Sunday, May 31, 2026

Poetry

 May 30, 2026

Re-watched Once Upon a Time in Hollywood last night, then in a dream Brad Pitt was my father (wearing the same yellow Hawaiian shirt) and we were selecting a vacation camping cabin, and as soon as we were set up he was going to show me how to butcher a cow in time for that night’s barbecue. 

Got spiffed up to attend a concert at Trinity downtown, which actually happens on another night. Had a cocktail at Times. 

SM turns out to be quite serious about poetry, and sends draft after draft. His latest drafts are actually readable. He’s an outstanding musician, so why not poetry? He is infected with the notion– which must come from bad teachers–that poetry enlarges emotion by expressing it in the most difficult and obscure way possible. The harder it is to figure out, the smarter the poet, the deeper the emotion. So many new writers are metaphysicians, thinking it’s needful for us to ransack history and psychology and etymology to help us unravel why that word in that place. Every statement is a knot to untie. For some that may be natural, but not for many. Anyway, he plunges forward, and I try to remain positive in my critiques. Aside from that, he is so beautiful. He sent me a voice recording of one of the poems, and though the poem is incomprehensible, I play it again and again. 


Quincy

 May 29, 2026

Fierce glut of dead-heading among the roses. Weeding, chopping of bamboo. My arms streamed blood from the thorns. 

There’s a hole in the porch big enough for a cat to squirm through. A tiny cat. 

B and her family have moved to Bonner’s Ferry, Idaho. From there you can spit into Canada. It’s clearly the remotest, most inconvenient place she could find without expatriation. 

Talked with the man who’s co-directing my little play at the Ruth Gordan Amphitheater in Quincy, MA. His co-director wanted to divide up five characters meant to be played by one person among five different actors, and he counted on me to put the kibosh on that, which I did. 


Voices from Ireland

 May 28, 2026

Back in touch with SM  Joy. He’s moved from Dublin to Ennis to help take care of an ailing father, “Because in Ireland the gay son is the same as the unwed daughter.” He sent me gawdawful poems that I had to think of something kindly to say about. 

Came home to a large ring snake lying on the side porch, looking as much like a stick as he was able.


 May 27, 2026

Alternation of shimmering hot sunlight and thunderstorm, like a tropical forest. 

Drove to Waynesville to renew my acquaintance with the Dimensions bookstore. Had cappuccino next door, bought two books I didn’t need. Immersed myself in the apparently boundless enthusiasm of its owner D (who didn’t remember me at first.). Those environs would depress me in half an hour (as in fact they did) He bubbles and effuses. The strip of street is like a little village, everyone coming to check in on one another. 


Memorial

 May 25, 2026

Memorial Day. The TV plays wonderful old war moves, where we win without being sons-of-bitches 

Sang for K’s memorial service at Warren Wilson. Naomi Nontombi Tutu was the surprise presence. She gave a lazy eulogy based on the ancient, divisive quarrel that arose at her leaving All Souls and lingered far too long. I wish I knew K in her prime. Everybody said she was “ a force of nature.” I remember mostly a COVID mask and her being mad at me for being on the wrong side of the Naomi controversy. 


Retired

 May 24, 2026

Pentecost. Pickerel weed and black calla bloom in containers on the porch. Inches of water on the tops of containers that don’t drain well.

The retired faculty meeting plays in my head. Such a deal of Machievelli-ism to such insignificant ends. W is the particular case. After we were friends, he re-invented me as a bitter enemy, though I was never any such thing. There wasn’t enough substance to him either to fear or dislike very much. Yet of all people in my life (to my knowledge) he spent the most energy vilifying and slandering me. I think he thinks he got away with it that I don’t know, he greets me with such cordiality when we, accidentally, meet. His efforts from time to time crossed over from nuisance into actual evil. I wonder if he faces this truth? It was perplexing, and more flattering than he anticipated, that one would go to such lengths on my behalf, whatever the intention. I survived– it’s possible that everyone is as wise to him as I became and paid no attention. But there he is, a worm squirming into any hole that will hold him, playing for minuscule bits of influence. He has influence of a sort, in the form of concessions made to shut him up. He is also held in amused contempt by almost everyone I know. His friends protect him from knowledge of himself. Now that I’ve written that, I imagine that mine do the same for me. 

“Sunday Baroque” on the radio

Gigantic prose revisions all yesterday, probably continuing today.


 May 23, 2026

Had to get a winter coat to cover me last night, clutching a sweater to my body just now. Playing a new CD of Gregorian chant. Ave Maria. . . .Last night full of dreams and an incredible volume of urine. I don’t remember drinking nearly that much. In one of the dreams I was in some quaint Old World village which had been Yeats’ childhood home. The store selling his memorabilia was closed, so I broke in to have a look, finding incredible treasures in te basement, which seemed to disintegrate as my hand touched them. I was crying out for the shopkeeper to help me as the dream ended. 

Decided to put together another book of poetry. I have enough poems for four solid books, with no presently perceivable principle of selection. A despair of riches. 

Saturday, May 23, 2026

 May 22, 2026

Watched the last edition of Stephen Colbert last night. Farewell. 

Off in slow rain to Campus to the annual lunch meeting of the RFFA, Retired Faculty and Administration. I’ve dodged many such events, and now that I know what goes on, I’ll dodge the rest. Good seeing a few people I haven’t seen in a while; otherwise, three hours of life I won’t get back. Not bad, just remote from my interests. Lunch was excellent. I haven’t figured out exactly what the organization is for. Perhaps if I wanted continued influence over my old university I would understand better. Some want that very keenly indeed. Turns out that next year is UNCA’s Centennial, year. That is, apparently, a prime opportunity for fundraising. Mr M, “Director of Engagement,” handed me an envelope which contained testimonials from former students calling me their outstanding faculty memory. I didn’t remember any of them, which makes it sweeter, I suppose, that they remember me. 

Friday, May 22, 2026

May 21, 2026

Drought turns into days of grayish drizzle and full bird baths, which is fine by me. 

I may have overestimated the damage the bears did to the pond. It is in fact holding water. I took a net and ladled out as much vegetable debris as I could. I had to examine each netful for the flashing bodies of mosquito fish and gold fish and enormous bull tadpoles, to deliver them back into the water. All this was unmistakable sign of life. This morning as I threw some recycling into the bin, a bullfrog called from the margin, and I decided to let be for a time. Bears are a widely-publicized problem locally right now. Several have been euthanized in Black Mountain. People accuse human encroachment on traditional bear habitat, but I wonder if that’s the actual story. I lived on this street for 25 years before I ever saw a bear. My house stood for 95 years before bears tore out the basement windows. You’d think that would have happened way back, given their propensities, had there actually been bears to do it. I love the bears, but realize I limit my time sitting on the porch at night because of them, and keep a heavy bat by the backdoor in case something needs to be repulsed. 

ACLGMC rehearsal engaging. What makes something so lighthearted that was such a chore erewhile?  

Peace Frog

May 20, 2026

Still no rain, though a pittance is promised for tonight.

My bear videos are getting hundreds of views.

Peace Frog reading last night at Dimension of Books in Waynesville, on a genrtrifying street facing a mountain. Big handsome Doug opened the store a few months ago. He looks like a TV sports reporter, as I think he was for a while. We’re from the same part of Ohio, which I knew from his lack-of-accent accent. Used books, all dusty, some quite esoteric. Doug seems deeply happy, and this little store his dream. I hope all goes well for him forever. If I had known exactly what the event was, I would probably have refused, but I went and it is well. Ten or twelve people in a tiny, tiny rooms, sweating like stevedores. What an odd thing poetry is. Unlike in almost any other art form, amateurism is not only tolerated, but encouraged as, somehow, genuine. Amid that I was a white flame. They acclaimed me a great poet, and whether that is true or not, I changed the perspective of the room. One woman said that I was either a great poet or a great performer, and she didn’t know which. Imagine saying that to Mozart. Poets who are not good performers should not perform, but rely on their readers. My life has been poetry, yet even I roll my eyes when required to go to a reading, knowing how unlikely it is to be excellent. 

