There is a madness in the music.
the madness of rebellious composers, & of poets.
of lovers, & of those who suffer for believing
there is a place beyond obscurity.
L’Adoration de la Terre:
there is rage in the choreography.
the dancers profess their pagan adoration
of Spring, mistress of renewal.
they dance a sexual frenzy, in thrall to Gaia.
their dementia deviates into terpsichore,
as their king kneels & kisses the earth.
the ballerinas arrive from the river.
they are lithe & lovely, as ballerinas are,
clothed in peasant tunics, torn & form-fitting.
& the fairest of these becomes the ‘chosen.’
but the primitive dance steps, lacking the grace & fluidity
of traditional ballet, are met with disdain by the audience.
(who are we to judge?
we are human parodies in a penny opera.)
in the final movement, the girl dances
because the gods demand it.
her maneuvers are contorted, & energetic,
almost ugly, & exquisitely beautiful.
until the intensity of it ravages her,
& she lay upon the stage…& does not move.
it is the music
& the dancing
& the beauty
that killed her.
Poem by John Feddeler