Kate Jessop • Dog

A young man comes to terms with his sexuality and confronts his bully in his home neighbourhood of Merton (London).
Specially commissioned for the Southbank Festival of Neighbourhood 2013, adapted from the poem by Richard Scott.

Dog

‘Make some room for yourself, human animal.’
Julia Hartwig

Sick with longing to be led by men
I stripped in the scrub
rubbed mud through my hair and sharpened my teeth on a rabbit’s bone.

I itched against brambles, ripping birthmarks, veins,
tore the human from myself
as night flickered open and shut like a nursery door

till I was rancid, meat-tongued, ready to love my master
but he laughed, spat half-breed,
then bruised my haunches berry-black with his already blood stained willow.

He fashioned me a muzzle from nettle and briar, kept me
silent, restrained
under the noted Roman oaks of Wimbledon Common . . .

but I bit free, grew wild in the coppice watching his red theatre;
runt after runt
beaten beneath the bone-white blades, the russet canopy.

I wore my blood like warpaint, gorged fat
on wolfsbane,
barked to the bald moon my dithyramb of hate

but he shut his yellowed eye behind weather
as I shimmied up drain pipes
through polite appointed bedrooms to savage my master . . .

I ate his heart, coiled like an adder,
right out of his chest;
left soil-black paw prints on the carpets of Merton.

Richard Scott

Eduardo Yagüe • DAISY CHAIN

director
EDUARDO YAGÜE

poem
LUCY ENGLISH
from thebookofhours.org

voice
REBECCA TANTONY

actress
GABRIELLA ROY

music
PODINGTON BEAR
‘Dark Water’ from the album ‘Fathomless / Ambient’
freemusicarchive.org/music/Podington_Bear/Fathomless_-_Ambient
© GIFT Producciones 2017

CADENA DE MARGARITAS
Margaritas en el césped. Pétalos blancos ribeteados de rosa.
Brillando al sol. Botones de oro y dientes de león en el campo.
Y margaritas. Tallos duros y un anillo de hojas.
En el césped bajo el manzano.
Adolescentes dando volteretas.
Ojos brillantes y el pelo desordenado. Bikini y pantalones cortos.
Piernas de cachorro y piel rosa. Luego se dejan caer
a la sombra del manzano en flor.
Fabrican joyas. Una pulsera. Un collar.
Una frágil cadena de margaritas de más de un metro.
¿Quién hizo la primera? ¿Una madre y un niño de la Edad de Piedra?
No tenían tiempo, rascando la piel del cerdo con el pedernal.
O en el bosque buscando bayas.
Huellas en el barro.
Las margaritas no son flores del bosque.
Las margaritas crecen en los campos.
Segados por las ovejas, cortados con cuchillas.
Las dos hijas del granjero. Aún no se han casado.
Paran de hacer el queso y de amasar.
Se dejan caer sobre la hierba bajo los manzanos.
Escogen una margarita. Dividen el tallo. Lo enhebran.
Después otra. Un secreto susurrado.
Se secó en seguida. Se estropeó demasiado pronto.
(Traducción E. Yagüe)