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:
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.
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:
Abject, 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;
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.
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.
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.