A Magazine of Verse

.

S

MARCH, 19187

WHEN THE WILLOW NODS;

A Dance-play for Poem-mimes

CENE-A dense and dusky wood which surrounds a wil

low leaning over a pool. Sun-splotches penetrate the shadows. An old figure is seated on a low stone ledge at the right of the pool. He is dressed in a simple hooded robe, and he speaks with a detached air, like one who improvises, occasionally caressing a small hidden instrument, or drum, with exquisite haphazard rhythms. Later a girl and boy enter, simply dressed in thin flowing garments of vivid color. They, and afterwards a second boy, act the improvisation of the figure in a dance or pantomime which discloses a series of unconscious poses, naive, awkward, uncertain, shy. They appear to be the physical embodiment of the thought-play of the figure. He is unseen by them, but it is evident that they can hear him, most of the time, separately. It is questionable whether the figure can see them. A clear unity of the

[287]

vague elements of scene and lights, speech and silences, poses and pantomime, is observed throughout the play. At the rise of the curtain, the figure is alone.

The Figure:

Only when the willow nods

Does the water nod;

Only when the wind nods.

Does the willow nod;

Only when a cloud nods

Does the wind nod:

And, of course, nod

Rhymes with God. . .

[The girl wanders in; looks up at the willow; approaches the water; kneels.]

Better that you look

Lovely, than that you are

Lovely. Yes, oh yes, touch your blouse, touch your

hair

When he comes, touch your cheeks with the pink that

flies.

But his glance will do more for your look than these. [Indefinite poses of self-contemplation. The first boy wanders in, carrying a small basket.]

Your least shy look

Recreates folk to your image.

Not that they know what your image is,

Nor that they care, but-won't you look at him?

He'd like to look like you

Then you'll love him?

[Rapture holds the boy; he sets the basket on the ground.

The girl stiffens into another pose.]

She has made cups of her hands;

She holds them, palms waiting, under her breasts.

If you look still higher, you may see

Three more cups-her mouth, her eyes.

Brave lad, can you resist so many?

[The boy's ecstasy crumbles to excitement as the girl looks at him vaguely.]

What can you-what should you-what shall you say?

What can you-what should you-what shall you swear?

Could I let you give her the earth or a tree

Lend you something more than you, more than me?
How can you, how should you-how else could you
Make her, urge her to-have her say, whisper,
Breathe-breathe she-breathe that she .

What can you-what should you—what shall you do?
You might-jump-jump off—and never come back!
And she she only she only say

[The girl looks at the boy, clearly.

no!

She moves from the

water. He follows. She stops beyond the willow. hesitates.]

He

Do you feel him a thing of silk

him?

-now you can hear

Must you be always tearing his flesh

With your eyes, and your silence?

Put a quick finger on one of his pores, touch it at

least

Or he will fall, bloodless, at your feet,

And leave you nobody.

You wouldn't enjoy turning ghoul?

Faun girl, you are beautiful

Be kind to yourself.

[The girl starts toward the boy; permits him gradually

and gently to caress her.]

Place your cool mouth to his.

Press hard and long.

There will come opening

Things which have never sung before:

Things even you will never understand; nor he.

Turn your large eyes to his. Enter.

You will see what you heard-and the mystery grow.

At the last, bring your curious touch to his.

Hands move to the breeze.

[Frightened, the girl draws away, and suddenly disappears. Awed, the boy cannot follow her.]

She loves you?

And who are you who are you that she should?

Don't ask me that-ask tiny questions.

She of the yellow hair, she of the cool green eyes,

She of the queer red mouth-I know whom you mean. Come, lad, tell me more about her, don't be afraid.

She loves you?-so you said.

Let's sit on the grass; it gives so pleasantly.

Now we can talk. She loves you?

But let's talk, talk about her!
You can't? Neither can I . .
Away, away from this place-
There's a pond past these trees.

Let's steal to a boat, a long eerie boat,

And drift to the water-lilies:

Pink, blue or white, lilies are quiet thoughts.

We won't break them for her; we don't have to.

Eh? She loves you? Poor boy,

Are you so happy you're sad?

That's right, shut your eyes.

Wake you when we reach the lilies?—

I'll try, I'll try.

[The boy is gone.]

She loves you.

I can assure you now you're asleep.

Dream, boy, lilies will wake you,-pink, blue or white.

No matter the color, no harm can come: she loves you. [Interlude.]

Trees, too, are innocent entities.

Sap sings through them in time with the weather.

One can see they care little about their fellows,

Though they do have a way