This evening, I attended an amazing live performance of poetry featuring the work of the English poet, Phillip Larkin, thanks to Professor Vinter being so generous as to procure a few extra tickets for those of us who wanted to attend. Larkin was a brilliant poet who wrote of England, of English life, and of emotions. The show was part of a series of poetry readings in honor of Josephine Hart, an advocate for poetry in Britain. It was a stirring, intimate performance by the four readers on stage. I loved just listening to the poems come to life in the voices of these talented actors. My favorite poem of the evening was the final one for the evening, The Arundel Tomb. I have pasted the poem below and bolded my favorite lines at the end. It was a thoroughly enjoyable evening, and it was so wonderful to lose myself in the poetry.

The Arundel Tomb

Side by side, their faces blurred,

The earl and countess lie in stone,

Their proper habits vaguely shown

As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,

And that faint hint of the absurd—

The little dogs under their feet.

Such plainness of the pre-baroque

Hardly involves the eye, until

It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still

Clasped empty in the other; and

One sees, with a sharp tender shock,

His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.

They would not think to lie so long.

Such faithfulness in effigy

Was just a detail friends would see:

A sculptor’s sweet commissioned grace

Thrown off in helping to prolong

The Latin names around the base.

They would not guess how early in

Their supine stationary voyage

The air would change to soundless damage,

Turn the old tenantry away;

How soon succeeding eyes begin

To look, not read. Rigidly they

Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths

Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light

Each summer thronged the glass. A bright

Litter of birdcalls strewed the same

Bone-riddled ground. And up the paths

The endless altered people came,

Washing at their identity.

Now, helpless in the hollow of

An unarmorial age, a trough

Of smoke in slow suspended skeins

Above their scrap of history,

Only an attitude remains:

Time has transfigured them into

Untruth. The stone fidelity

They hardly meant has come to be

Their final blazon, and to prove

Our almost-instinct almost true:

What will survive of us is love.

Posted with Blogsy

After a rainy day in London filled with classes and grocery shopping for the week, we went to the Young Vic Theatre to see an incredible and modern production of Anton Chekhov’s Three Sisters. I had fourth row seats and bought a program that included the play’s script, which made it easier to keep track of the characters and their dialogues.

The production itself was impressive, with creative use of the unique stage that was made up of many small platforms that the set crew moved between scenes. Small modern twists on Chekhov’s writing, such as the addition of small bits of songs from modern ages and a reworking of certain scenes to better fit the contemporary Russia it was set in.

I really enjoyed that play and all of the existential questions it raised within my mind. The performers were all so talented at portraying their character’s emotions that we left the performance slightly drained from the intense emotionalism of the play. I am still so impressed that we get to see an amazing play like this every week for free! It’s something I would probably done way less, so I am so thankful to the Grinnell-in-London program for providing us with these intensely cultural experiences.

Last night, we saw a phenomenal staging of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime. It was a deeply moving adaptation of the famous novel by Mark Haddon. The story follows Christopher, a fifteen-year-old with a strong case of Asperger's Syndrome, and his quest to figure out who killed Wellington, the dog who lived next door.

This was hands down the best play we have seen so far. The actor portraying Christopher truly became the character; every last detail was perfect, from his reactions to his dictation patterns, to the true confusion in his eyes. The staging was also amazing. We were sitting around the stage, looking down, which added a sense of intimacy to the production, letting us enter Christopher's mind. The stage was also made of highly adaptable platforms, which raise and lowered to form different locations. Between the moving stage pieces and an incredible set of speakers and projectors, the stage became houses, a tube station, a classroom, outer space, and even Christopher's mind.

We were all riveted by the performance, becoming emotionally involved and totally immersed in Christopher's struggles to comprehend a world that makes little sense to him, a world full of confusing metaphors, emotions, crowded stations, and the color yellow, which he despises. Little details made the theatre and performance perfect, like the prime numbered seats being labeled, and an occasional break of the fourth wall. Incredible, emotional, and totally unforgettable, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nightime was superb beyond expectations.

Posted with Blogsy