The breaking light revealed that the bears returned, and this time destroyed everything. They ripped a hole in the fabric of the pond and drained much of the water. They scooped out the water plants and left them torn on land. They broke my one remaining pear tree and toppled the lawn statuary that I had righted yesterday. This is the end of that joy. The pond is too much of a temptation to wild animals who have grown far too bold. I had it for ten years, and perhaps that is enough. But, sad. I think of the calling of frogs, the birds slaking their thirst, the occasional heron, the lilies like gems flowering in the shadows. 

 

 May 17, 2026

The shirt I wore to the ballet was last worn, according to the dry cleaning label, in 2012. The server at the Wortham café admired my outfit.

At dusk two bears entered my yard. One was enormous, clearly full grown, the other smaller but much too big to be this year’s cub. Neither had collars. They romped in the pond, got out of the pond and romped in the grass. You don’t expect bears that big to be that playful. This went on for a good half hour. I don’t know how much of the waterlilies they decimated. They overturned my cement swan, out of sheer devilment. I don’t know where they went, but I’m not going outside until dawn. I have to admit I was smiling the whole time they were here.  Happy creatures. One does recognize that, if they turned aggressive, animals that size would be unanswerable. 


Saturday, May 16, 2026

Cinderella

May 16, 2026


Parked at First Baptist last night and made my way through Downtown After 5 festivities to the Wortham to see Ann’s Cinderella, to the music of Prokofiev. It was astoundingly good. I was caught up in the theater of it regardless of my reservations concerning classical ballet. Chit-chat with Tom and CoCo. Sweet night in my little town.  

May 15, 2026

Wearing my winter jacket indoors o n the 15th of May. Finished a rewrite of Ben and Angela, toward no conceivable end but my own satisfaction. 

 

 May 13, 2026

Hard gardening, centered on the bags of mulch I bought more than a year ago finally getting spread around. One day is right after a thousand days were wrong. 

Rabbit grazed within reach as I was weeding. 

 May 12, 2026

Amazon delivery mistakenly left a package for my neighbor on my porch. I phoned him, and as I was describing how we were right across the street from each other, he said, “Oh! Where the bears squeeze in.” Yes. I like that. Where the bears squeeze in. 

Went to All Souls to discuss with a fundraising guru how to raise money to rebuild. My mind goes almost immediately to the very rich, who should be encouraged to find something beneficial to do with their excess. 


Sunday, May 10, 2026

Closing

 

May 10, 2026

Skipped church, unable to endure the choir substitute. 

Attended the final performance of Purification. Arrived early, sat under a tree in the bank parking lot while the immaculate sapphire sky blazed above. The actors were on fire, and the experience was totally different from what it was when they were not quite on fire. Quick. Exciting. I got every syllable. Fine ending note. The house was chocked with my friends, as Steve said it has often been. The revision was in my head, and when they came to parts I had changed, I kept hoping (impossibly) that the actors would use the revision. 

B writes on Facebook: i am so glad i was able to experience The Sublime Theatre's production of David Hopes' Purification.

a passionate, witty, and effective call to the masses to not only demand, but to work for change. this cast and crew quite vividly brought the show to life. so much heart. so much humanity. so much humor mixed with justifiable frustration and anger. and it was such a wonderful mother's day gift to get see this with my kid.

and now.... sunday night karaoke....

i wonder what protest songs i know?

*

M also mentioned that she had given the afternoon to herself to be away from her family on Mother’s Day. People like I, with loads of solitude, don’t realize how precious it is to others. 


Dinner Party

 May 9, 2026


D and her husband P here for dinner last night. She has become her mother, and there were moments when I had to consider twice to be sure whom I was talking to. She observed that I have become my father. P is both an unexpected and perfect mate for her, a pilot and a computer programer, light hearted where she is inclined to be morose. They have given themselves to good works through their church, including a summer camp for children in foster care. Three times she said, “You were at Michael’s funeral,” which made me hugely glad that I was. I can barely remember a time when I didn’t know D, and yet what do I know of her? Last night was the longest conversation we ever had. I remember her preference for dark meat and for the skin of the turkey at Thanksgiving when we were kids, but I had to ask her how many kids she has, and what she did for a living. She remembered a salad I made out of wild greens. 


