5. INTRODUCTION
Imagine you're in a theatre. Yes you. You check around to see who
else is here. Usual types. Couples mainly. You're not with anyone
else. I don't know why you're on your own. Maybe you were stood
up. No forget that. You're in a good mood. You paid good money for
this ticket. You know you're going to enjoy it. You've invested. The
drink was a bit pricey though. Always bloody are at these places.
And it's not like the beer's anything special. If anything it's... The
house lights dim. Automatic shuffing as people readjust themselves.
Turn off their mobiles. They always leave it 'til the last minute.
Stupid fu... You realise you've left your mobile on and dig it out
quickly, hitting the silent button just as the lights come up...
6. ACT ONE
“Murder Mystery”
Opening Music. The Streets of San Francisco. Patrick Williams.
Monkey Poet walks on-stage into spotlight and impersonates each
character as the voice over announces them.
V/O: Murder Mystery starring Monkey Poet. A Makin
Projects Production. This week's guest stars: Homer (frail old
man), Oscar Wilde (Lasciviously points out a man in the audience
for after the show), Dorothy Parker (Looks innocent with a Lolita
like fnger in her mouth), Charles Bukowski (Drunken giving the
audience “V” signs) and this week's special guest star, Allen
Ginsberg (Does half a line of something before he spots the audience,
quickly fnishes it). This week's episode, “Good Blood. Bad
Poetry.”
Lights go up to general wash. The stage is bare except for a chair, no
arms, down stage right.
MONKEY POET: (Downstage, stares with joyful tears out at a
remarkable vista) San Francisco. (Pause, to audience) Well, it was
in 2007. The last stop on my first fringe tour. I'd come here
7. from Indianapolis. If you don't know, Indianapolis is in the
Mid-West of America. I thought it was on the coast. That's 'cos
I had a very small map and Indianapolis is a big word, so the
“Polis” bit of the word was dangling in the ocean. I found out
it was in the Mid-West the week before I got there. Some
performers in Calgary said, “Monkey, you do know Indy's is
the Mid-West?”
“Is it? Oh, So?”
“Well, the Mid West is very Republican you know.”
“Yeah, so.”
“Well, you do that poem about George Bush. The one called
'Fucking Retard'. How do you think that's going to go down?”
“Oh God. They're gonna shoot me!”
But they didn't.
… {many pages later} ...
I sit down and take stock of my San Francisco experience so
far. What did I say, I mean actually say, to make a man throw a
bin full of glass at me? Why in San Francisco is it so hard to
get a blow job... from a lady? I'm thinking this when a woman
runs in off the street, grabs my brandy from the table and runs
out, I go, “Oh, come on!”
The Chinese Waitress throws her dice holder at the closing
door shouting “F'tin too wah!”, which I assume means, please
bring back the glass when you have finished.
(Pause. This is a signifcant pause because we are now leaving
reality. Monkey Poet has entered the rabbit hole so to speak, the
magical poetry place of the Odyssey Bar, being the doorway to this
realm.)
DYLAN THOMAS: Oh, she got you there, didn't she, eh,
8. Boyo?
MONKEY POET: Yeah, it looks like she did.
DYLAN THOMAS: English, is it? What brings you this side of
the water?
MONKEY POET: Poetry, mate.
DYLAN THOMAS: Poetry? Bloody hell, me too, and the lads.
I'll get this one. Susan, Susan, can I have another Brandy here
please.
MONKEY POET: Look, mate. I'm not being funny, but who
was she?
DYLAN THOMAS: Oh, she's one of the homeless. They're
mad, man, nuts. What happened, you see, Reagan, back in the
eighties, to save some taxes, shut down all the public
institutions and they just turfed all of the patients out onto the
streets. It's rather sad really.
MONKEY POET: Bloody Hell.
BUKOWSKI: Hey, Dylan, man. We gotta go. We are running
late buddy, we are running late.
DYLAN THOMAS: OK Charlie, got a plus one here. Poet don't
you know. What's your name, Boyo? Monkey Poet? Well, it
takes all sorts. This is Charlie Bukowski, over there we've got
Percy Shelley, Rabbie Burns, Bill Shakespeare and I'm Dylan
Thomas at your service, Sir.
MONKEY POET: You what?
9. DYLAN THOMAS: Hurry up with that drink, Boyo. Taxi!
Monkey Poet sits on the chair, evidently now a seat in a taxi.
BUKOWSKI: So, Dylan tells me you're some kind of poet.
What kind of shit do ya pour? Is it honest? Is it truthful?
MONKEY POET: Well, Mr Bukowski. What I like to do, is sort
of put society on stage you know. Let the audience see it for
what it is, you know, the truth as searchlight...
BUKOWSKI: Jesus Christ, I think I'm gonna puke.
SHAKESPEARE: Is it dramatic? Does it have a sense of
urgency?
