2012

my best dress.5 (work in progress)

I guess this is it, yes today’s the day
the time is right
for 7 years of hell to end tonight
Can’t see my way out of this unbearably gray haze
What is life really worth when all your hope’s wrung dry,
So I’m laying it on the line today.
And I can’t stop feeling this way, I pray
Give me peace, make it cease
Cause love’s not enough for me today, no
Not nearly enough today.

Ain’t gonna feel the steel of life’s knife anymore
No fighting this time, no getting off the floor
Oh God, let me go, stop waging this long, losing war
Feel like knocking with Dylan, knocking on heaven’s door.

I’m gonna put on my best dress
Float softly away from this life’s mess
Hair’s combed, make up’s done
And soon the pain will all be gone

Teetering along that thin jagged line
Between a life too hard and a peaceful dying
She has a plan with the bottles in her hand.
Dreams,
Her will and hope - all flown south,
Did she ponder these as she put the bottles to her mouth.
Stained carpet, empty bottles, and a note from the heart
Signs of the world of a teenage girl forever torn apart
Seized hands, eyes closed, she was thrashing in my arms,
Was she fighting to stay alive or
Embracing death’s deceit and charms
Bring her back, keep her here, don’t let her float away
Don’t waste your promise of love -
Help her want to stay.

Gonna put on my best dress
Swiftly float away from my life’s mess
Letter’s done, and I’m all alone
And soon life’s pain will be gone, gone, gone.

Scissors slice the fabric of her dress so she could breathe
Dress and dreams in tatters by her side
Painful scars she’d cry about, wondered if she’d lie about
The myths that she believed
High flying bird heading south, gonna take her for a ride
Looking up, bleary eyed, can’t see the bird
Only shattered lives in the starless sky
Flash through the years, can’t count the tears her mom and I will cry
Dreams of a daughter and me, down the aisle, side by side
Are floating away with my little girl’s fading life

Ain’t gonna feel the steel of life’s knife anymore
No fighting this time, no getting off the floor
Oh God, let me go, stop waging this long, losing war
Feel like knocking with Dylan, knocking on heaven’s door.

I’m gonna put on my best dress
Float softly away from this life’s mess
Hair’s combed, make up’s done
And soon the pain will all be gone

The sound of the whirling bird overhead
An icy chill fills our hearts with dread.
Oh the memories of that day, where’s my carefree girl at play
Praying for a tormented soul
Cause she’s paying such a heavy toll
And now she’s failing
Always flailing, forever falling, falling backward into that black and bottomless hole.
And now her search for a way to purge the pain could end today.

Seems safety is a lie to be told when we want to
Fly to be free from the pain we hold inside.
Sorry for the deception, please don’t take this exception
to your graves.
Your love saves me and I cannot save myself right now.

Gonna put on my best dress
Swiftly float away from my life’s mess
Letter’s done, and I’m all alone
And soon life’s pain is gone, gone, gone.
And soon life’s pain is gone.

She tried to run away from her life’s mess
Thought we hadn’t a clue
Couldn’t hazard a guess why
She’d reached the end of her dwindling hope
Now a rope round her neck.
Flashed an invisible sign of
A life dangling on the line.
Didn’t see it in time.
We’re here for you now, always have always will
Love you so love you, forgive you and heal.

2010

Break Text
Poetry and dialogue written for large multimedia group work exploring commitment in relationships.

Betty and Eddie

Betty has been in and out of the hospital since Eddie died almost 6 months ago.
Betty lived to love Eddie.
And Eddie loved to serve Betty

And, together, they lovingly served:
One another
And their children
And their grandchildren
And their great grandchild

They were married for 60 years and 31 days.
Give or take a few hours.

When I think of love, I see the faces of Eddie and Betty.

And then, I say to myself…why is it that I can’t make a relationship last longer than 6 weeks…

He is Alone

Strong Enough?

3 Slap Rejection

Lying Crying

Slit Sack

Realization

The sounds of the slamming door and clicking heels against the maple floor slowly faded, as she walked out of his life.
He felt some degree of relief and this he expected.
After all, he had been here…through this many times before.
But, something else…he didn’t anticipate…
What was this other thing he was feeling?
He slowly cast his eyes toward the mirror. An unfamiliar gesture.
“Why does this keep happening?” he wondered. “What was wrong with this one?”
Then, in a rare moment of self-awareness, he pondered,
“Is it possible that it really IS me?”

