There’s a mean little rumour flitting around that Culture Vultures only does the fun and frivolous stuff. Superficial, shiny-happy, beer and skittles, that kind of thing. This simply isn’t true. We can do the deep and meaningfuls as well as anyone, and just to show that our soul is as tormented and angst ridden as any incomprehensibly overwrought culture snob we are pleased to offer two pairs of tickets to see Yerma at The West Yorkshire Playhouse on Monday March 7 (starts at 7:45.)
Yerma is a lyrical tragedy, which means it’s driven more by the poetic imagery than the plot, about a woman driven crazy by her inability to conceive a child. She’s married to a farmer. When it comes to ploughing the field and scattering he’s the man but he isn’t really interested in sowing his good seed any place else. There’s an inevitable conflict of interest. Social institutions are questioned and cultural values are examined. Something horrible happens. It’s all a bit grim. But then it’s a tragedy so what do you expect? And the playwright, Federico Garcia Lorca, wasn’t exactly a happy chappy. Gay, radical, romantic, he grew up in pre-revolutionary, Catholic Spain, was mates with twiddly tached Salvador Dali and the brilliantly bonkers Luis Bunuel, but never much of a fan of Generalissimo Franco. He ended up getting bumped off by the Fascists in his late 30’s . . . he couldn’t half write though, and Yerma is one of his best. The new adaptation by playwright Ursula Raini Sarma and award winning director Roisin McBrinn will be getting it’s world Premiere at The Courtyard Theatre where it runs from 5 – 26 March. To win a pair of tickets simply answer the one question that tormented the heroine of Yerma . . . What’s the one thing that you really want from life but simply cannot have? Answers don’t have to be as terminally tragic or bleakly despairing as the play and they don’t have to rhyme . . . though anyone who enters a lyric will be certainly in with a good chance of winning. Closing date 1st March, and the winner will be chosen based on a whim.
I need to live by the sea
But I have a steady job
The kids are in school
And I fear it will never be
I’d love to live in a pub by a river
and prop up the bar all day,
trouble is it would bugger my liver
and make me prematurely grey . . .
Solo deseo que toda la gente viviera para siempre,
No quiero más tristeza en el mundo
Es un deseo común pero se hace más importante con cada año que pasa.
Escribo esa poema de tres lineas en Español en la memoria de Garcia Lorca 😉
Great entry Stacey . . . and when I get it translated I’ll let you know.
Thanks, just pop it in Babelfish and i am sure you will get the gist! 😉
I crave peace
Not for you
Not for the world
But in my head
Where all is not still
I want comfort in solitude
To rest and not think
To sit and not fidget
I want calm
Not chaos
All I want is time
Time to relax
To amble gently
To live without care
Where actions have no impact
To gaze, unproductively
To ponder but not care
With no pressing deadlines
And no blame attached
I crave peace
Going for the profundity angle eh Chris? . . . what’s that famous poem . . . time to stand beneath the boughs/ and stare as long as sheep or cows/ Not tanking up with beer and cigs/ dashing around like ducks, or pigs . . . something like that. Apologies to WH Davies fans.
I was going for the – I’ve 10 minutes to get a response in before muck flies and the fans grind to a halt – approach.
Poetry not my strong point. Stating the obvious takes top spot in that category.
I yearn for forty winks
without tormenting imps.
Don’t expect to close your lids
if you have two smallish kids.
hmm, sounds like you need a babysitter. And if you won the tickets would you promise to stay awake? Wouldn’t use the dark of the theatre to sneak a bit of kip now would you?
You would need to be pretty pooped to fall asleep in a theatre seat! I’m sure I would be on the edge of it instead. (It was also meant as a wee warning to Yerma about the reality of being un-childless.)
There’s one thing more I want from life
And it’s true I’d really love it
But this wondrous thing I’ll never get
…is a thousand more years of it.
I would like to turn on my tap
and have free flowing wine
That’s all.
Procrastination
Is my only limitation.
If only I had more gumption
To resist the consumption
Of meaningless tat,
Telly and that…
Oh hang on, Deal or no Deal’s on.
Like Virgina Woolf
I’d like a room of my own.
An office, a study, a retreat
In which to write and read and plan and create.
A place of colour and words, of ideas and dreams.
A part of the house that is mine alone.
From there I’d put pen to paper, and make plans reality,
From there all manner of things would be accomplished…