Enheduana

Late evening lashed the dusty trail
With heavy shadows
Drooping planes wept over the fate of the condemned

Princess
Your guilt's being born the twelfth daughter
Of the High King on the seat of Akkad
Daughters are never of much consequence to their fathers
Does he really need your tenderness
How much did you long
And how much did you fear
To step into that hall and hide your face
In his shimmering robes

Now pray to the Goddess Inanna of Ur
Sing her praises
The ever-changing Mistress of the midnight
The inconstant traveller, holding chains of love
And memory
Confide your solitude into the cool tablets of clay

A young man grieving over his loss
Carves with chisel and mallet
The name of the king on each stone of the Road of Marduk
But the burning tips of his fingers
Imprint «Enheduana»

The ancient planes stood along the trail,
Condemned
The guilty verdict nailed according to the law;
On bright orange paper in large letters
«King of the Jews»
And «Partisanen»
The five-fingered leaves on the road
Danced their last ballet

I first became obsessed with ancient Sumer as a young girl of about 12, my favorite book at that time being «Gods, Graves and Scolars» by C.W.Ceram. Recently, digging through my library, I came across a copy of this book – and that night I first dreamt of a priestess spending the night by the gold bed of Marduk on the top of ziggurat E-Temen- An-Ki...

Enheduana was a priestess and a poet who lived about 4,300 years ago in Sumer. I guessed or imagined her life: one of too many daughters, she was forced to serve as a priestess of Inanna, Goddess of the Moon. Dedicated to Gods, she was not allowed to marry or have children. Her purpose in life was to pray for her parents – a fate too cruel for a powerful and talented Enheduana. She became one of the most beloved poets of the Ancient Sumer, with fragments of her superb love poetry surviving to these days...

The other reason behind this last poem was the fate of the trees in cities: oftentimes they are thoughtlessly, almost wantonly cut down whenever they happen to inconvenience the landowners. Thus, in my neighborhood trees stand wearing orange death sentences; in my native city of Tashkent the government cuts down the beloved ancient planes in the central square to the horror and disgust of all who knows and loves our city...

Mark Weil remembered

Two years ago international theater lost one of the most original and daring directors: Mark Weil was stabbed to death in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. Fiercely independent, Mark taunted the communist government of the Soviet era with plays that spoke truth - by equivocation. His child - Ilkhom theater- performed in Japan and Germany, France and US. Mark worked in Moscow, London, Seattle. He dared to speak about homosexuality in the Moslem society - and was killed for it...

Seattle was his safe heaven. Here he hid his family from the growing threat. Here he worked on new projects... Here he used to spend every warm sunny day swimming in the lake Washington. Here he still remains - in spirit -and his ashes that were dispersed over the lake he loved so much. Watching Tanya swim in the lake is almost an out-of-this world experience.

А Date

(to Tanya Weil)

From the twilight of home
with whispering leaves
and the stealth of a beast
on her soft silver feet,
where the Donkey and Pilgrim
unhurriedly trudge
through the impossible field
of azure ryegrass
where the birds on the wing
in the darkening skies:
from the restless bed sheets
fleeting memories
dreams
from the fog into sunlight
like bowsprit cleaves
the intense lilac span
of the obstinate breeze:
with a flare of white shoulder
no anchor no chain
Aphrodite returning
to crystalline realm
you step into water

together again

to be a tree

to be a tree
hair freefalling in the wind a myriad silver fish sparkling
the sun caught in the slender branches
stretch my arms up
to the fragrance of the skies to the vanilla clouds
guard the nest of a cheerful chickadee
fill the air with the twittering noisome song
loose myself in the wet grass
to be

Priestess

The dry heavy heat of the endless desert
Has not yet smothered the streets
Open to the wet breath of the Euphrates
The earth awaits the plough
The planets are aligned
In a perfect balance
Amidst blazing torches and smoke
and stifled breath of decrepit clerics
Amidst fervid glares of libidinous guards
Slowly I rise to the roof
Of the zikkurat E-Temen-An-Ki
To perform
Our annual drama.
My beloved
You are ravishing tonight
Golden leaves in your hair
And honey on your skin
What do I care about the roar of the berserk crowd
And the scornful glances of your concubines
The tremor of my knees
Shakes the steps of the lower temple
I am coming to your call

August 18 To Lake Tahoe!

We crossed Nevada and Northern California. We walked on the bottom of a dry lake. We were lost in some endless forests… We passed by the Mt. Shasta… We saw Lake Mono by some happy mistake of my navigation system…We braved the serpentine roads to the Lake Tahoe!!! It was worth it!
August 19 To Ashland!
Ashland welcomed us with a heat wave – 102 F! luckily, our first performance, The Servant of two Masters – was at the New Theater, air conditioned to the point that I was freezing… The next day I watched the rarely staged “All’s Well That Ends Well” and in the evening “Much Ado About Nothing”.
David Kelly was delightful as Benedick, but even more – in the servant of the two masters as the money-hungry father of the bride…
August 21 I took my whole little group to the Crater lake – it was my final surprise , a cherry on a perfect ice-cream…I can never get tired of the beauty of this lake, its unmatched turquoise having almost a magic hold on me…
We arrived in Seattle past 11 at night. Good to be home!!!!