In exile, a body becomes the means for making truth, denied.
The artist’s body a surrogate, the absent and the dead shine through.
In this container of memory, the present is only fleeting:
bird, river, house. Drip, wind, birdsong.
Gather now, impossible communion.
Human form becomes arid field, then a river
running. Witness, can you remember
the homes of your lives
and your deaths?
The body is the song,
the only home
and the last stranger on earth.
Inspired by Last Landscape, choreographed by Josef Nadj, with music by Vladimir Tarasov.
2 thoughts on “Last Landscape”
Wow, do I love your last sentence! Lots to work on there.
Kat, thank you.