Review 2

 May 8, 2026


REVIEW: “Purification” | A thought-provoking new work

By Blaine Greenfield

Chief Encouragement Officer, BLAINESWORLD

At: The BeBe Theatre

From April 30-May 10

The Sublime Theater & Press

presents a World Premiere

of “Purification”

By David Brendan Hopes


I attended the first night of the show’s second-week run.

David Brendan Hopes’ “Purification” is an ambitious and richly textured new work that moves back and forth between 1911 and the present day, exploring how people respond when personal conviction and morality collide. At the center of the story is a small circle of friends and lovers whose lives are unexpectedly altered by a box of speeches and writings discovered in a basement storeroom, documents that connect them to an early 20th-century activist and begin to reshape the way they look at the world around them.

Rather than preaching a specific viewpoint, Hopes invites the audience into conversations about conscience, human connection, and the choices people make during unsettled times. The play blends drama and romance with music and touches of magical realism into a story that is both emotionally engaging and mentally absorbing. It’s the kind of production that sparks discussion long after the final scene ends while also searching for a path to better days.

Hopes has long been associated with thoughtful and socially aware theater, and that sensibility is very much on display here. “Purification” is less concerned with easy entertainment than with provoking reflection and examining ideas through richly layered characters and interpersonal dynamics.

All five performers are outstanding, with several taking on multiple roles. Notably, all five performers are making their Sublime Theater debuts.

Ben Mackel (Axel, Vincent Perrugia) is especially impressive throughout the evening. Whether providing comic moments, emotional grounding, or intensity, he handles each role with confidence and versatility. He also sang several songs during the production, including a powerful rendition of Phil Ochs’ “Small Circle of Friends” that set the tone beautifully for much of what followed.

Kai Chamberlain, making her stage debut as Anna Radzinsky, delivers a poised and emotionally compelling performance. One monologue in particular was especially moving and demonstrated both strength and vulnerability.

Chessa Budai (Diana) brings warmth, intelligence, and emotional depth to her roles, particularly in scenes dealing with family tensions and philosophical disagreements.

Eric Martinez (Jim) gives the production an appealing sincerity and grounded presence, helping anchor many of the contemporary scenes.

Braden LaMore, also making his stage debut as Cecil, handles the role with confidence and charm while also sharing believable chemistry with the rest of the cast.

Directed by Steven Samuels, the production moves smoothly between time periods and tones while keeping the focus squarely on the characters and the ideas driving the play. This marks the fourth collaboration between him and Hopes, and the creative partnership clearly continues to bring out strong work from both men.

Production Stage Manager Dakota Mann, Costume & Set Designer Kayren McKnight, and Lighting Designer Abby Auman all contribute strongly to the evening, with McKnight’s costumes especially effective and the overall visual presentation consistently appealing.

And then came one of the evening’s nicest touches. Near the conclusion of the play, sponge cake was served to performers onstage as part of the action, and afterward, audience members were invited to enjoy some as well. It created a warm and memorable sense of connection between cast and audience.

Kudos to The Sublime Theater & Press for continuing to champion original, challenging, and artistically ambitious work. This is a company clearly committed to supporting local and regional artists while creating productions that encourage audiences to think and engage. “Purification” fits that mission beautifully.


High 5

 May 7, 2026

Spent the day, as I thought I would, revising Purification.

My place by the river, the cafĂ© High 5, was destroyed by an arsonist last night. It is the place where, locally, I have written most, except for this room in which I type. People ask, “Why would anyone do such a thing?”  There is almost never an answer.

Man is in love and loves what vanishes,

What more is there to say? That country round

None dared admit, if such a thought were his,

Incendiary or bigot could be found

To burn that stump on the Acropolis,

Or break in bits the famous ivories

Or traffic in the grasshoppers or bees.


