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Pina Bausch
a portrait of the Choreographer

Act I

Open       scissors and you      the wide-winged

The studio is filled with actors / dancers learning from each other’s

daily life-rhythm. Then acting about it and being criticized:

   -  How long do you think a gesture can hold on to you? Whose entertaining
      with can say the most of what is lost and yet remembered?
      Act out: “I am a landmark.” No, no concessions - you yourself being
      The Landmark. You may try it out – let’s say - in 3 steps?

      a crow is passing     I too leave    wings wavering

   -  Thanks Aviva, you’re doing it right. The audience is moved, sweats and
      starts thinking. 
      Each of you develops and removes a singular distinguished presence. Yes, today
      we are exercising a calendar of herded motions. Turn on one of your inner pages - 
      read the image, look at it - give it a pause in time, see -
      that’s you: sleep as a preparation for those preparing change.
      Invent the sign language for it -

      each shows Pina how      how shows Pina each     each Pina Bausch shows

      a balloon
                taking hold of my breath
                       at the end of a string



Act II

The actors / dancers agreeing with their own movements, though at the same time
introducing a secret strategy of disagreement, a persiflage that’s aimed at the viewers’
ability to learn how to disconnected themselves from former concepts.
Training the body a new language asks for patience. We’re watching the performers’
visible efforts. Everything that happens afterwards is part of the audience’s
fantasy transforming Pina’s energies.

The players joining their mimics. As time goes by, each comedian / dramatist is trying
not to interfere with each other’s expression of pain.

Here is Pina’s niche, asking wordless: should I not correct you?

One actress starts spelling the word ‘leg’ only using her hands.
Laughing, the rest of the group gets into a sportive mood

myself a netball
if I could I wouldn’t
turn to either side

slow motion
a crawl from ebb to high tide
naked on the floor

through masks
the sweat of faces
blown apart


Dimmed lights. The younger performers arranging Questions for The Sun, reflecting

individual answers, transmitting calmed down actions as signals for dimmed hope.

the costumes    
adapted jokes   made up    
during long try-outs
the last rehearsal will be
Pina’s first public performance


As the stage becomes constantly more lighted again, the group is drowned
unrecognizably into flags and flames.




The whole scenery is in turmoil. Seventeen actors are seen simultaneously
preparing different meals in one and the same kitchen,
then boys clean the bathroom floor, girls the bedroom. Song and anti-song.
On the walls and the ceiling a film about life on a nude beach is displayed.
A cloned transvestite offers service for half the price.
Seasonal colored gases, here autumnal, find their way down to the spectators.



  1. Stop Tamina, stop right here: now you look like you are representing “the veiled woman of the West”
    hiding behind cosmetic surgery


the pain
the plastic
when breasts move with
mother of pearl buttons


- Even Cindy, my old lady dog, gives me a jealous look.


      -    Right, you two, porous and organized, will be not going to unite.
You are in a circulating process between performer and an imagined audience.
Appearing paralleled, erotically justified, the substance of the content is in search
of its own identity.     

      -    Tamina, may you blend your face with Aviva’s? Please materialize the possible
radiances developed by the two of you.

In a darkening olive green the stage revitalizes an interlaced emptiness.
Almost invisible strings reach out to link. Only a want-to-be couple is trying hard
not to look back into the audience

with a rope
         over the river
                    the quiet


A reasonable feeling occurs of really not being invited to the show.
Instead, the longer you keep watching the scenery the more you’re guided
into “the house of your own past” and headed into the environment of future events.

