Posted: December 6, 2013 in Chat
Tags: , ,

She was their audacity, they balloted her

actor-manager of The Rose Theatre;

her voice the decider, the dea ex machine

with which she straddled the trap-door of argument.

Few could escape her bawling-out or charisma;

who else could change theme mid-scene

or change character though it raged against her?


‘We’ll give her twelve years!’ said the backers,

carte-blanching theatre, sub-clausing actors: ‘There’s

money in tragedy, bowdlerised naturally;

a rhetoric there to over-ride opponents.

Fill your programme with bluster, let none go Scot-free

and none will renege.’ Their values cashed with hers.


The City grew wealthy with players, new fads arose,

rented street populations for crowd scenes,

bit-parts, creating the notion of a nation

(a licensed interpretation). Her entrance mid-scene

as rousing climacteric steered timing’s on-rush

from one climax to another. Each play she chose

manipulated lives, a wielded created

of stage-emotion, subservient to a hidden plot.


Twelve years ticking through the turn-stiles, takings

poll-plotting her management acumen, and the faking

of adrenalin pulsing through history,

to smother sub-plotters’ murmurings.

A poised and clinching pathos of reasoning; or was it, rather,

the sheer amplitude of her persona, proving

the inconsequence of plot, theme… theatre?

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