They will know to cherish the deafening rush of
the silence that is never real that lasts only as long as time is away and somewhere else
This poem was written in Berlin, mostly during March 2022 and in the context of Russia’s expanded military invasion in Ukrain, while thousands of refugees arrived every day into Ostbahnhof. It explores the relationship between physical, embodied lack of trust and my family history of persecution and forced migration. It includes themes that reoccur in Sanctuary. At one point in the poem a parental presence (or is it the force of an invading army?) breaks the sanctuary of what could be a toilet stall (or a basement hideout), “banging at the door so gentle: [//] are you okay in there?”
March was performed again in June at Hux and Hermione Presents, at Benson’s Bike Shop in South London. Later I worked with Raj Savjani to introduce music to the piece, and this version was performed at Side Hustle, at Poster in North London. I performed it again at Limbo Fest.
The text emerged from embodied studio work, waking as the Neutral Mask from an eternal sleep and encountering other masks. The performances allowed me to experiment with different relationships between myself, the audience and the text. At Hux and Hermione Presents, I gave my performance the title of 'Poetry Recital', inviting the expectations that come with that. My mask was thin, not much distance from Sean Robinson themself. I wore my own clothes and spoke in my own voice: before coming on stage I removed my jewellery to present as less adorned, or less adulterated in my default masculinity. This was the Sean As Frustrated Man mask - or as I called him at the time: Maurie (a version of my middle name and my grandfather's name). This performance began with a long silence, the poet seemingly unable or unwilling to speak. This silence cannot hold (however much I as an artist wanted to stay silent for the full 30 minute recital) and it breaks into an increasingly anxious discussion around the saying of nothing, the need for it, how it is better not to say, how it is better not to reach out in love. Something like madness grows; words become moans; my body rocks like someone stimming; out of this some poems are read, with March coming last. In the performance at Eden, the mask was the writer of the poem, only able to express themself by escaping their group: a group which is both friendly and controlling, whose love turns to suppression, as the speaker tries to find their individuation, the only way possible. By leaving. In the end the poem is delivered, but the printed text itself is lost, as the speaker’s body is dragged back and disappeared from the audience’s view. And by the time the poem was delivered at Side Hustle, the text is almost enough. There the mask that I wear is indistinguishable from the mask I wear off stage. It is Sean Robinson (or perhaps Maurie Robinson). Here I (yes, me, Sean, performer) embrace the role of the poet. With help from a bass. So in this project the text of the poetry takes on many functions, varying based on the performance. It is evidence of individual (read transpersonal) madness and it is escape from madness. It is also an example of text which because it is text, cannot be true. And at the same time it carries the status of the Poem-at-a-Poetry-Recital: supposedly the closest we can come to truth, at least through language.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorSean Robinson is an artist working between Berlin and London. They work mostly with performance, poetry and theatre. Archives
October 2023
Categories |