Shadow, Sun Star, Savior

You are here.
I searched for you forever, it seems.
Yet, sightless and forever stumbling,
I failed to recognize you when, at last, you crossed my path.

At first, you were my shadow
Connected to every step,
Every move I made.
My darkness forced you to fade away.
Even on the lightest of days

But you emerged as a sun star, with your lovely light
Shining through the dense fog of my confused heart,
To help alter my ill-fated destiny.
Even on the darkest of days

2008

Peace Piece Text
Dialogue and poetry I wrote for and integrated into the live modern dance work, Peace Piece, inspired by themes of peace and conflict. Peace Piece was created for and performed during the 2009 Nobel Peace Prize Forum in Dittmann Center Wagner/Bundgaard Studio One, St. Olaf College in May 2009.

Suspicious of Words

Floating Above the Fray
Floating above the fray
Icy-hot complacence shields my dismay
I see, I hear, feeling
Frozen
Wounded and torn between fight and flight

Blinded, off center, I lurched
Flailing extremities lash out
A mark found, tangential connection
Fading, fading, now vanquished

Salty cheeks for
Mothers, brothers, cousins, kin
Fathers, sisters , kids from within
The circle of Man
Venturing out
Meek, bold, swirling
Indelicately blended

Shredded hearts, sputtering limbs, humanity oozing in
Crimson baths of loathe cast as love
Who, what will ballast the dark and light?
When will just wisdom guide my sight?

2005

ASHEN POETRY
The two poems below were used as source material for audio for the duet dance piece, Ashen (2005).
Written by Anthony Roberts

Ashen
Ashen face
I stare into square space that is no longer just we
I see three in this murky reflection
I analyze each section
The glistening imperfections gauging me

Tearing thin sheaths of pigment
Delicate wisps of identity laid bare
Quivering blindly, slaying my soul

Fissures discovered
Tectonic shifts unforeseen
Shudder me loose gauging we
Slipping away from stability
Clawing me to the surface of us
Moving, shifting
I uncover us

Drawn to the warmth
Lulled by a decade of calm
The flames lash out
Shudder us loose
Charred hands, loins, hearts

Plates shifting again, drifting again
Disintegrating reality
Seeping through the porousness
Escaping its brittle shell
Into the acrid air and
Inescapable light

I looked to the Moon
I looked to the moon
And other distant places
Searching for light and shadows

Trying to find an arrangement of
Familiar faces
I looked to the truth and no one was there
Not you, not me

I looked into the mirror and
I saw the guilty one
The lines of my face are more in focus
But I was not alone
Moonlight shadows just behind
Tangled trickery
Unaware that I could see

Through moistened eyes and quaking flesh
I knew
This pain was mine
Caused by me

I look to the future
Wisened, but hopeful that
Bumps in the road will be few
And if not that
My ashen face will detect them
Well before they’re upon us
Threatening to break us in two

2004

Swing a Club: Facing Cancer Text
Written by Anthony Roberts and integrated into the evening length, interdisciplinary and technologically mediated group movement work exploring end of life issues.

Six pieces of text, five of which were performed as live "therapy sessions" and one was recorded into the sound score for Swing a Club: facing cancer. The text provides an additional point of entry, increasing audience accessibility, into the work. Each scene generally precedes or accompanies a thematically congruous movement section.

The role of the therapist was played by Billi Faillettaz from 2005-06 and Dona Freeman from 2003-04. The patient was played by Anthony Roberts.

Scene 1--Water
In an environment that brings to mind a therapist's office. Dialogue seems to begin in mid-session.

