This is the first part of what I submitted for my blank verse assignment, in which my beloved Palamon critiques his actor brother Zephyrus's acting arms. I'm not a hundred percent pleased with it, as the language is not perfect. I had to make a lot of concession in word choice to fit the meter, and in word choice and structure because I've been warned to not use "archaic" diction. :-P Not sure this is how I want characters in this universe, specifically the one in which To Think of Nothing takes place, to talk. Not sure Palamon sounds enough like Palamon. But for an early attempt at writing in this form, I think I managed relatively smooth lines of poetry. Judge for yourself how well I did.
(ZEPHYRUS stands center, delivering the end of a monologue.)
ZEPHYRUS: “…I cannot be content with that! To live and know that for the woman I love I have never dared to try? Must we not be willing to suffer all hurts for those we love? For her I would suffer this hurt. I fear to speak may break me, but this is a greater thing than fear, more right than any rightness I have known. Her goodness has so long stayed with me, held close to my heart, that I feel that I am stronger for having carried her. So that I could not only love her, but I could beg her to love me.”
(Once finished, he pauses in stillness a moment, then drops character.)
ZEPHYRUS: My brother is a critic. They say he’s one of the best in the whole world of theater. The problem is, whenever I perform, I can’t help but imagine him criticizing me.
(Lights up on PALAMON, sitting off to the side slumped in a chair, watching him. ZEPHYRUS looks to him for a response.)
ZEPHYRUS: Well, Palamon? What do you think?
PALAMON: Do you realize whenever you emote
You raise your arms in the same forceful way?
I swear the stage beneath your feet is just
Your beacon cue to make those very arms.
ZEPHYRUS: What are you talking about?
(PALAMON stands and exaggeratedly imitates the shape of ZEPHYRUS’s arms.)
PALAMON: Look here and see yourself at work. With these,
I feared you meant to come and tackle me.
You act a man less than a charging bear.
ZEPHYRUS: I do not do that all the time!
PALAMON: Oh, no, it’s nothing that Zephyrus does;
All men he plays just seem to show the quirk.
I think your arms would state for all the world,
“Look here! I, Zephyrus, am acting now!”
But I suppose you’ve never noticed that.
ZEPHYRUS: Why do you think that?
PALAMON: Because you cannot seem to stop yourself.
Enough you make your bear-arms by mistake;
Far worse to wreck them on us with intent.
ZEPHYRUS: Do you have to make such fun of me?
PALAMON: How else am I to get it through your head?
It’s not as if you are inclined to hear.
You hate to hear an outside word except
For total admiration of your work.
ZEPHYRUS: Of course it’s impossible to be less cruel when you critique.
PALAMON: Oh, yes, I am indeed so cruel to you,
To dare suggest you’re not the perfect mask.
I don’t know why you’d think to come to me.
You don’t care at all to improve your art.
ZEPHYRUS: That is not true! How dare you?
PALAMON: Does this truth wound you deeply as the last?
Indeed you don’t much care to hone your craft,
Or else you mend, not hide, the ways you lack.
You take the boards to strut and crow your way
To the attention of sweet simple souls
Too facile to form opinions strong.
So what is it that makes you think of me?
You’re not adored enough by all your fans?
You need such cloying nonsense from me too?
I’d no idea I owed my brother lies.
Should I then lie to you? Speak you
Things that I do not believe at all,
Only to spare from pricks your wounded pride?
I will not cosset your vanity too,
And compromise the true worth of my praise.
My word carries some weight, my brother dear,
And I have reputation to uphold.
I have no mercy when it comes to this.
ZEPHYRUS: Is that really what you think of me? It’s not your mercy but your justice I want. My God, brother, sometimes I think the bad is all you’ll say.
PALAMON: By God, brother, sometimes it’s all I see.
(Exit PALAMON.)
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