Life
While-You-Wait
Life
While-You-Wait.
Performance without rehearsal.
Body without
alterations.
Head without premeditation.
I know nothing of the role I
play.
I only know it's mine. I can't exchange it.
I have to guess on the
spot
just what this play's all about.
Ill-prepared for the
privilege of living,
I can barely keep up with the pace that the action
demands.
I improvise, although I loathe improvisation.
I trip at every
step over my own ignorance.
I can't conceal my hayseed manners.
My
instincts are for happy histrionics.
Stage fright makes excuses for me, which
humiliate me more.
Extenuating circumstances strike me as cruel.
Words and impulses you can't
take back,
stars you'll never get counted,
your character like a raincoat
you button on the run ?
the pitiful results of all this
unexpectedness.
If only I could just
rehearse one Wednesday in advance,
or repeat a single Thursday that has
passed!
But here comes Friday with a script I haven't seen.
Is it fair, I
ask
(my voice a little hoarse,
since I couldn't even clear my throat
offstage).
You'd be wrong to think that
it's just a slapdash quiz
taken in makeshift accommodations. Oh no.
I'm
standing on the set and I see how strong it is.
The props are surprisingly
precise.
The machine rotating the stage has been around even longer.
The
farthest galaxies have been turned on.
Oh no, there's no question, this must
be the premiere.
And whatever I do
will become forever what I've
done.
~ Wislawa Szymborska
~
(Poems New and Collected
1957-1997,
trans. S. Baranczak and C.
Cavanagh)
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