In this installation  poetically twisted processes are supposed to guide the reader
into paradoxically convergences supposed to open up new energies)




a interactive play in seven scenes


Scene I

(time circular)

on the beach
she says                      
       imagine sea light
                salt crystals               
    hardening the view          



Scene II

(time moving in all directions)           

walk on a neighbor’s path
   one stone edged sharply
more we dare to touch
          in charge of fire      



Scene III


dark matter, in her eyes the health of distance

when the plane lands in a burst of flames


barefaced in transformation starboard a first touch

of essential ground        temporarily not embodied


a soul enters the mosaic of a time shredding reptile

it is mushroom, hot consistency rooming with a taste


of sudden entry. No disc preformatted, abundant energy

offers a first tickle to Anna’s guts:


the three months old fetus rebuilding its watery boundaries

into the unnamed. Slip, slid, sliding into a stream of fear


the pilot on his nomadic journey
the navigator’s needle oscillating

to a picture in his wallet: there, his daughter, nineteen, 
college, with the breast of a young surfer bursting leeward

where the transparent sail changes sides

there lingers a logic of no withdrawal from such storms
in advance, a manifold of encounters


Scene IV

  -  Since you seem to ask, yes, holding a save distance,
      I was to stay on a roof filming both planes curving
      closer and finally moving right into the towers.
  -   Did you know anybody working there at the time
      it happened?
  -   No - well, only Prom.
  -   Who?
  -   Prometheus..

TV running without interruption. People watching –
for several times daily - the tragedy of the two towers
burning and crashing.
After a while, their thoughts and gestures begin to change.
In one way or the other they feel and act like participants.


Scene V    

(intertwined material / matter)

Rain gutter, we listen to rust moving on.                      
Blurred perspectives along the roads leaving Lower Manhattan.
Talks under coercion, deepening folds around peoples’ mouths.

  -   Nothing you would leave simply for its size?
  -   Would you go please on your knees,
       deeds and maps are in the lower drawer-
       I know it’s jammed.
  -   Because of your heavy flint collection.
  -   Developing their own identity further, the animals,
      put under pressure became stone - and survived.


Scene VI

(space as an interface, an interval)


partners play as if their rackets                                                   
gather the pressure
of the ball          hit
since the wind doesn’t want it



Scene VII

late exchange
the mail box door
keeps squeaking

Discussing already planed trips extensively because oil
is precious, seducing people to live up to an overheated rhythm.

so little more
             to know about a butterfly
             time folded before the wind



an inter-genre play


Material                      Technique                                 Mental material

Network                      Electronically produced            The "secret riddle" as
(not avoidable)           space = sound as text               an available condition
                                   Designed sentences/voices      Abolition of conventional
                                   in a pattern of irregular             valuations between people
                                   repetitions                                 and "inanimate" objects
                                   repeating the text        
                                   simultaneously                          The passing on of infos                                       
                                                                                     through the object itself:
                                                                                     waves in a speaker / listener
JEALOUSY: Night-way    I'm walked to    with my sisters

COLLAPSE: The day-peoples' side    warming    without smoke

JEALOUSY: I'm a traveling entertainer   my face is glowing   in the dark

COLLAPSE: Are more hands open than you wanted to

JEALOUSY: What light is it    starlight    or is it a sun’s light

COLLAPSE:                                     JEALOUSY:
left-handed more                              night-side's ridge
right to the unknown                         its saw-toothed sentence       
                     column                         therefore        
                   affinities                         we may recognize    
       when we awake                         gliding access
COLLAPSE:                                      JEALOUSY:
I prefer either fresh                            laugh
or rained-in                                        on two cheeks
                rosebuds                            in the house of separating
you would lay aside                                                    scheduled      
                      or not                                               rushing water           




an interplay 


Material                                          Material                            Material
hardly in place                                to join in                           antedated

Scene I

SCHEME (with no helmet):            CHORD (in shorts):          PERHAPS (naked):     

bicycling                                         chant traverses                sand area
the tears in my eyes                      our voices up                   her eyes floating down
near South Central LA                  in variables                       on an hour-glass
in one curve the rubber draws      at this desert cave            little we're negotiating
a question mark of myself             not yet tempered              in rigor of this minute



You're putting a calm eye on this property       like saying good-bye.

Well, do you want to see a home less       less symmetrically organized?

Yes, but besides this, our contract with the park ranger is nearing its term -
choosing will be a must for us three.

Your mind-mechanics are impressive. But how are we going to divide our very nature?

Spasmodically, I guess: SCHEME keeps the big lunch box.

