Still Hungry for More Thrills & Chills?
We will continue to run a new story each day this week. These stories were written at an Inlandia workshop for those wanting to write for Ghost Walk.
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The Last Encore
Venue: Back to the Grind
Characters: Master of Ceremonies, Sylvia Plath, John Berryman, Anne Sexton
Master of C: Welcome to Ghost Walk’s Dead Poets’ open mic night. This evening we are pleased to present three confessional poets who are making a special appearance, back from the dead, to share some of their most memorable work. Our first poet, Sylvia Plath, in a state of severe depression resorted to suicide by oven in 1963, welcome back to our world. Give it up for Sylvia.
(MC and audience applause, cheers)
Sylvia Plath: Thank you so much for the warm welcome. I will be reading an excerpt from Lady Lazarus a poem that feels particularly relatable this evening.
Lady Lazarus
Dying
Is an art, like everything else
I do it exceptionally well
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.
It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’s the theatrical
Come back in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout
‘a miracle’
That knocks me out
There is a charge
For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or touch
Or a bit of blood
Ash, ash
You poke and stir
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there—
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
(MC and audience applause, cheers)
Master of C: Thank you Sylvia. We sure do miss you. Wish you could have stayed with us to write more amazing poems. Our next poet, John Berryman, decided to end his life by jumping off the Washington Avenue bridge on the campus of University of Minnesota in 1972. Let’s welcome John to our stage to perform a poem from his Dream Song book.
(MC and audience applause. cheers)
John B: Thanks for bringing me back for an encore reading this evening. I’ve chosen Dream Song 14:
Life, Friends, is Boring
Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so
After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns,
We ourselves flash and yearn
and moreover, my mother told me as a boy
(repeatedly) ‘Ever to confess you’re bored
means you have no
Inner resources,’ I conclude now that I have no
inner resources, because I am heavy bored
people bore me
literature bores me with its plights and gripes
as bad as Achilles
Who loves people and valiant art, which bores me
And the tranquil hills, and gin, look like a dog
And somehow a dog
Has taken itself and its tail considerably away
Into mountains or sea or sky, leaving
behind me, wag
(MC and audience applause, cheers)
Master of C: Thank you Mr. Berryman for your many Dream Songs we enjoyed through the years. It was so inspiring for you to lend voice to your words. Our final poet of the night is Anne Sexton. When life became too overwhelming for Anne, she locked herself in the garage with her car running to eventually die of carbon monoxide poisoning in 1974. We are so happy you have returned to join us for open mic night. Please welcome Anne Sexton.
(MC and audience applause, cheers)
Anne Sexton: Thank you. It is so nice to see so many young people in the audience who are interested in poetry. Although it may not seem like it, writing was a source of comfort to me as I hope it is for you. I will be reading:
Waiting to Die
Since you ask, most days I cannot remember
I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage
then the almost unnamable lust returns.
Even then I have nothing against life
I know well the grass blades you mention
the furniture you have placed under the sun.
But suicides have a special language.
They want to know which tools
They never ask why.
Twice I have so simply declared myself
have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy
have taken on his craft, his magic.
In this way, heavy and thoughtful,
Warmer than oil or water
I have rested drooping at the mouth-hole.
I did not think of my body at needlepoint.
Even the cornea and the leftover urine were gone.
(MC and audience applause, cheers)
Master of C: Thanks Anne for sharing your powerful poem with us. Perhaps your words will bring strength and courage to those in need. I want to thank all of our dead poets this evening for giving us a glimpse into their worlds. Let’s bring them back on stage one more time.
(MC and audience claps and cheers for encore, but no dead poets return to stage)
Master of C: I’m afraid they are not coming back. They are lost to us now except on pages. Thanks for joining us tonight. Be safe going home.
***
Coveted
Venue: Annex
Characters: Homeless Hank, Eloise the Librarian, College girl/News Anchor, Boyfriend/News Anchor
Props: shopping cart, garbage bags, cane, pillow, sleeping bag, two microphones
Hank: I like to hang out in the library parking lot…park my portable home on wheels in the back. I’m a collector. Wandering around the city I’ve found some gems. You’d probably be surprised by what I have in my cart. I’m a people watcher too…especially like pretty young girls…ones with long hair and longer legs.
Eloise: I’ve been watching him from my office window in the library. He leers at young girls, drools when he sees one he really likes. Disgusting…dirty letch. I wonder what’s in his cart…curious if he has anything valuable.
(young college age girl walks by)
Hank: It’s my lucky day! She’s heading to my secret hideout. I’d like to keep her warm tonight. Maybe just talk about my collections. I could give her a gift.
(Hank follows the girl, pushing his cart)
Eloise: There he goes. She’s not paying any attention to him… with those earbuds and texting, she doesn’t even hear him. I better tag along. I wonder what he’s up to. I’m a little slower these days. (walks with a limp using her cane)
(Girl waves to young man by Mission Inn service entrance)
College girl: Sorry I’m late. Couldn’t find a place to park.
Boyfriend: That’s o.k. I just got off…big party in the Music Room.
(Girl and boyfriend hug and walk off together)
Hank: I was so close. She would have been a lot of fun. Guess I’ll just call it a day.
(Hank gathers his grimy pillow and sleeping bag from his cart, curls up on the annex steps and goes to sleep)
(Eloise waits till she is sure Hank is asleep…beats Hank with her cane. She walks away with Hank’s cart, smiling)
Eloise: Serves him right. Tomorrow there will be an article in the Press-Enterprise about a homeless man found beaten to death. The police will request information about a bloody cane next to the body. I won’t be calling any time soon. (crazy laugh)
Girl News
Anchor: On December 21st, the longest day of the year, is National Homeless Person’s Memorial Day. It started in 1990 to remember those homeless who have died on the streets in our communities. Each night, over 51,000 homeless sleep on the streets of LA.
Boy News
Anchor: There is no official tracking of the number of homeless deaths. In LA county when no relative comes forward to claim the body, the person is cremated. In 2012, all the remains were buried in one unmarked grave…1,756 forgotten souls.
Inlandia: A Literary Journey 