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FAMILY ALBUM
I was Hamlet. I stood on the coast and spoke with the surf BLABLA at my back the ruins
of Europe. The bells sounded in the state funeral, murderer and widow a pair, the town
councilors in goose-step behind the coffin of the High Cadaver, wailing in badly-paid
grief WHO IS THE CORPSE IN THE MEAT-WAGON’S STY / FOR WHOM IS
THERE SUCH A HUE AND CRY? / THE CORPSE IS OF A GREAT / GIVER OF
ESTATE The pillar of the population, work of his statecraft HE WAS A MAN WHO
ONLY TOOK ALL FROM ALL. I stopped the corpse-train, sprang the coffin with my
sword, broke it to the hilt, succeeded with the blunt remains, and distributed the dead
progenitor FLESH ENJOINS HAP’LY FLESH to the surrounding faces of misery. Grief
gave way to joy, joy into munching, on the empty coffin the murderer mounted the
widow SHOULD I HELP YOU UP UNCLE OPEN THE LEGS MAMA. I lay on the
ground and heard the world revolving step by step into putrefaction.
I’M GOOD HAMLET GI’ME A CAUSE FOR GRIEF
AH THE WHOLE GLOBE FOR A REAL SORROW
RICHARD THE THIRD I THE PRINCEKILLING KING
OH MY PEOPLE WHAT HAVE I DONE UNTO THEE
LIKE A HUNCHBACK I DRAG MY OVERBRAIN
SECOND CLOWN IN THE SPRING OF COMMUNISM1
SOMETHING IS ROTTEN IN THIS AGE OF HOPE
LET’S DELVE IN EARTH AND BLOW HER AT THE MOON
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Now comes the specter who made me, the axe still in the skull. You can keep your hat
on, I know, that you have one hole too many. I only wish my mother had one too fewer,
when you were yet in your flesh: I would have been spared myself. One should sew the
wenches shut, a world without mothers. We could slaughter one another in peace, and
with some consideration, if we wearied of this world or if our necks were too narrow for
our cries. What do you want from me. Is one state funeral not enough for you. Senile old
fool. Don’t you have any blood on your shoes. What’s your corpse to me, anyway. Just
be happy that the executioner is delayed, maybe you’ll still make it into Heaven. Why are
you still here. The hens have been slaughtered. Tomorrow has been cancelled.
SHOULD I
BECAUSE IT’S EXPECTED STICK A PIECE OF IRON INTO
THE NEAREST FLESH OR THE NEXT-NEAREST
HOLDING ME FAST BECAUSE THE WORLD SPINS AROUND
LORD BREAK MY NECK FALLING FROM A BEERHALL2
BENCH
Enter Horatio. Co-conspirator of my thoughts, which are full of blood since the morning
was draped with the empty sky. YOU COME TOO LATE MY FRIEND FOR YOUR
WAGE / NO PLACE FOR YOU IN MY TRAGEDY-PLAY. Horatio, do you know me
still. Are you my friend, Horatio. If you know me, how can you be my friend. Do you
want to play Polonius, who wants to sleep with his daughter, the alluring Ophelia, she’s
about to get her cue, see how she shakes her rump – a tragic role. HoratioPolonius. I
knew that you’re an actor. I’m one too, I play Hamlet. Denmark is a concentration camp,
between us grows a Wall. See what grows from the Wall. Exit Polonius. My mother the
bride. Her breasts a bed of roses, her lap a nest of snakes. Have you forgotten your text,
Mama. I stage-whisper WASH THE MURDER FROM THY FACE MY PRINCE / AND
MAKE A CHEERFUL FACE FOR THE NEW DENMARK. I’ll make you into a virgin
again Mother so that the King has a bloody wedding THE MOTHER’S LAP IS NO
ONE-WAY STREET Now I tie your hands behind your back with the bridal train
because I loathe your embrace. Now I tear apart the bridal gown. Now you must scream.
Now I smear the rags of your dress into the earth which my father has become with the
rags your face your belly your breasts. Now I take thee my mother in his, my father’s
invisible trace. I strangle your cry with my lips. Do you recognize the fruit of your flesh
now go, go to your wedding, whore, broad in the Danish sun shining on the living and the
dead. I want to stuff the corpse in the drainhole so the palace drowns in kingly shit. Then
let me eat your heart, Ophelia, which sheds my tears.
http://members.efn.org/~dredmond/Hamletmachine.PDF
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