On Monday, she writes a poem.

Someone's writing "forgive" all over Chicago

November 21, 2011

Someone’s writing “forgive” all over Chicago:

on the urban reservoir between 18^th and Ashland

on the sidewalk outside Steppenwolf

on my Lake Street walk to the elevated train

in front of the yarn shop where I work with my hands
along the great lake which can be mistaken for the ocean
outside of the only bar in town which sells our favorite beer

Someone’s writing “forgive” all over Chicago

and I wish you could see it.

I don’t mean to say I wish you had come here too

(we’re past that)
 and I don't mean to say I wish you would forgive me
(although I do)
It's just that someone's writing "forgive" all over Chicago

and I really wish you could see it.

But I read somewhere that Patti’s dreams for Sam weren’t his dreams

and I know the dreams I had for you weren’t yours.
So it occurs to me that maybe
someone’s writing “forgive” all over Chicago for me.

Maybe I have to forgive myself

            for leaving

            for lying

            and finally, for telling the truth.

Maybe my poetry has too many maybes,

the water tower doesn’t say “maybe forgive,”

god didn’t say that either.

Along Lake Shore

"You know, the dreams you had for me weren't my dreams. Maybe those dreams are meant for you." 

Just Kids by Patti Smith

Poem for not letting the Robots get you.

and then I heard the boom boom

Can you hear the terrestrial heartbeat?

I heard it only once.

Mostly I hear the whirring of the broken air conditioner

creating clouds in the classroom with no windows,

the tap-shhhh-tap of the bicycle with broken gears

which I bought for two day’s pay,

the orange hum of Tapioca Tan

which dries out my neighbor

until her skin looks like cracked desert clay,

the brshhhhhzzzz of the phone

I wish I hadn’t put on vibrate

during the meeting I was late to,

the flicker buzzz of my neighbor’s tv

and I wonder what he’s watching

instead of looking up at the stars.

Are you pale sickly for want of the Sun?

The earth groans for its children.

We are zombies, the undead, interlopers between two worlds

and the buzz-shhaaa-creak-ding-ring-ping-don’t fucking miss the bus world is eating me alive.

I will never forget jumping off

a cliff in South Carolina into a rock quarry,

wearing pink Converse sneakers

so the water, hard as concrete, wouldn’t break my toes.

I jumped

fell

forever

shattered the glassy surface…

My ears filled with water

and I heard it.

boom boom.

boom boom.

The terrestrial heartbeat.

Cliff jumping in South Carolina, 2007

Poem for a Monday

A blue whale’s tongue weighs as much as a full-grown elephant.

The blue whale does not think

he is god

as he sings his whale song,

though his low hums

rock the whole sea.

But you clench your fists

for the illusion of control,

and fight the currents around you,

dragged down heavy by

your head full of trivial pursuits

and delusions of importance.

Tension is a good way to drown.

You fool!

You wonderful, stupid fool.

Don’t you know how little you are?

Revel in your own smallness.

Let god be god

just as the whale is the whale

and you are only you.

A Tale from the Pink Line: Riding Trains in Chicago, Episode One

Maura set out from her home in little Mexico wearing a new red dress she’d bought for $3 at a thrift store; it was the perfect compliment to her black velvet knee length jacket her dear friend Tina had helped pick out. She had a scarf wrapped around her head, as she is want to do, because it was raining and windy and because she enjoys dressing like she is in a play. She boarded the train going to the Loop. The train was very crowded and she stood next to a kind looking man who was seated along the window. Maura felt the older man’s gaze looking up at her and they exchanged a glance and a smile. He was about forty, clearly foreign with graying hair.
    
At one of the stops, more people boarded the train and Maura moved further into the car. She was now standing directly behind the seated man. Another young woman, with tan skin, curly hair and a leather briefcase, took Maura’s place beside the man. As the train rumbled along, the man stood up, turned to Maura behind him and said sweetly, “Would you like to sit down?” with a Middle Eastern accent. Now Maura was faced with a dilemma because clearly the available seat belonged to the woman standing beside it, not Maura behind it. But he had offered it to her and she felt it rude to refuse, so she thanked him, eased around the other woman and sat down. Maura felt slightly guilty but smiled at the man and took out her knitting. The kind gentleman began to make his way toward the train door to exit at the next stop. Out of no where, the other young woman raised her over plucked eyebrows and said to the man in a superior tone, “If you wait till the train has stopped to move, you won’t bump into people as you leave!”

Maura was shocked. Who did this young woman think she was? What right did she have to educate other passengers on her version of train etiquette? Maura didn’t think that anyone had the right to impose his or her opinions or preferences on strangers. Perhaps where he came from, the polite thing to do is to ready oneself to exit the train as to not delay departure. Perhaps he wanted to look at the map above the door. Perhaps his foot was asleep and he needed to regain blood circulation before setting off on his journey. Or perhaps he wanted the pretty girl in the Victorian traveling costume to have a seat on the Pink Line, since she was obviously exhausted from all the time travel she'd been doing recently.
  
Maura was now assuaged of all guilt. This snooty woman did not deserve a seat on the train at all. Maura thought the best way to counteract the other young woman’s negativity and general nastiness was to enjoy the seat as much as possible. She stretched out her legs, adjusted her kerchief, smiled once more at the man and knitted happily away until the train reached Clark and Lake.

Krochet Kids

The Krochet Kids are 3 good looking men... who crochet... for a good cause.
I think I'm in love. You all may be getting some of their hats as gifts.

Poem of the Day

Hanauma Bay, Hawaii. Clement family vacation, 1995

Natural Resources

by. Maura Clement

Spring 2009

  

If Dylan Thomas loved with an Irish heart,

I live with a Hawaiian one.

I suppose Irish hearts are made of

A 7 year-old Maura feeds the fishes at Hanauma.

Green hills, ballads of love and dire famine.

Hawaiian hearts are made of coral

Like the world below the surface

Of the undulating water in Hanauma Bay.

Hawaiian hearts live

And breathe salty tears.

Sharp spikes line my heart

Protecting the vacuoles and ventricles,

The life which lives within me,

Beautiful enough to slice a wayward limb.

 

Careful not to touch the reef,

tourists swim around and assume to know me.

Lindsay Sablan, Jeffrey and I snorkeling in the Bay.

My heart is not one entity,

But a colony of identical individuals.

I am an ecosystem,

Can you say that?

Break off a piece of me to take home

With you to Seattle or Salt Lake.

Show all your friends.

Although you have me,

Because you have me,

I am dead.

I belong to the sea turtle and not to you.

Reflections on a Summer Spent Playing Next to an Old Yellow House

"There is no end, Believe me! 

to the inventions of summer, 

to the happiness your body is willing to bear." 

-Mary Oliver 

The 2011 HVSF Acting Company and Terry O'Brien, Artistic Director

How should I reflect on four of the most crazylovely months of my young life? Gabra Zackman shared this poem by Mary Oliver with us during one of her yoga classes. If there ever was a summer that encapsulated those few phrases, this was it.

I have always been an actor. But now I feel like an actor. I can live happily for months out of two suitcases.

My summer at Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival was one of many "firsts" for me: my first professional acting job, my first time living in New York City, my first mention in a major newspaper's review, my first time playing a three breasted woman, my first time performing stand-up comedy and the list goes on... How fun was the three day party during Hurricane Irene? Trips to the waterfall? Six Flags? Running on the Appalachian Trail? The Batman Show? The Margarita Party? Pool parties? Chopper setting off the fire alarm? The Fourth of July? Stand-up night? Laying on the lawn at Boscobel? James Hickey? Matt's surprise party? Nights on the Rock at Graymoor?

MC Hamlet, Matt Amendt, an alum of the UM/Guthrie Program who played the title role this summer at HVSF, shared with us this insight on storytelling and leading a company of actors. He said: "When you are playing Guildenstern, (and I can say this because I have played Guildenstern) your job is to lift up Hamlet's story with as much humility and specificity as you can. When you are playing Hamlet, your job is to make everyone in the company feel like they are doing something special, together." Matt certainly practiced what he preached, for I have never worked with a more gracious, more positive actor... not to mention that his talent and work ethic are both overwhelming.