THERAPIST: OK, then. Where are you now?
PATIENT: I'm in the water. I'm trying to be in the water.
THERAPIST: Why, trying?
PATIENT: I have a fear.
THERAPIST: How long have you been afraid?
PATIENT: Forever.
THERAPIST: What helps?
PATIENT: Staying away.
THERAPIST: Why not go away now?
PATIENT: I don't know. The colors, I guess. The colors are stunning.
THERAPIST: Are you alone?
PATIENT: No.
THERAPIST: Who is with you?
PATIENT: My wife, mom, my brother and sister.
THERAPIST: Are they afraid?
PATIENT: My mom and sister are, worse than I am, and that surprises me.
THERAPIST: Why?
PATIENT: Mom grew up here, around the water. I thought she would be more comfortable. And my sister's the risk-taker in the family. But, not this time.
THERAPIST: What about your father? Is he nearby?
PATIENT: No. No, he's not here. Rarely is. His choice, though. His…that's another story.
THERAPIST: Shall we get back in the water?
PATIENT: Yeah.
THERAPIST: Do you go under?
PATIENT: Eventually.
THERAPIST: What does that feel like?
PATIENT: Tight, constricting. The sounds bother me. The constant hum. The muffled and lingering echoes. I try to breath, but I can't move the air through the tube. I tense up. My heart races. I start to lose it. I just want to get out of the water.
THERAPIST: Do you, get out?
PATIENT: No.
THERAPIST: Why not?
PATIENT: My wife. I see my wife. Her presence, her touch. She knows…my anxiety. After a while I calm down and try again.
THERAPIST: Where are your mother and sister, now?
PATIENT: They're on the shore. Too afraid to come even this far.
THERAPIST: What about your brother?
PATIENT: He's never been afraid of the water, that asshole. No, he's further out, all alone, no care in the world. Where I want to be.
THERAPIST: By yourself?
PATIENT: No, not by myself, just without the fear of going further out.
THERAPIST: And do you get there? Further out?
PATIENT: Not today.

Scene 2—Metastasis
In an environment that brings to mind a therapist's office. Dialogue seems to begin in mid-session.

PATIENT: I was venting to my doctor about Tom's medical team. I told him that when my sister read me the results of a CT scan of one of Tom's kidneys, I got hung up on the phrase, "too numerous to count." "What the hell does that mean," I asked…too numerous to count. Since when do doctors stop knowing how to count?" Well, my sister couldn't tell me what they meant, because she'd been too stunned to ask. Truth is, she knew what it meant…and so did I, but we didn't want to believe it—still don't. Anyway, my doctor, being a scientist, compassionate, but a scientist nonetheless, laid it out for me. He simply said, "Go outside on a clear, starry night. Look up at the sky and start counting the stars. You'll soon understand what they meant by too numerous to count."
THERAPIST: What was at the heart of the pain in that phrase?
PATIENT: Well, for one, it pointed to the extent of disease present in Tom's kidney—in his whole body, and that was a hard pill to swallow. It also somehow acknowledged the hopelessness of the situation. I mean, if you can't even count all the tumors, how do you expect to get rid of them? But, more than that, hearing "too numerous to count" rekindled the question that none of us could shake, but none of us could ask Tom. "How?" "How did he let it get to this point?" In this day and age of modern medicine and the notion that, with early detection, you can beat this disease, why was my brother lying in a hospital room, dying from cancer?
THERAPIST: What kept you from talking to your brother about how you felt?
PATIENT: It just never seemed like there was a good time to do it. In the beginning he was so convinced he could beat this, and I kept hearing that it was vital that Tom maintain a positive attitude during treatment. I thought bringing it up could make him feel guilty or sorry for his past decisions, so I kept quiet. After his radiation and first round of chemo, he wasn't the same man. His strength, his will were gone. Talking to him about it then would have added insult to injury. And he never recovered.
THERAPIST: So, where are you now in coming to terms with this?
PATIENT: I realize that getting answers to the whys and what ifs of Tom's cancer was for my benefit not his. I was looking to ease my pain. So, I guess I just have to live with not knowing.
THERAPIST: Sort of like trying to count the stars…

Scene 3--Struggle
In an environment that brings to mind a therapist's office. Dialogue seems to begin in mid-session.