Review

 May 6, 2026

Clouds but not yet the promised rain. 

A perceptive review of Purification by Bruce Steele from Asheville Stages:

Purification at BeBe Theatre

What should you be willing to do to resist tyranny? Do the ends justify the means — even to the point of violence? These are questions that echo through history and through David Brendan Hopes’ thought-provoking new play Purification, now in its world premiere production by The Sublime Theater & Press at the BeBe Theatre in downtown Asheville.

The play establishes its themes right off the bat as actor/singer/guitarist Ben Mackel shares a portion of activist/songwriter Phil Ochs’ angry 1967 folk song “Small Circle of Friends”: 

Enter this play’s small circle of friends, two couples bantering blithely at a coffee shop: Cecil (Braden LaMore) and Jim (Eric Martinez), and Diana (Chessa Budai) — Jim’s ex-lover — and Axel (Mackel), Diana’s new flame and the shop musician. Jim is clever, down-to-earth, and earnest; Cecil is stylish and somewhat pretentious (“People tend to exaggerate my vacuousness”); Diana is fun-loving but increasingly worried about the state of the nation (“Have you been watching the news again?” Jim asks. “Haven’t we warned you about that?”).

Jim’s mother has recently moved into an assisted living facility, and when Jim and Cecil set to sorting her belongings in a box-filled basement, they find a cache of papers belonging to Jim’s great-great-aunt, an early-20th-century activist named Anna Radzinsky. Reading aloud her manifestos on freedom and the oppression of the working class (“Hesitation is the luxury of the rich”) soon conjures Anna herself (Kai Chamberlain) onto the stage, and Purification reveals its parallel-time structure, alternating between 1911 and the present. Also on hand now and again is Vincenzo Peruggia (Mackel), a real historical figure best known for stealing the Mona Lisa from the Louvre (an incident without which the painting would likely have remained largely unknown to the world).

The 1911 scenes are the more engaging, as the stakes are clearer and the characters more intricately imagined, including a smart use of the then-newly published story of Peter Pan. (J. M. Barrie turned his 1904 stage hit into a novel titled Peter and Wendy, published in 1911.) Anna’s activism draws from historical figures such as Emma Goldman and Alexander Berkman, but Hopes gives the fictional Anna a connection to a wealthy New York family, allowing him to create the most resonant relationship in the play, the affectionate but fraught connection between Anna and her sister, Sophie (Budai), a New York socialite by marriage. (Sophie is Jim’s great-grandmother.) Their meeting for lunch at the upscale Manhattan restaurant Delmonico’s is one of the play’s two best scenes, and it introduces a likable waiter and Anna acolyte (Mackel). This character’s later scene with Sophie at her upscale home showcases the talents of Budai, Mackel, and Hopes in layered emotions and philosophical conundrums grounded in lived experience, and it’s brilliantly executed.

The present day scenes are more generalized, presumably because Hopes wanted to keep those characters more broad — Everypeople, serving as the audience’s stand-ins, rather than fully realized (and thereby perhaps less relatable). They also come to speak in more rhetorical, less natural phrasings as the story of Anna’s work inspires them to consider what they ought to be doing to resist in their own lives and times. (“Some of us are still processing. If we rush, we blunder.”) While LaMore and Martinez have a sweet chemistry as Jim and Cecil in earlier scenes, they have a harder time making the later debates come to life. It’s especially difficult to discuss tyranny while declining to name any particular politician, tyrant, or offense, as Hopes elects to do here.

Anna’s rhetoric, emerging from historical specificity, comes with more conviction, and Chamberlain comfortably embodies the character’s passion in speeches and interpersonal interactions. The small cast’s secret weapon is Mackel, who rises easily to each challenge: troubadour, comic rebel (as Perrugia, of whom the play could use more), earnest disciple, and so on. (Mackel was equally entertaining as Richard Dreyfuss in NC Stage Co.’s The Shark Is Broken last fall, a venue to which he’ll return as a musician next month, according to his program bio.)

