Epilogue – Final Part

For our Christmas blog, we publish the fifth and final audience member that completes Epilogue, Joan Stansbury’s poem inspired by Macbeth. We wish you all a fabulous Christmas and much love for a prosperous New Year.

[In October – November 2011 Baz Productions put on Macbeth in the crypt of St Andrew Holborn with a cast of just five multi-tasking actors.]




After a performance of the Baz Macbeth five members of the audience gather up their props and reflect on the evening’s experience.


(Fiddling with the pen in his top pocket)


I drank a glass of wine: my first mistake.

Was terrified I might not stay awake.

I know Macbeth by heart: a run of the mill

Production woozes like a sleeping pill.


Needn’t have worried. They made their audience work.

As soon as I thought about an actor’s take

on a taxing role, he or she would dissolve

before my eyes and speak in another voice.

Who’s …? Is it still …? Yes of course.

Same character, same intensity of thought:

the same, but from a different angle of view.

Concentrate. Admire each effortless pass

of the role from head to head. You can’t nod off

for a single moment: you dare not miss a trick.

No – not trick exactly, but a turn.

This taking turns can at the start bemuse,

but then invigorates, keeps me alert.


They turn us turn about for different scenes.

No flats, just painting in sound and pools of light,

a shift in mood among the shape-shifting

characters. We drift from vault to vault.

Macbeth – or is it his wife –  smiles and offers

me a chair. Now we’re at the flicks:

a flat soft-focus black and white England

projected on the wall. Back to Scotland

three dimensional in full warcry.


Exhausted but wide awake I need a drink

as sedative to take me down from a high.

How to review? That I’ll have to think

through and round. No notes: I didn’t try.

Too busy listening, connecting, disconnecting.

In the round. A bit Brechtian? This red

faultlined patchwork of brick inset with Roman

and medieval stones and disconcerting

concrete lintels I feel quite at home in

in the same somewhat confused confusing way

that I feel at home in this new-old old-new play

that burns and bubbles in my busy head.


When I get home will I recognize my wife?

And if, I wonder, if indeed I do,

which wife from which strand of our shared life

will it be, or will she be someone new?


Odds bodikins, how am I going to write a review?

  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: