The magic of the theatre
Consists not in the things on stage
But rather the darkness of the wings
In which the pain and anger of the day
Are hidden beneath the scattered detritus
Of endless Art; Anger is subsumed
And released in sanctified pleasure.
Some of you who have been reading this blog for a while (You are much appreciated) may remember that I wrote a poem called The Fallen Curtain after being in an opera last year. This year I was in another one, and wrote this on the last night. I enjoy being in theatres – there’s something very special about the backstage area. I hope that this poem conveys some of that uniqueness.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic