butoh poems by bronwyn preece: julie becton gillum’s five-day workshop

Bronwyn Preece took Julie Gillum’s workshop in Merida and used her words in both english and spanish. They will be included in a new publication, The Routledge Companion to Butoh Performance

january 2017

i am
the eyes
beyond
the room :
open
in the
bursting
water
bag of the
cuerpo :
the tension
of flexible
wires in
joints, the
hinges of
barred
windows,
the peel
of the
paint,
the vocabulario
of stillness
in speed,
the music of
plantas,
insects,
animals :
the impulse
of clay, the
improvisation
of contact,
the sculptor
as/of group
membrane
in interchange :
moved
by an outside/
[inside] force
other than my/
our will.
we are
the introductory
translation of
the músculo
of butoh

i am
the mad
puppeteer
stringing
tail to
estrella,
through
wind
and wave,
the marioneta
of the
splintered
floor –
grounding
the sagittal
bounce
of noguchi :
a gymnastics
of smoke &
shadow :
the aire
intimo
of creating
hijikata’s
form with
the soul
following,
ohno’s
corazón,
wherein
form reveals
itself :
becoming
the presence
of presence
becoming :
exploring the
edges of our
lives and
life at and
on the
edge

i am
infinity :
a símbolo
ridden through
history : a
body bag
of currents,
elements :
extreme,
shocking :
never neutral :
big, vulnerable
in an ocean
full of
contaminants,
in a sea of
happy fish,
i am the
hermaphroditic
polluted
pescado,
swimming
upstream :
butoh my
política :
mirroring
through our/
my mask the
[emotional]
exaggeration

i am
the butoh
of
transformation
in these days
and dances
of darkness,
we are both
life and
death, in a
mundo
where time
can move
both forward
and back,
i discover the
world with
fresh ojos,
taking baby
steps, into
the mud of our
cultura, i
crawl towards
flowers – the
desiccation and
the blossoms,
through resistance
and partnership, i/
we find the
semilla of our
humanity…
shared

I am
the fuera
in my
belly,
stamping
the whole
ground
with my body –
one that
will never
be trumped…
as i, along
with these
‘strange little
ladies and
gentlemen’
smell the
mexican
flowers on
our chests —
our hearts –
as we
dance
through the
inauguration ,
we gender –
bend, and
transgress
the dualities,
our imposed
fronteras ,
our walls :
We become
The anti-
stamp, in
our quiet
revolt, we
are earth ,
who never
need(s) to
show the
Soles of
(his/her)
connected feet …