Complimentary Ticket: A Poem-Play
Characters
Socrates – resurrected Greek philosopher
Harold Bloom – a traveler from Ireland
Simon Dedalus – his companion
Agrippa – wife of Socrates
The beach was empty, the airplanes were flying over the water,
And that was
Freedom.
Water and air always took liberty for granted
While the fire and earth always complained.
They bill you every hour, they grumble and turn around the tables leaving you stranded
ashore.
High society is never mighty,
For a cup of cicuta never wastes a minute. . .
Harold Bloom: We must get home since I haven’t been there all day.
My wife is teaching, but you will be fine. She doesn’t like other people to be around though.
Dedalus: Oh, I know that.
My mother would never invite any guests, no matter how hard I’d ask.
Once I brought a friend of mine to show him a small collection of wooden dwarfs. . .
She stood around as if she was Britain and me as European Union
Trying to rescue Africans from the sea-storm
Socrates: So, you two noble Irishmen, how come you are on the island of Lesbos, and why did you decide to resurrect me?
Bloom: It is a very funny story
For never having had a donkey
I drove back here on my piroga
Because they really wanted me to leave the island.
Socrates: That is not an excuse to leave your cell until you are sag. . .
And you, young man, what brings you here?
Dedalus: I made a quarrel with some lads,
They made me think, I am about to flee,
Took up my land, my property, all what and whom I loved,
And carried over here in the sack of rustic little snag.
Socrates: It seems to me your verse is very flat and leery
But I don’t like it, because that was entirely my invention.
A fellow never likes when someone takes advantage of him
By using his very own invented tools.
Bloom: The need for your advice, sir Socrates,
Made us so.
Socrates: What advice?
Bloom: I dreamt about a girl last night,
She was as jolly as a summer mood.
I made a ring for her, I asked some dwarfs to help, but she refused.
What would you do?
Socrates: Son, you are much happier than I was in my marriage.
Sometimes I fear Agrippa must be here, but hopefully, she is dead.
Enters Agrippa
Agrippa: Heil, Socrates, long time no see—where have you been?
Socrates: Agrippa. . .
Sons. . . now it is the moment for me to tell you a truth—take it as advice;
When I was young, my friends were all about fasting;
But now I am old — and there is nothing left to stand for, maybe that’s because of water — it depletes of your own will, no matter how great the landscape the earth still taxes. What has been made of earth belongs to earth, and only our souls can question this state of authority and make a fire out of air; the fire that I am referring to is called love. Don’t take a chance to laugh at me — but bid my council.
You must be standing where you are, because the death bids you soon, and only love or
A war for love can make you
Stronger and be saved.
He leaves with Agrippa.
Bloom: Fare thee well, Socrates? It feels somewhat so sad to come that far to learn of nothing, but. . . let us leave Dedalus and be gone. We must not break, even when the authorities fall—stand still.
The Letter.
I understand that I am no better than anybody else,
Some weird things happened to me only proving
That something is wrong.
Some bad poetry is working upon me,
I am sorry, and only ask for understanding
That things might not get changed as quickly
But I know that I will eventually
Stay away from the darkness of my conscience
When not a single hue of light could lead me
To the green lanterns of the dark sunrises
Of fickle suns and bloody moons
To finally return me back to Sparrow Heights.
While reading classics helps me not to get a better sense of
What I’m doing, while smoking these bits of mind,
I praise others for being braver than I am
While being a shadow of those who are in power still.
A shadow to man, a shadow to love,
To a pure shed of tears coming out of eyes of the blindest monk
That had been praying for me,
While we still are
Objects of longing for the future.
I understand there is a need for all kinds of people,
But some have asked to leave right now, and
This hustle is already quite a puzzle.
Welcome home.
Sometimes we must forlorn the house
In order to receive it back.
My heart’s still aching,
Thinking of what was left behind,
But if you act,
Then you can change the pact,
And whatever is easier for you,
I wouldn’t want to know.
Time is limited,
Death is waiting outside,
And how could we truly
Forget the love and joy
Of these spring years?
I came to say,
That I love you,
But instead, you gave me nothing
That I could hope for.
Yes, I should forgive,
But people never change,
Until the death, or shadow of it
Comes close enough
To make you fear
What many generations
Described as spleen
Or change of climate.
But don’t forget,
The winter is behind the door,
And I shall forgive you
Until you dare to speak
Ask then a mirror, and it will speak:
What never dead was truly
Can be restored and hoped
If you become a better ruler of yourself.
Atlantis
It would be a wonder to see the resurrection
Which nobody saw yet still believes it is coming.
I would like to take a quick trip there to find some peace
And get some indulgence for my sins, those that I know of.
The intensity of propelling miracles of Atlantis around the world
The notion of which is within us but not with us.
There is a great law—avoid to ask for what you are wanting for,
Because it may someday do you wrong.
My white verse has gotten very blunt,
Let’s find out how can we get to see a brand new star
And take our feelings back from my heart
Not having the rest of the book be read before.
Shall we hope, if time permits,
To find where is Atlantis?
Perhaps, on Union Square?
Or, maybe. . . right over there?