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Free verse for REDCAT

Cynthia Hopkins
Cynthia Hopkins

A solo show (actually not-quite solo show) played recently at the REDCAT, which is a theater I have often thought of as the bastion of experimentation -- local bastion, that is, as there are many venues in the world that showcase experimental music, dance and theater.

In Los Angeles, though, it seems, there are but a few, as folks in LA are arguably focused foremost on seeking jobs, agents and/or approval rather than on trying out new and daring media for their hopefully-multiple-meaning messages. Nonetheless, this quasi-solo show (alongside its host bastion of experimentation) is in need of a quasi-write-up.

So, in the spirit of experimentation, and in not needing (or pretending not to need) either an agent or approval or unconditional love from anyone's parents, including my own, and as an homage to the intrepid nature of REDCAT, and to all experimental forms, I offer this terrible poem (or is it?) that is somewhat (depending on which advertisements show) shaped like a cat:

Oh, red cat
hanging from willows
by your tail
swinging out
toward that wall
which you often obliterate
sometimes ignore
but always stare out at
before video projections
and grant-funded innovation
or gimmickry
depending on which way
you swing
you say one thing
in a host of ways
sometimes newfangled
sometimes didactic (see Cynthia Hopkins’ unnecessarily cluttered and preachy piece “The Clement World” lacking in intimacy but not faux warmth like the powers of the world destroying the ice shelf)
always bold
in that
you dare
to be
red cats
green trees

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