Ancestor Worship

A new poem! And the start of a thread on the new show I am writing

Hurray! I’m finished with the Camden Fringe, possibly my last performance of POEMS ON GENDER in the UK, but definitely the beginning of full time work on my next show, working title: UNCLE TOM’S WAR. I’ve been researching it for over a year, and I’ve written a lot of notes. Now I’m ready to start writing in earnest.

Here’s the first poem of the new show. It surprised me – didn’t turn out at all the way I expected. I really like it, and I hope it will be in the final version of the show, but maybe not. I usually write a couple hundred pages before I end up with a 30-40 page show. Anyway, here it is, just for you, with love.

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ANCESTOR WORSHIP

There is one essential requirement for being an ancestor
You must be dead
But if you're dead, you can't be anything, because you're not there
You don't exist
Some would say, “You exist in the memories of those you left behind”
No
The memories exist, but you are gone
You’re not there
You're not an actor
You're not an agent
Any effect you could have had on the real world
Has already been set in motion

Maybe you were a big noise when you were alive
Maybe the noise you made echoes down through the centuries
In books, in stories, in video and computer games
Or maybe you were a nobody
Maybe you were forgotten almost as soon as you died
Or even before
No matter what, you are not a you anymore
You have melted into the music of the universe

The story is told that one long winter night
The shadow just outside the campfire light
Found Finn MacCool, staring into the flames
Tell me, said the shadow
What is the most beautiful music in the world?
And Finn replied
The most beautiful music in the world is the music of what happens

That’s you, what you are, what we all are
A magical wave in an endless magical ocean
And you are not limited by who was your daddy
Or your grandmother
Or your father’s mother’s sister’s uncle’s cousin’s brother
You are the child of every ripple in the universe
Who are your ancestors?
That’s up to you
Choose wisely

I choose Spartacus
And Mary Magdalene
And Harriet Tubman
And Sapho
And Malcolm X
And William Shakespeare
And I choose you
I know you’re not dead yet
But I choose all the ghosts bubbling up inside you
The magic of the universe
Coming out through your lips
Kissing me, breathing into me
Making me love you
I choose you