THERAPIST: When do you let him in?
PATIENT: Let him in? It's more like he ambushes me.
THERAPIST: OK then, when does he come to you?
PATIENT: In the shower…wait are you recording this?
THERAPIST: No, why?
PATIENT: Well, taken out of context our last exchange could ruin my reputation as a straight male dancer. I still don't think my dad's convinced.
THERAPIST: Interesting. (Speaks into lapel) Subject has latent issues concerning own sexuality and career choice.
PATIENT: Why are you speaking into your lapel?
THERAPIST: That's where I hide my microphone.
PATIENT: Ha ha…very funny.
THERAPIST: So, let's get back to the shower, metaphorically speaking. Why do you think your brother's presence is most tangible there?
PATIENT: I don't analyze that. I just close my eyes and let him wash over me. God, it’s good to feel him this close, and he's healthy again. You know, in these moments, I can believe that everything's back to normal. But…
THERAPIST: Go on. What happens next?
PATIENT: I know the change is coming, it always does, but I'm never ready for it. So, I get jolted back into reality.
THERAPIST: Where does that take you?
PATIENT: Different places. Seeing the mole for the first time. Wondering how long it had looked that way. Sorting through the medical jargon. Being buried under piles of information, the treatment options, clinical trials, all the dead ends. The waiting. The frustration of dealing with his doctor. You know, he was the only physician I encountered who said that Tom could beat this, should even try to fight it. Tom latched onto that hope. It was just a safe place to hide his denial. His wife's denial.
THERAPIST: Is it a bad thing to want to fight to live?
PATIENT: No, that's not what I'm saying. You've gotta fight, but there is time when, well there were other options. He just needed twelve more days, but he chose the chemo, and he got worse.
THERAPIST: What about "twelve more days."
PATIENT: Tom's daughter. His first, his only child, was born just twelve days after he passed away.
THERAPIST: How do you feel about that?
PATIENT: Sad, helpless, really pissed off.

Scene 4—Swing a Club
It was February, 2001 and Tom was getting radiation treatments for multiple lesions in his brain and a massive tumor in his spine. One day, during a follow-up appointment, Tom asked his radiologist how long it would be before he would be able to swing a golf club again. For the past 15 or so years Tom had been going on an annual golf trip with a group of his friends from college, appropriately known as The Good Ole Boys. This year’s trip was only three months away, and Tom obviously wanted to make sure that his cancer was not going to get in the way of his walking the links with his buddies.

The radiologist, however, told Tom that the damage to his spine would more than likely take a year of healing and recovery.
Back at home, after the appointment, I went in to check on Tom with my sister, Reece, who had arrived with food for lunch. He was lying on his bed, and he was crying. I couldn’t recall the last time I had seen him cry. Reece and I took his hands, stroked his head and asked him if there was anything we could do. Tom shook his head, and said that he was okay. He said he just didn’t think it was going to take so long to recover from the cancer, and he wanted to be playing golf in three months. I didn’t tell him that my prayers were not for him to be able to play golf, but for him to simply be alive in three months.

Tom didn’t make the golf trip with the The Good Ole Boys. He died less than six weeks later.

Scene 5—Support
In an environment that brings to mind a therapist's office. Dialogue seems to begin in mid-session.

THERAPIST: How was your reentry back into your own life?
PATIENT: Fine. It was, uh, good.
THERAPIST: No difficulties to speak of?
PATIENT: You mean other than trying to understand the appeal of reality television?
THERAPIST: Well, who isn't plagued by that one? Anything else, something less universal, perhaps?
PATIENT: Not really.
THERAPIST: Nothing? Come on, you've got to work with me here!
PATIENT: OK. So I've had some problems. Are you satisfied!
THERAPIST: Not yet.
PATIENT: Look, you know better than most that people have difficulties. That's life, right? I'm sure I wouldn't have to dig too deep to find a number of people who are having a hard time coping with, whatever, so who am I to whine about it? What's the harm in getting on with things? Just going back to the way things were?
THERAPIST: Like nothing happened?
PATIENT: Stuff happens. Should I expect the whole world to stop rotating, just because I'm having a few difficulties adjusting?
THERAPIST: Not the whole world, just your world.
PATIENT: What do you mean by that?
THERAPIST: Did you go back to work right away?
PATIENT: Well, yeah. We were already past midterms, and I'd hardly been there at all. I had my classes to teach; a new work to finish choreographing; all my other responsibilities to attend to.
THERAPIST: So, you proceeded as though everything was normal? As though nothing had happened?
PATIENT: I had to.
THERAPIST: Had to or wanted to?
PATIENT: Does that really matter?
THERAPIST: It matters when one considers the aspects of being in control versus having none.
PATIENT: Is anybody ever really in control?
THERAPIST: Were you? Did you feel in control? Did you feel normal?
PATIENT: Feeling normal is overrated. I'm an artist for God's sake. Give me the polar extremes over the pale hues of normalcy any day.
THERAPIST: But, wasn't that what you were avoiding? By jumping back into the swift currents of your preexisting life, weren't you actually running from the extreme emotions you were experiencing as a result of your brother's death?
PATIENT: Yes, I tried to get back to normal, to feel normal.
THERAPIST: How did that work for you?
PATIENT: I had a hard time keeping it going. There were too many triggers that yanked me back…calling my family on the weekends. I can't remember how many times it took before I stopped dialing his number. And out of the blue, I would just groan spontaneously. My wife knew these were signs that I was back in the mire of Tom's disease.
THERAPIST: How did you feel about these moments?
PATIENT: Ambivalent, really. On one hand, I loved feeling so close, so connected to Tom. But, coming out of them was, a bit unnerving and embarrassing. I felt self-conscious and I got irritated with myself for having lost control of the moment.
THERAPIST: Control can be a four-letter word. I believe these brief deviations from the present reality were really attempts by your subconscious to try to process the experience you had just endured. Because, your conscious self refused to make room for this to happen in a more natural time frame, your subconscious was firing frequent and condensed bursts of processing moments, which are actually necessary healing opportunities, into your conscious existence.
PATIENT: What?
THERAPIST: Your subconscious refused to let you get away with ignoring what you had just experienced.
PATIENT: When will that end?
THERAPIST: You can't put a time limit on healing. But I believe when you make enough time and space in your normal existence for healing to occur, your subconscious will no longer need to steal moments from your conscious self.
PATIENT: Any suggestions?
THERAPIST: You need to let it out somehow. Talk to others with similar experiences. Share your stories. Offer your support and accept theirs. Give it time.

