Phillip Mann – writer, teacher and theatre director

   

Sunset and Dawn. Which is which?

As ever I am grateful to Wikipedia for these images.

Three of my friends died recently. I am caught between my own sadness – for the loss of a friend leaves a big hole  – but also a sense of dis-belief that all that energy and laughter and knowledge could have somehow ended, or now lives on only in memory. That, I can’t finally believe – and without getting into some debate between believers and non-believers in life after death – I hope that something of my friends, some quintessence perhaps, lives on in another dimension.

I read a poem for one of them, Tom, at his funeral – the other funerals I could not attend – and I would like to publish it here simply In Memoriam.  Tom was a dedicated actor and took the lead role of the priest, Urbain Grandier, in a production of  John Whiting’s play The Devils which I directed in 2008.

In the Wings

A poem for the cast and crew of The Devils performed at Stagecraft Theatre May 2008.

In every production there comes a time,

when the SM says, “They’re letting them in.”

and the lights in the wings go out.

*

Now, the humble workshop,

where the props were made –

the bed, the chair… the torture box…

and the secret place where the nuns

keep their tables and candles –

all, all are transformed, and

our world in the wings

is now a moon-lit woodland,

with paths and dark corners…

mysterious.

*

Darkness constrains us,

speech becomes whispers,

and laughter is hushed.

Now do the actors,

stare at their mirrors,

attuned and aware,

of the music now playing,

of murmur of audience,

of time passing quickly.

*

“Five minute call.”

The ASM turns,

presses finger to lips,

and vanishes.

*

The woodland is suddenly busy with shapes.

Actors with purpose, glide to their places,

touching their hair, checking the props,

awaiting the start of the sad, steely music.

*

The audience are in.

“Full house tonight.

You can tell by their murmur.”

The door to the outside world

is now closing. Now,

the late must wait.

*

Quiet in the wings,

the actors stand,

suspended in a great stillness.

*

One quick glance at her watch,

and the SM gives the nod.

Obediently, the lights dim

and the music grows stronger.

It is happening now.

Now no going back.

The auditorium is dark.

*

A pause.

*

Then, as the sewer-man

kneels to his business,

comes the sudden and joyous

peeling of church bells –

a welcome sound

on a bright golden morning.

That is the cue,

for which they’ve been waiting.

The service is over,

The sermon delivered.

All’s well with the world.

Or so it appears.

*

So with chatter and laughter,

like bold sky divers

the actors step from the wings

and into the light.

*

There’s

a man of the scalpel, and

his henchman with notebook;

tough country lads

who take care of their mum;

women in head-scarves;

a couple with baby;

the hoi polloi and

the toffs of Loudun.

*

There’s

a woman who walks

with a smile of contentment,

and a girl who would dance

though her father forbid her.

And a priest ….

… yes a priest,

and a handsome one too,

who delights in the worldly

life of the senses,

in wit and fine wine

in perfume,

in ladies,

in the smell of wild flowers

on an old country lane…

and who soon will suffer…

unto grace… and ash.

*

But that’s all before us.

In the dark woodland,

the two SMs sigh with relief.

The production is launched,

now they must keep it afloat!

There is much to do. Props to prepare

They smile,

thumbs up,

and vanish.