The Stillness The Dancing

I once heard an intoxicated philosopher recite the most beautiful advice

he talked as lisped angels, and moved like squid, and late in the night
he spilled out in the corner,

and he spoke

‘I take dancing very seriously” 

and then spoke no more. 

... 

I enjoyed the quiet.

-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -
 
In my mind I picture the box office and the will-call, out on some Scottish shore.
There’s a shudder, the good kind, in your shoulders
when the wind blows over them
and into your future.
Your tense muscles refuse to dance
but will be shown how, like it or not,
when the great hoofer takes your hand, you the apprentice,
and releases your tears as ashes in storm.
I hear you will fly and swing,
and not just observe
what he abstractly calls stillness


There is first the learning, and before that the observing,
and before that the being observed.
There is then the losing, and then the being lost, 
and then the finding. 


In lament, I cannot speak from experience, 
but rumours say that the finding is the last waltz:
The waltz where you shall offer your final forget-me-not
to the lover you barely remember,
dolorous and miserable as can be.
Yet, like the magi’s pas de deux 
she will return you yours, 
and you are both more homeless than before -
but life is in death,
and a duet is en-passioned, passed out on the floor. 


This is the dance we find.
It is not être de raison,
but raison d'être,
it is all we can do with our time.


You might be temped to start
when that tremolo thunder calls the curtain aside
but it is the tall grains which pulse
notes to its neighbor, the mountain 
- that is, the rhythm -
which you are to follow
if anything means anything. 


So, above all, wait. Not for me. Not for the audience.
We have made our ghostly deal. 
We have gone before our time, we have whimpered in the wind, 
and followed Oedipean feet
and guides, if you can believe it, 
less mobile than concrete

But for you it is not too late
to wait and see

Koko Hovaguimian - Pas de Deux (Duet) From Story of Swan Lake