Scene 6—The Last Day
In an environment that brings to mind a therapist's office. Dialogue seems to begin in mid-session.

THERAPIST: What did you expect?
PATIENT: I don't know, something different, certainly something more than, "I'll see you later." I mean, that was the last time they would see him alive.
THERAPIST: How could they have known that?
PATIENT: I know that! It's just that, looking back on that day, I know that.
THERAPIST: What else do you remember about that day?
PATIENT: Trying to salvage my relationship with his wife.
THERAPIST: Why was that important?
PATIENT: Tom would have wanted that, and it felt like the right thing to do.
THERAPIST: What happened?
PATIENT: Well, I took her hand in mine, and I prayed.
THERAPIST: What did you pray for?
PATIENT: Like it matters, now.
THERAPIST: Does it?
PATIENT: I don't know…I hope so. I prayed for forgiveness for not handling the whole situation as well as I would have liked. I prayed for forgiveness.
THERAPIST: Did his wife join you, in prayer?
PATIENT: No.
THERAPIST: How did that feel?
PATIENT: Like saying I love you, and hearing only silence in return.
THERAPIST: How is your relationship now?
PATIENT: Yeah, what relationship?
THERAPIST: I see. What else can you tell me about that day?
PATIENT: I was able to get us all together, our immediate family, a few hours before he died.
THERAPIST: What was that like?
PATIENT: It was meaningful. We shared stories, laughed, cried, and we prayed. It had been a long time since I heard my dad pray.
THERAPIST: How did that make you feel?
PATIENT: Hopeful, I guess.
THERAPIST: Hopeful for what?
PATIENT: For my dad, for a better relationship with him. Hopeful that this could be an opportunity for closure, resolution.
THERAPIST: Was it? Did it give your family the closure you wanted?
PATIENT: No, it didn't. I guess it would have been a bit too tidy.
THERAPIST: Isn't that something that we all want? Coming to acceptable terms at the end.
PATIENT: Yeah.
THERAPIST: Anything else?
PATIENT: After my family left. It was just Tom and me. I stayed till the end.
THERAPIST: Was it hard, being there?
PATIENT: Yes. But I couldn't imagine it any other way. Tom was my brother. I held him close, talked him through it. Told him how desperately I was going to miss him as he took his last breath, and then he slipped away. Can we stop, now?
THERAPIST: Yes, that's enough for now.

1995

Jock-ularity

1994

The Wall Text
Poetry I wrote that was used as source material for and spoken live during the performance of a solo commissioned by Mountain Movers Dance Company, Johnson City, Tennessee. 1994.)

The Wall
The wall was stable.
I wasn’t, so I gave it my weight.
I can’t recall…
The sadness, the pain.
The dissection of heart from mind from body.
‘Didn’t know why.
Just knew it have to be done.
So I was crying.
Heavy.
Leaning against the wall.