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| Sestina for Poetry class- Tuesday Night Rehearsal
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As he talks, they listen and absorb, mentally running through the motions again,
Making the changes he wants. If they get it wrong-even just one count- and he sees
It, they will go another round. Anything less then perfect, they know,
Simply isn’t good enough. The motions, the music, the entire show-
Everything must be just right. Everything he looks at and everything he can hear
must be everything he wants. Only painful perfection can end their
Nightly routine. Even as he signals the music to restart, they know there
Will be hours more of dancing and singing before the end. They move again
And start the swelling of sounds and swirling of colors. Though frustrated, it is here
That their hearts belong-even the clueless observer can see
How deeply every note is felt. Each staged face strains to show
The emotion of music and tell a story only a performer’s heart could know.
But still someone misses a count or two, and he stops the band. No
One moves, no one breathes-only waits for him to speak. Their
Hearts beat in their throats, but no one will admit to fear. No face shows
The anticipation of his frustration-yet it comes, like it always does. Again
He commands an angry presence that would intimidate anyone who saw
His knitted brow and reddened face, or who heard
His voice rise above the deadened silence that settled when the movement stopped. Here
In this auditorium he drills them until their muscles know
The angles and speeds by themselves, until they no longer need to see
What they are doing- they need only to feel. When they move once more to music their
Feet lead them of their own accord. They dance again,
Hoping and trusting in each other to reach the kind of perfection he wants in this show.
The motion and the music rise and swell, growing in each performer’s heart, and it shows
On their faces. That observer now can look upon perfection, and can hear
Passion given voice through performance. This final attempt to make it through the show
Has that element of desperation, and everyone seems to know
That this is the last chance before his anger boils over and they’re
Left on their own to rehearse, with no one else’s eyes to see
Their imperfection and flaws for them. Now on stage, a sea
Of faces is straining to make passion known, to make a poignant showing
Of emotion tied with music. Movements are fast and sharp, their
Legs and arms flying through the air, making a turn here
And there. At the final climax the music hangs in the air-finally, they know,
They’ve done it. Now, just maybe, it is over and they won’t have to go again.
He smiles, and they can breathe again. The observer can see
Relief etched on every face, and knows the heart and energy put into the show.
It’s passionate work that is done here, in this place, on that stage. Even as they go, they leave their hearts there.
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Posted by Mck0316 on 2008-01-21 15:27:59 | Rating: | Views: 78
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