PERHAPS always wanted the lately centered 22 magnum and I, well I love
my little motor glider.

Sound's agreeable. You know living together as three people was fun.
Only two of us alone - I fear aren't obliged to stay put.
One alone may be save as long as capacities do not run out - don't you think so?

I'm trying to mind it: We may make it, folks we may not make it.
Somehow I feel motivated like salmon when the ocean's temperature rises
and the fishes are designated to migrate. There isn't much sangfroid in fins
before the fishermen set sail to a harbor. Apropos the harbor -
what is a harbor saying to you?  Only "Keep going".  "Have a nice trip". 
"I'm not going to see you tomorrow".

Well yes, for a change, I'll watch the taciturnity of a low tide’s wave nibbling
on driftwood

     perhaps the chord of a scheme
                                     in cat eyes




a play


Lend material                  Processed material            Skinned material

Word / Space                    O                   ONE            heat in kettles
                                                                                            left alone

Sound - space                   Computation                     dawn              he  leaves
                                                                                    shall I meet a bat's beam

Touch - space                   Hysteria                            she says
                                         (self-hypnosis)                   smell induces a flower
                                                                                   see the morning-gate?
                                                                                   poppies call   
                                                                                   orange at no distance

Light - space                     Illuminated data                warm breath         a shine
                                                                                   he returns from her friend
                                                                                   the moon


Unsaturated or barely fermented material (performed in opposition)

        We ask the text if there's something unattainable about RIVER ROCK,
DRESSLITTLE or EXILE.  Personalized, we transfer them on stage:
RIVERROCK rearranges fossilized fish from the kitchen to the bathroom.
DRESSLITTLE, hand-wringing tries to correct opinions held in public.
EXILE returns through a tuba leaking mental particles out of the seemingly
non-physical into an archive. Slowly, light helps dawn to measure
the square of a table offering the servings: milk, juice, tea  

RIVERROCK:                        DRESSLITTLE:                    EXILE:

open             says it               short refutation, Sir               ripples on my tea
of twisted directions               if it is mine                            the waving of her eyelash
with the oval of a mouth         it's not untended                  comes across the table                                                           
traveling          brief visit         a nest near nimble               then the flit of wings
at the Milky Way                    north wind has no access    announces a butterfly





Soft Sparks
an inter-genre cat and mouse play


Material                                                 Actors

Scene I    


hunger    masculine                               AJAX: (deep into files)
his fish still flapping                                Well, Penelope, you didn't want to                                                                                  
for his older sister                                  recognize that there is no more
                                                                copyright. On the NET
                                                                aren't things owned by all?

Scene II


fame                                                       PENELOPE: (putting on rouge )
folding a cat's teeth                                Ugh -  oneness? Are you really arguing
into mouse-fur                                        that the Net offers a place for free?


Scene III                                                                        

soft touch                                              AJAX:
sparks lighten the comb                        Possibly - but look, honey, I think
              before bedtime                        the server is out to lunch


Scene IV             

summer night                                       PENELOPE:                                             
blade by blade                                      Don’t get vulgar, please. You know
the moon in grass-beds                        my eyes are already trapped in yours                   
we avoid to talk                                     at the icon for "message"
the lizard almost out                                                




A Pair of Points
an inter-genre play


shifting parallels                liquid choices                      shaded by thought

it's the monk's mouth        push/pull     a minimum       sad       saddled      save
not talking                         then let the line go               the linkage  
    one wall reflective             with the stream’s fish               or the irregular verb
listen                  rain         another one of its spins       used for certain occasions
kissing his tongue             wish I had those fins            you may not learn to like

rejoined                             to gamble with                      topographical

what month is it                 clown      she says               new tires
      January                       I don't want to stay               the pattern on his driveway
       by the way                         only overnight               we read
                                                                                       into the broken profile
                                                                                       nothing anymore concrete

adding to the image          with no surroundings             to be fused
of blue
on board                            nothing, of course                 milk-white mail
flapping the foresail            we would blame                   moon-stamped
not yet a breeze                        by seize                            he answers





PULSE      (185 / 105 / blood pressure)
ECLIPSE   (temporarily occurring. Today wearing rainbow colors)

PULSE: I am embarrassed, because for the first time meeting a Celestial Persona.
New context     discrepancies made unique    breath / airbag

I don't know if I'm going to like the challenge of materials seemingly in disorder.

