Phoenix Rising - Psychiatric Survivor Archives of Toronto

POETRY
getting culture
they troop us from a grouphouse to a play
little ducklings two by two .
the social workers fresh from college heading a
delinquent and derelict processional
along dupont up to the tarragon theatre for a
torpid play about the untorrid life of a
provincially straitjacketed woman
translated from the french and written by a man
a play coming at us from many removes
i sit down front row smack centre knees rubbing the stage
beside doug the skinny many-weathered grizzled
bootlegger
who's got the lack-of-wine-bad-shakes
it's his very first play
and in a very early scene the girl's brother
snatches her doll stabs it and she
all-of-a-sudden SCREAMS right-at-us
jolting doug skyhigh off his chair and into that
emphysemic cement-mixer rattle in his chest
and he gasps real loud
NO WONDER MY NERVES ARE BAD
it's a playas long as life is short and every bit as
absurd with no intermission so that many
kidneys are at high tide and a million nicotined cells
are calling for help so doug clambers up clumsy cowboy
boots
stumbling coughing wheezing clattering through the small
theatre's full house, and eclipses the spotlight
momentarily
and announces by way of explanation
I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO BORED IN MY LIFE
finally it ends she dies and outside
i ask doug what he thinks of his very first play
and he says, "they'll never get me to another one. i feel
like i been dragged through an asshole and fed farts for
a week."
it was the finest theatrical
criticism i've ever heard.
bud osborn
(Vol. 4 No.1)
29 / Phoenix Rising