March 1, 2009

Part of the stage was in imminent danger of collapse last night, so intermission was extended so it could be reinforced–with a tire jack, I think. Tony spent the evening reminding people that he had spotted the problem before curtain and sounded the alarum, but was unheeded. Lavinia burst into tears because her father was in the audience. Three wan laughs are predictable in the show: when Aaron, the Moor, says “More or less,” when Marcus says, “but I will use the axe,” and when Lavinia puts the severed hand into her mouth. I think the last one Shakespeare did not foresee. The most uncomfortable moment in theater? In the running, anyway.

Changing Scenes Theater near Seattle is doing a public reading of Before the Holy Temple, deciding, I think, whether to chose it for a main stage.

Evening: blinding wall of snow, wet and heavy. Tara phoned to say that Titus has been cancelled for the night. Cantaria, too, cancelled, and so I have an unexpected evening to myself.

Spoke to the adult class at the Hendersonville UC of C this morning, about the Inaugural celebration, and the new administration and the arts. I was under-prepared, but they seemed to like me, and only the only person who was a Republican was upset, said my host The intro note alleged that I had caused a stir with my poem, but I forgot to ask what stir it was. To cause a stir with a poem is an ambition not to be downplayed.

DJ saw Titus last night and said it was quite horrible. He is the only person I’ve spoken to about it who is not, to some degree, involved with MPP. I feared that, but the infectious enthusiasm of those around me encouraged me to imagine it was better than judgment suggested. I have enjoyed the fellowship; let it go at that.

The house glitters with candles. Have just dared to turn the computer back on after a series of electrical events. The lights went out three or four times. I watched out the front window as a transformer exploded in green fire, and all went black, coming on again out by house, and finally the giant red letters of the Ingles sign in the distance, which I never notice unless they’re gone. Some phenomenon of light, maybe refraction from downtown, makes the snow in every direction unmistakably pink. It is a beautiful and violent night.