Two poems and two monologues, recited within The Finn-Brit Players' production Poetry & Jazz – Bonds:
https://www.finnbritplayers.com/productions/past-productions/pnj-bonds
Crucified to a road
Separating from the land, from the very ground that you’re so used to, can be one of the hardest things to do. Because of history, because of personal and communal bonds. Because of… you know, a silly little thing called gravity. Plucking your roots and sticking them into an unfamiliar soil on the other side of the world is backbreaking, heart-wrenching, and very, very scary. So, standing your ground, even when the sky may be falling on your head, is extremely valiant.
However, in some cases this valiant stand may turn into a bear favour. Because not only is the sky giving you grief, but also the ground turns more and more into quicksand, presenting one reason to worry after another. Until you have more than enough to doubt your stand. Because of history, because of personal and communal struggle. Because of… you know, just because.
'Crucified to a road' is a lamentation about those of us who come from lands like these. A lamentation, with a little bit of a history rant planted in the middle, containing more than a few skeletons and fights from the history closet of the Balkans. But fear not, it’s all safe. After all, what’s the worst that can come out of a little fight that happened on the Balkans…
The bridge that would not burn
Have you met one of those people that have this one amazing skill, and they are so good at it that they try do use it for… everything? Basically, somebody with such a great hammer that they see nothing else but nails around them.
Like… like that guy who has a side-splitting sense of humour (according to him, of course), so that he constantly shares his gift with the world, resulting in the most inappropriate interactions. Or how the Hulk would do crochet – just repeatedly punching a tank with a ball of wool, hoping that it will come out as a perfectly knitted sock.
Like… like King Midas, you know? So, so great… but not for long.
This poem is about one such occasion, but not for a single person. For a whole tribe. For an entire nation, which has this one major character trait, and, oh boy, are they simultaneously SO GOOD and SO BAD at it.
In this particular case, I’m talking about my tribe. My nation. But please feel free to recognize your own bunch here. Because in this aspect, we certainly don’t hold a monopoly.
No… not a monopoly, just the championship.
Candlelit message
Ever since the dawn of society, exchanging messages has been a lifeline for conceiving and fostering connections between people. Done with the help of dutiful riders, jumping from horseback to horseback under the watchful eye of Hermes. Carried on the wings of birds or smoke, which by today are ways that have purely romantic connotation. Streamed through fiber highways at the speed of a modern lightning. As societies grew in size and knowledge, so did the ways of communicating, leading to a staggering progress in mediums, distances, and bandwidth.
There is one aspect, though, in which not only there was no advance, but maybe there is even a notable decline. With this aspect in mind, “Candlelit message” looks back at a lesser known, or perhaps lesser remembered way of communication. Even though this method may appear to be obscured by the shroud of religion and covered by the dust of antiquated practices, it still holds a promise. A promise, which no amount of fancy future inventions can make.
Who knows? Maybe tomorrow you will try this way when you want to convey your message. What do you say?
We, We, We
From the wolf in sheepskin getting caught by the shepherds and running away with a dozen hits on his back, to the poor silly boy who cried “Wolf” one too many times getting caught in the revenge of that very same wolf – our folklore is flooded by tales and morals about what happens to cheaters. To those who use subterfuge and shapeshifting, to the tricksters, the foxes, and the tempters. To those playing with the truth as if it is a Lego set with no instructions.
We all know what happens, right? Growing noses, pants on fire, and… well, worse. Of course, given the magnitude of the crime it all seems well deserved. But what if I tell you that we all deserve the same “reward”? That we all indulge in a daily dose of fibs, with amazing ease, even if this remains hidden from our dutiful and extremely well-meaning conscience.
“We, we, we” is a… friendly warning about this danger. “We, we, we” is a quick guide on how to spot the tiny cracks in the conversational ice before we plunge into the freezing depths below. “We, we, we” is a critical ballad about one single word, a word that has been neglected and mistreated for quite some time…
Additional credits:
The first image is originally from The Finn-Brit Players' webpage for the production, and the following three images are from Freepik, Pexels, and Pixabay, respectively.