As is his particular skill, director (and Producing Artistic Director) Steven Samuels makes the most of limited resources, keeping the focus on the characters and their cunundrums, so the bare-bones sets and furnishings aren’t a hindrance. One of the points of Hopes’ play is that words matter, and Samuels serves the local playwright’s text nimbly with that in mind.

I would guess that the script’s ending is as much a call for discussion as it is a provocation, and audience members will have much to talk about after the two-act play wraps. They’ll want to reconsider the questions that open this review, and also, perhaps, the pros and cons of equating the political situations of 1911 and 2026. Anna and her real-life counterparts worked to counter the power of the rich (a familiar current refrain) on behalf of the downtrodden and exploited proletariat. How they would react — and how modern activists should react — to a power grab by the wealthy and privileged that was supported at the ballot box by overwhelming numbers of that same downtrodden working class remains an unconsidered question.

To paraphrase one memorable line from the play: It would be a mistake to think that purification will be a natural process.

*

Steele finds the places that bothered me, too, either in the writing or in the watching.  I know that instead of the twenty other things I’d planned to do, I’ll be revising that play. 


Artifact

 

May 4, 2026

The terrible anniversary.

Rabbit playing in the yard. 

Vivaldi issuing somehow from the computer. 

So fed up by operations in the choir that I left service early yesterday, assuming nobody observed. 

But afterwards through crystalline spring light to the BeBe for my second look at Purification. Parked on Ravenscroft, walking through a lovely idyllic neighborhood right against downtown. The play seemed better to me the second time. Only part of that was a better performance by the actors; the rest was that I, like an ordinary audience member, was making connections and feeling resonances that passed me by the first time, perhaps overwhelmed by anxiety. I wept when Anna was shot. I picked out threads weaving through the work that others had praised but I’d failed to notice the first night. A couple from Johnson City said they had seen all my plays done by the Sublime, and this was the best. It’s still odd to me– after many re-affirmations– that a work I created can be so mysterious to me. The artifact is wiser than the artificer. 


 May 2, 2026

Cold, bright. A day of inexplicable exhaustion, wherein to see the bed was to lie down upon it. Perhaps it’s the emotional release afforded by good comments about the play, especially from P, who would have said nothing if he hadn’t meant his praise. The depth of P’s scholarship is a continual astonishment to me. He clawed through Young’s Night Thoughts in order to understand how they relate to Blake. John Dee came up in conversation, and he knew everything. 

Did I really get an email from LR? 


Saturday, May 2, 2026

 

May 1, 2026

First sight: rabbit scampering across the street to Carolyn’s. 

Opening night of Purification quite satisfactory– sufficient audience to keep me from despair in that regard, the actors a light year beyond where they were when last I saw them. Cecil and Jim got into a loop where they repeated lines until easing back on track, but that’s live theater. Anna had made tremendous strides. Axel was a bundle of glinting talent. I couldn’t imagine why I hadn’t seen him before. The play. . .  in my years as a playwright on opening night I had the least emotion surrounding this one, not anxious, not cringing at errors, not secretly applauding my own genius, not probing the room for reactions. It was well. Insofar as it wasn’t well, I didn’t care. It is not my best work, but people will think it is. I sat with a man who was my student in a playwriting course in 2003, who remembered fondly writing a play about men talking at a urinal. The walk from my car to and back from the theater was an epic, at first blue and crowded with incident, then moonlit and solitary.

P and I finished our study of the Four Zoas this afternoon. He and L saw my play tonight, and sent this message: “Oh David, we couldn’t get over how fine your play is and just posted in two places on Facebook the link for tickets. The space was almost full. I hope it will continue to be. Thank you for your gift.”


 April 30, 2026

Bright and cool. The lady on the TV promised rain, but she was wrong.

Ungodly rehearsal last night. Our substitute imagines that talking is the same as directing. He showed vulnerability to some of the more aggressive basses, who began a war of whispering and belligerent questions. To top it off, the bar we headed to afterwards closed as we approached. 

Finally realized that the sickish feeling I have is related to opening night, now 7 hours off. I cannot help. I can only hinder by sending our frantic vibrations--