Scenes From a Broken Hand: National Poetry Month

Friday, April 4, 2008

National Poetry Month

April is the cruellest month.

It's also National Poetry Month.

So kick back with a good poem and marvel at how some of your fellow monkeys have managed to transform the squeaks and squawks with which we ask for more bananas into phrases of Absolute Beauty, Wonder, and sometimes Terror.

Go ahead--just pick an author at random when you have a few moments to spare. And graze.

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Scenes from a Broken Hand

CHESTER:
This monk I knew in Thailand... amazing man. He was always talking about these veils that stand between us and reality—and how you had to push them back to win the Hide and Seek.

JIM:
Hide and Seek?

MORDECAI:
It's a game, Pogo—the one I'm playing with myself—my real self, deep down.

CHESTER:
No, no. God, or the world, or whatever is out there, is playing it--with all of us. See, God is like this tremendous hand, and we, all of us, everything, are like the fingers. What God does is, he splits himself up into all these different parts, all these fingers: plants, fish, people, rocks—and then—this is the amazing part— he forgets! He forgets what he's done. He plays a game with himself, see? Hide and Seek! That's what the veils are for—so he can forget—so we can forget where it all came from. We see the fingers, but we never see the hand.

from Scenes From a Broken Hand,
a play by Andrew Ordover