, that what is before your face lies, a simulacrum. As if some dream within a dream within a dream has given you enough cognitive information, to realize that they are indeed related. As if Joan is the same Joan, as if Harper and Todd are the same Harper and Todd. As if we are all Joans, who has had the world told to them, even though nothing adds up, yet and still, somehow we have managed to make a hat. As if we have been lured away from the real truth that our auteur is wilier than we originally thought. And perhaps somewhere in the meta-narrative we can find the differences or maybe the différance(s).

Four Saints in Five Voices

*it is as if, saints could could be coming again. 
as if it is us, us saints, all saints 
could be less, 
"less of the least"
and lo, us, less and less sanctus than 
(then) these saints 
are all going to fall.


*then let them box 
with themselves
in the shadows, and find 
more a saint than those 
who cast their robes and habits 
to the furnace




* for who has has eaten 
the least of their piety cast 
cast the first fork to the floor!
and feed the saints a bit of
grass and snail 
with a chuckle to their ribs!


*and lo, the seemingly unseemly 
veneration of spirit and flesh holy 
enough for the whole, Lot
and company and company,
and company have not 
at all become what wasn't 
our song, our song of denigration
for the saints!


*and yet, yet we all know that 
nothing, of nothing when we speak 
of it, as if, it is
is only yet
those saints, who have had 
not yet a tête-à-tête
with God

Parenthetical Aside: Jonah D. Mixon-Webster??

Yea, I'm one of those people. One of those people who take way too much time thinking about themselves, their reason on Earth, and the significance/insignificance of their own name. On top of all of this, I have the audacity to write poetry. So in a sense, I'm the quintessential post-modern poet (or at least I think I am). When it comes to poetry I try to be as experimental as I can. I like to blood-up the page in unconventional ways. I like abusing language by making it eat itself. In addition, I love learning new and different styles or poetry so I can synthesize them all into other new and different styles. Ultimately (if not hopefully), this will one day help me to help others who have the wonderful burden of wanting to write poetry.