“Teach me how to live.”
Thursday, October 30th, 2008 by jenBringing Gilgamesh to its second incarnation at the MCA reminded me a bit of my San Francisco Mime Troupe days. Those too were shows that has to be deconstructed and packed in a truck. (Or, in this case, a Chevy Malibu or Honda Accord.) But unlike political satires put up in Delores Park, Gilgamesh now has theatrical lighting (thanks to Sarah Hughey). Like SFMT, we have music. In fact, Rob Steel and ensemble’s symphony of hand-held instruments rings even more clearly. Still though, we had the challenge of adjusting to a new space, with completely different acoustics and sightlines and exits. We’d spent the second week of October asking the actors to BE LOUDER. Suddenly, in the MCA theatre, the beauty of quiet revealed itself once more, and Komunyakaa’s poetry bloomed.
One of the things that theatre and poetry have in common* is the distillation of complicated ideas into crystalline images. Being an ancient epic, the tale of Gilgamesh is rife with epic symbols: the forest of the gods, the snake that sheds its skin, the life-giving plant…
Komunyakaa’s body of work traffics fearlessly in these touchstones, creating and re-creating his own versions into a fresh vocabulary. Gilgamesh’s mother questions his humanity with “When is the last time/ you gave your mother flowers?” And when his friend dies, our hero/anti-hero repeats simply “and I sit here and I sit here and I sit here” … until “a maggot drops from Enkidu’s nose.” In both this piece and his others, the poet paints the ugly beautiful and the beautiful with its ugliness.
From “Poetics”:





