Binding – Dance Composition Part IV

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Second rehearsal: done. And quite successfully too, if I may say so myself.

Today we went over the first Rowing section I taught last week, and I taught another two phrases of choreography – Longing, and Binding. I’m labeling each section as I go in this manner, in order to keep track of them as best I can in my own head, and to make rehearsals easier. It’s much easier to say, “After Rowing, Megan, move into Longing, while Gabby and Katie do Binding,” than it is to say, “So, after you do the first knee crawl I taught you two weeks ago, begin the phrase where you grasp at your thoughts and then move into the stamp-stamp-chug/three-steps-back part…”

Because the latter is what the notes in my choreography book look like, and they don’t make a whole lot of sense. ;) I’ll include pictures soon – possibly here, if I can get my camera to charge before I post this.

I settled on the sections from the poem I’ll be using. I list them here, with the names I’ll be calling them as I choreograph, and the selection of lines inspiring them:

  • Rowing:
    The loner holds out for grace
    —the Maker’s mercy—though full of care
    he steers a course, forced to row
    the freezing, fierce sea with bare hands,
    take the exile’s way; fate dictates.
  • Binding:
    I lament my sole way—no one left
    to open my self up to wholly,
    heart and soul. Sure, I know 
    it’s the noble custom for an earl
    to bind fast what’s in his breast,
    hoard inmost thoughts, think what he will.
  • Helping Hand:
    I wander winter-weary the icy waves,
    longing for lost halls, a helping hand
    far or near.
  • Cruel Company:
    Any who attempt it
    know what cruel company sorrow can be
    for a soul without a single mate;
  • Sleeping/Waking:
    whenever sorrow and sleep combine
    the wretched recluse often dreams
    that he is with his loyal lord.
    He clasps and kisses him, lays 
    his hands and head on those knees, loves
    the liberal ruler as in whilom days.
              As soon as the sober man wakes
    he sees nothing but fallow furrows;
    seabirds paddle and preen feathers;
    snow and frost combine forces.
    Then his heart weighs heavier, sore
    for the loved lord, sorrow renewed.
  • He Must Be:
    For sure, no man’s wise without his share 
    of winters in this world. He must be patient,
    not too keen, not hot tongued,
    not easily led, not foolhardy,
    not timid, not all gusto, not greedy
    no too cocky till he knows life.
  • Ubi Sunt:
    Where is the horse gone? The young bucks? The kind king?
    Where is the banquet assembly gone? The merrymaking?
    O the glittering glass. O the uniformed man.
    O the general’s glory. How that time has passed.
    Night shrouds all as if nothing ever was.
  • Brief:
    This earthly realm is fraught. 
    Fate changes everything under the sun.
    Here wealth is brief, friendship brief,
    man brief, kinship brief. 
    All human foundation falls to naught.
  • Solace:
    Blest is he who holds true. No man should openly bare 
    his heart’s hardships unless he knows the cure,
    that is his great feat. It’s well to seek solace
    from the Maker, our only security.

These are all tentative, of course – I may not end up using all of them. It depends on how much I can finish before the final adjudication.



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