Zamknij
  • the instinct of saintliness, its purity
    unneeding intimacy
    no touch
    no crowd of shadows
    clattering particles descend
    in a dull drift upon us
    last year's seeds
    all morning, all month, in abstract hours
    seeded to a dry embryo
    that will never kick its way
    into any dance

    love is prodigious
    as those flying fluff-balls of seeds
    a waste
    swarming and veined with gloss
    expectant as the tart surface of the eye
    no economy
    no purity

    in hate, we are arranged neatly
    in tiers of seats
    we watch closely
    we are not intimate with the dying
    since we cannot own anything
    even our own bodies elude us, like theirs
    elude us in dying

    my love, you are another noun now
    you have redefined the limits of my body
    now no zone contaminated
    the map is readable and ordinary
    the needle rests at zero
    in a sanctity
    of hate


    Poem by Joyce Carol Oates from collection "Angel Fire: Poems" (1973). 

     

    Creators:

    Rafał Alchimowicz - dancer

    Aleksandra Foltman - dancer

    Edyta Janusz-Ehrlich - actress

    Tatiana Kamieniecka - choreographer

    Marcin Kulwas - producer, author of script and music

    Agata Mieniuk - actress

    Magdalena Płaneta - director