Actors
How naturally spontaneous -the actors!
With sleeves rolled up,
How much better they know how to live our lives for us!
Never have I seen a more perfect kiss
Than the actors' in the third act,
When the passions start
To make themselves clear.
Stained with oil,
In authentic caps,
True-to-life in their perfectly plausible jobs,
They enter and exit with speeches
That unfurl like carpets under their feet.
Their death on stage is so genuine
That, next to its perfection,
Those in the graveyards,
The truly dead,
Made up for tragedy, once and for all time,
Seem stagy and unstill!
Whereas we, so stiff within our single span,
We don't so much as know how to come alive!
We speak our lines at the wrong time or keep silent for years on end,
Histrionic and unaesthetic,
And we haven't a clue where the hell to keep our hands
- Marin Sorescu
How naturally spontaneous -the actors!
With sleeves rolled up,
How much better they know how to live our lives for us!
Never have I seen a more perfect kiss
Than the actors' in the third act,
When the passions start
To make themselves clear.
Stained with oil,
In authentic caps,
True-to-life in their perfectly plausible jobs,
They enter and exit with speeches
That unfurl like carpets under their feet.
Their death on stage is so genuine
That, next to its perfection,
Those in the graveyards,
The truly dead,
Made up for tragedy, once and for all time,
Seem stagy and unstill!
Whereas we, so stiff within our single span,
We don't so much as know how to come alive!
We speak our lines at the wrong time or keep silent for years on end,
Histrionic and unaesthetic,
And we haven't a clue where the hell to keep our hands
- Marin Sorescu