Even not so if they enlarge the property of your mind?

ECLIPSE: (takes off her sunglasses)
You don't know me - other trespassers I used to guide to hell. Now,
do you want me to look at a poem as an "imagined competition,"
let's say between different periods of time?

Well, there's competition between fish, birds, bulls (turning sideways) here,
look at the menu, even competitors after death?
I would like to extend that to rivalry between light conditions that alter ivory,
sprinklers, negatives or – say, what's under the skin
of a first salute?

I don’t know; but what is it that comes from a complex of scattered syllables,
from relocating, dislocating language?
Does that require a map to be read?

No - yes, since everything gets mapped somewhere in the fluids
before you can instinctively follow its course.

Instinctively? I heard the work on a text is supposed to be fun.

That's the point, Clipsy. Some readers may think they can track a text in no time.
Others are slow-reading creatures through the dark of a night promising nothing.

ECLIPSE:  (to the audience)
Clipsy Clipsy! damn it, I'm not Clipsy, I'm a lunatic, period!
(her moon is moving; she, being very young appears in earthly light)
Oh, Pulse, you mean 'till a surprise happens, like an unexpected contact between
a European-American and a Vietnamese?
(self-confident) My lover says I'm okay.                     

Her  eyes up to the mayor, seated at the balcony using binoculars.

Does your friend allow you to consider alterations, fallacious moves
that keep spinning around you till you feel like, well - captured in a cocoon?

ECLIPSE: (takes a deep breath standing, one foot slips off the Birkenstocks)
A warm one - transparent?  




NO - play


material                                            the drummer                                  static conveyed
masks  before                                  his hands following                        but not yet
        masks  behind it                       a parable                                       quickened         

we may recognize                            he's in a dialogue                           step to no step
two faces shown in one                    sheath-covered fingers hit             seven seconds
both masked                                     the flute     (he licks it softly)          his pause
on request                                       separating night in front                 there was movement
turned outside in                              from night behind a timbre             movement was

the body of another                          at attention                                    the right toe first
previous movement                          as if the owl of a call                      separated    
waiting                                              looks for a drummer                      slips for two inches -
not active in this play    'till                to lean on                                      the planks
ancestors reach to restore it            the scope of this space                  the audience shaken

a new home                                     a message                                     in waving garments
signals sent                                      calculated or not                           hidden access
encounter floor and ceiling                      predominant                           excess
return to the mouth                          with its constantly floating              shades
recollecting their own breath            quiver of no-matter                        unfolded

when inhaled                                    the musician sits                           the choir as a pattern
they absorb themselves                   since years beside him                   of irregular flowers
in a newly formed contact                his fast responding                                   ropes     
the unknown marches on                      elbow and wrist                                    spun                      
parallel to this audience                   interpreting this                             in  the spinning                                                                                                       
the mask suggests                           once the pain of a ghost                her moon
I'm the filter, the membrane             celebrating disorder                              and his mask
that makes you part of                     it echoes                                               burning off
what I see as uninterrupted             what cat-skin holds to project                connectedly 
performed stillness                          in a dwelling         after death         with half a gesture

stage light may fade                         wind flits by         little                    seasoned
on the ghost’s powdered surface     of our horizontal view                     the ritual
the expression stays                        can beat the vertically                    on a journey
whether moon light or sun                powered intonation                        for the fire
was here for a while                         beyond drum                                 of one turn a year




Unobtrusive Permissible

On stage, the voices of two actors represent persons who, through a newly
legalized medication, learned to keep on check the destructions terror-TV-shows
are made for.