BURNS: Och, shut it Shakespeare, you wee poof, dramatic,
urgency. Tell me laddie, is it dirty? I've written a corker called
“Nine Inch Will Please a Lady.” And let me tell you son, it
bloody well does. I've written another called “Cock Up Your
Beaver.” But don't get too excited, the meanings of words
change over the years, it just means, put a wee smile on yer
face, lad, you know.
SHELLEY: Rabbie, must you always think with your penis?
Tell me, Sir, will your poetry inspire the masses to rise?
MONKEY POET: Well, Shelley, Percy? OK, Shelley. I do this
one right, it's about me, right, it's about me shooting a baby.
SILENCE
SHELLEY: Oh. That sounds... very... erm... post modern. We're
here, I think.
10. They exit taxi.
SHAKESPEARE: I've written this piece about a man opening
the door in the middle of the night. It's very funny, set in the
middle of a tragedy, like. If you are doing a tragedy, throw in a
couple of comic characters, keep the whole thing ticking along.
And if you're doing a comedy, dick and fanny jokes.
Audiences love dick and fanny jokes. Have you heard of my
play “Much Ado About Nothing”? Yeah, it's an anagram. It's a
fanny joke. “Much ado about an 'O' thing. Yeah, 'O' thing,
Vagina. Remember, Fanny is Funny.
11. ACT TWO
“Potty Mouth”
I want you to Google two-words. “Karen” and “ESA”. And it's
this woman's blog. She was going to be on dialysis three times
a week. And they said she was fit for work. They hounded and
hounded and hounded her in the last five months of her life.
She's dead now. And I'm a-fucking-shamed to be part of the
society that treated her this way.
Also, look up Calumslist.org. This is a list of people who have
committed suicide because of the changes to their benefits.
There's about thirty on there. I mean, there's thousands that
the coroner has said, the change played a part in their decision
to end their lives. But, the Coroner in these cases has said,
THIS change to the legislation and nothing else led that person
to take their life. These Benefit changes are actually killing
people.
This next poem is called, “ESA Benefit's, Or, They Don't Give...
ATOS!” See what I did there? Well, come on, you've got to
keep it light...
So they send you a form
and you try to fill it out
getting all the evidence together
to give it some clout
they get that and get you
for your medical check
12. to see if you can work or
need support below decks
and they put you in a group so you don't pass go
don't get your money so your morale's pretty low
'cos you know you can't work
you're on a dialysis machine
but they need 20% in cuts
they don't think of your liver or your spleen
and you can't accept their judgement
so you go to appeal
then they have to follow protocol
to keep it nice and legal
So they send you a form
and you try to fill it out
getting all the evidence together
to give it some clout
And what does it matter if a few fall by the way
that can't live with the pressure of the ESA
the numbers come down, a new policy is borne
and the sick and disabled are being euthanised by forms
14. REQUI
The piece is a linear look at the development of War and the
word genocide, from pre-history to the present day.
…
PART TWO
swords spears sticks and stones replaced
by
mines guns grenades and bombs
now I can't see your fear
does it mirror mine?
onward ever onward
we butcher so cleanly
children lie broken
mothers shattered beside them
but out of sight
far away
I cant see your fear
I can't see you
The music takes us from the ground to high into the clouds
DISTANCE DEHUMANIZES THE DEATH TOLL
High above the cloudy sky
a man with murder in his eyes
well bred, thoughtful, no hate in his heart
just a mission to fulfil and the promise of stars
Floating in the sky serene
15. the sun bleaches this blue orb
bleaches out all thought of war
(a button
a button
a button)
Up here, clear, calm as the sea
up here, clear, the mission recedes
(a button
a button
a button)
The mission swims back into focus
he hasn't a thought for the daily grind below
children chatter in school classes
washing wet is hung by women
men grumble about longer hours
in the sky faint, an engines pitch...
Distance dehumanizes the death toll
a button is pressed
a bomb released
(The bomb drops. Crescendo, silence, then the sound of 3 waves ‒
lightwave, positive wave, negative wave.)
16. PART EIGHT
Tribal chants reprise part one with the following interspersed
Rhythm Of Life
One and a half million Armenians
So Alive Three million Ukrainians
Six million Jews
When you're close to death
Six million Slavs
Life Twenty five million Chinese
One and a half million Bengalis
Death Two hundred and fifty
thousand gypsies
Life
Two hundred thousand East
Death Timorese
Two million Sudanese
Dance for Joy Ten thousand Kosovars
One million Ibos
Dance for Life
Twenty five million Russians
Dance for War Two hundred thousand
Guatemalans
Dance for Death One million seven hundred
thousand Cambodians
Dance for Tribe
Half a million Indonesians
Tribe gives Life Two hundred and fifty
thousand Burundians
Protect the Tribe Half a million Ugandans
Eight hundred thousand
Tribe gives Death Rwandans
Two million North Koreans
So Alive
When you're close to death
17. All in the last hundred years.
The last hundred years.
Progress?
Never again is again and again.
Genocides, mass murder,
killed more people in 100 years
than all the wars combined.