This summer for me was a summer of lifting up one of the greatest stories ever told (Hamlet) and one of the most absurd (The Comedy of Errors). [I also spent a good amount of time lifting things up, things like letters and cups. That's right, I was the Royal Danish Hander-of-Things-to-the-King.] I found such joy in playing fantastic small parts in these plays. I found joy in the actual storytelling, which I did not always have in school. In my conservatory program, we would be cast in each of the shows "prescriptively." That is, the faculty would choose a part for us and tell us what acting challenges they wanted us to work on in that role. For example, when I was cast as Maria in Twelfth Night during sophomore year, Steve challenged me to work on variety of actions & making bold, impulsive choices. In retrospect, I think this mindset led me to a sort of tunnel vision, where I focused on being the best Maria I could be, rather then collectively trying to tell the story of Twelfth Night in the most engaging and honest way possible. Now acting school is just that... SCHOOL, and those acting challenges must be identified and worked on in a specific way. And indeed, without a doubt, I know that my four years in the BFA Program, whether tunneled or not, prepared me to be able to perform, grow and listen the way I was able to at HVSF this summer.

This summer I discovered a shift in perspective. A shift from "What am I doing?" to "How am I telling the story?" Because I was not speaking, I learned to listen. To listen with ease.

After a summer of lifting up these stories, we, the apprentices, were hungry for the chance to tell our own... and what better story to tell than Romeo and Juliet? I was able to do many of my favorite things in this production of R&J, directed by Ryan Quinn: play a guy, play a complicated mom, roll in the dirt, carry Vaish on my back, sing The Foundations, carry a (really embarassingly small) knife, and get yelled at by Dave Klasko. I really enjoy playing multiple characters in a show because it forces me to have incredible vocal and physical specificity to differentiate them. And boy, did I fall in love with these two people...

I would consider naming my firstborn son Benvolio. We should all be so lucky to have a friend who loves us as much as Benny loves Mercutio and Romeo. He likes dancing and drinking, but can sense that this age of innocence is coming to an end. It's a coming of age story, as much as a love story. This group of childhood friends, of brothers is ruptured forever by one of them falling in love and the consequences that brings. To honestly and simply tell the story of Mercutio's death and Romeo's murdering Tybalt was tragic and heartbreaking and beautiful.

Mercutio (Vaishnavi Sharma) and Benvolio (yours truly) conjuring Romeo

. Photo by Will Marsh

And maybe it's just all the Mad Men I watched this summer, but Lady Capulet has something of a Betty Draper about her, a bird in a cage. She is vain, but not the type of vanity that makes her think she's beautiful. The type that spends all day in the spa because she fears wrinkles and the inevitability of death. She drinks, but only in secret. Her husband hasn't touched her in months, not that she'd know what to do if he did. No one ever listens to her, and even if they do, they don't do what she says. She loves her daughter but doesn't understand how to talk to her. It was a blast to play these paradoxes of vanity and insecurity, love and total resentment, desire and repulsion. I found the key with her (and with Benvolio too) was subtlety... seeing how small I could play a big action, which I don't think I've ever really done before. The smallest tilt of the head or movement of the hand could tell her story fully. (Because if you know me... or you saw me play Arkadina, or Mamma Wahl, or Maria in the BFA... or Lucy in You're a Good Man Charlie Brown at West Cary Middle School... you know I have a flair for the loud and proud...)

Lady Capulet gives advice to her daughter, Juliet (Susanna Stahlmann). Photo by Will Marsh

This summer brought other changes for me personally. After two great years in a serious relationship, I find myself single again. I look forward to meeting new people, but more importantly to finding out more about who I am as an adult woman, an artist and a citizen. My brother Jeffrey went back overseas for his second tour in Afghanistan. I continue to keep him and our other servicemen and women in my prayers, as this year marks 10 years that the US has had troops in Afghanistan, that's longer than our troops were in Vietnam. My kid sister started college at UNC... that means Jen and Dave Clement are free birds! Just in time to lend me a car and take an epic road with me to my new home... CHICAGO.


That's right, the windy city just got windier. Maura is moving to town. I loved New York. I will be back in New York, but for now I want to work and I have a hunch that Chicago is the place for me to get non-Equity work so that I can continue to grow as an artist, without depleting my savings to zilch. But for now, thank you New York. Thank you Terry O'Brien. Thank you Hudson Valley Shakespeare acting company, production staff, company management, house staff, audiences, donors, and everyone in between. A humble thank you.