In a distance of 25 feet from one another, the female voice starts out reciting
the first two lines, followed by a male voice repeating them. Each word seemingly
spoken with some delay, comparable to the feeling when a passenger’s
flight number and destination at an airport’s screen flares up surprisingly late.
Since the arrival at the target location is still not typed in, an unsecured situation
is still mentally upheld.

The lighting changes at a scale of white to violet during the recitation of the first
two lines, then in a mix of blue and gray it slowly remodels itself to clear
cobalt blue at the very end.         


on a ship’s bow the nymph    alone against the spray that matters

some sound sent as we obey to not to speak arriving as migrating tongues


within a breeder’s radiation the pregnant woman changes homes
fishes born without fins     by the shark’s pier     wrecked submarines


above an Indian’s tent three times welling smoke

transmutable whispers    insurgents separating glimmer from ashes


hands of a clock    moving along with the hostages’ hood    sign language

games inhabited to grow only inmates away





double you         
double it
double her
double us
double his   double hers  double ours


    The scenery looks a bit as if it was copied from a Greek vase where couples
used to rest on stone beds. But here, at an American home before TV,
we are seeing a sofa where a couple and their pets gather for a ball game,
one partly on top of the other, serving two purposes: a twofold victory or defeat,
double-bind, double-blinded, double-breasted - as you like it. Dope plays a role,
for sure a double-edged situation because the cop may drive by and call it
a double-park.

    Wanda gets up, and even thought the play only begins, she shuts the curtains.

   -    Look at that – my goodness, this discussion is going on and on, telling us how  
         we can double-quick increase the number of our offspring…

-    Do you mean, after all we have discussed about not having children -
        remember it was you who insisted we stay DINK (double income, no kids) –
       do you really want twins?

-   Oh, give me a break, sweetie - by gum, no! I have other things in mind.

So what the hell are you referring to?

Well, look: There is the NET, hanging around inside of the invisible,
       unknown spaces. Did you hear of the guys who think the net is double-faced,
       and we are caught into it? They are not wrong - we are occasionally feeling like
       someone’s catch, still jiggling. But check closely - how about the fun joining
       the net as a double-digit way of radiating messages out to neighbors, friends,
       even to enemies? Think of people who respond to your 3-liners when you used
       the technique of phrase and fragment -beside incorporating a double meaning.
       Or, well, in case you want to let your self flow into 5-liners…

Aha! Poetry is what you are talking about? It sounds cool, but you are
       making me hot. Gee, can I double, triple myself, write a sequence,
       collaborate with all of my senses, with my unenviable past,
       my bubbling presence and, oh my Lord, can I channel down images of
       spiritual pathways, and go “pivoting” with them as far as my hands can reach out?

Yeah, and with the however so curiously shaped views of others -
       connected to www. we may invite a third, a fifth,
       a seventh party to join our efforts, and enlarge the concept of “Symbiotic Poetry”.
       On the threshold to spirituality, collaboratively written poetry takes on the role
       to evaluate the unknown, the so far unarticulated.

cells swim upstream
night visions
the bodies to the same oar

May I add the techniques of twisting / shifting / leaping? In fact what we are
       doing here is transmitting light particles of a digital system to the surface
       of a screen and thereby electrifying the neuronal system of the apparently
       lonely ones.

You know the drill. It makes me think even more about combining text and     
        verse, written either by a single poet or even by a double-tongued one.
       There, the 5-liner can be set up and functioning as a vertical plane,
       visually constituting the power of a column at the core of horizontally
       arranged prose-territories. Want to try it out?

    -   Let’s sniff on it – work out a concept. May I borrow your Montblanc?    
        By the way, here is Machi’s Japanese cell phone number. Please give her a buzz 
        and ask her if she’s in the mood to share our party line at 10 pm., theme: “The
        very nature of greeneries and affairs of the heart in times of an ongoig war.”

         Winfred gets up arranging comfortable chairs and sets up equipment for the         
         scheduled night session.

    -   Please remember our voices will be broadcasted; we should have liquids available - 
        what is it that would work to our advantage for tonight?


    -   Irish coffee.


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