Tempos

"Change tempos. Pause from time to time. Consider your movements as little pieces of art... A sensation of calm, poise and psychological warmth will be your reward. Preserve these sensations and let them fill your whole body."

-- Michael Chekhov, To the Actor

--

"Read, to Act"

Wracked by books,
The sullen artist loomed above the stairs,
(Looking looks)
Like slicing swords to sway the wayward air,
And thought about the day ahead
And the night behind.

"Weep, then read,"
The sullen artist said to self, and grinned,
"Fret, then feed!"
The critics, sick with laughter, thick but thinned,
Were like to lap in days ahead
As in nights behind.

Without books,
The sullen artist would begin to break--
From the form--
But without text to help him make his looks,
He could not face the daze again,
Nor had in nights behind.

Words on words,
Like blocks on blocks, like papers in a tome,
(Or actors)
With unruly ruin, crowd to tombs,
Though made to face the dizzy days ahead
In spite of nights behind.

Wrecked by books,
The sullen artists fall to staring stairs,
Crazy cooks
To serve and sift and sway until they dare
To deign, to write for days ahead
Because of nights behind.