365 days 365 poems, adolescence, art, aspirations, Courage, Creativity, daily poetry, depression, discipline, Don Quixote, Family, Hope, ID, Jesus Quintero, lessons, love, Love Poems, Miguel Del Cervantes, Music, spoken word, Teaching Adolescents, Teaching teens, Teaching Writing, The American Laboratory Theatre, Theater, Writing
Ack, big lessons tonight. All day long I’ve dreaded going back to school for the theater department’s production of Don Quixote De La Mancha, not because I didn’t want to see it, but because, you know, work. But then HP and I went, and it was beautiful, and inspirational, and it made me fall in love with my job all over again.
The production was a mashup of student’s interpretations of the story of Don Quixote and the musical “Man of La Mancha”. I know that sounds dreadful, but it was soulfood. My friend and colleague, Jesus Quintero of the American Laboratory Theater in Hope, ID, took these amazing, beat-up kids and turned them into the most beautiful performers. I tip my hat to you, dear friend, and to your beautiful wife, who is rock steady in her foundation of love. Beso, beso.
Anyhow, on the drive home, on a truly dimensional moon/cloud/star night, I got thinking about Cervantes, and about that great lesson, that if we wade through the cesspool of the present, without madness, without seeking out the world as it should be instead of how it is, we might as well just die (a kind of Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch in reverse..until the end of that book, that is) and about how much the windmills matter. Gonna try to write a poem about that.
Orion Vs. Quixote
So the myths go that he was a great hunter, so great that Gaia was afraid that he would kill all the children, so he got banished to the stars, and that he was the best archer of scorpions, a nimrod with twins or a sycthe, but I prefer a knight of woeful countenance when I cast my sights moonward. I prefer a knight of the pen, tilting at windmills and in good company. Look him charge forward with that imagined courage, see him fly straight into the battle against the now. Shooting stars should and occasionally do surround his sword and bronze helmet, but only because he conjures them for the scene. Too much sanity may be madness, and maddest of all may be to see life as it is, and not as it should be. Looking star-up, here is what it should be always, and now:
thou hast seen nothing yet.
I’ve learned a lot tonight, from a play by crazy kids, and a crazy director, and I am full of love. Happy Friday, dear poemies.