New Song: String Music

In 2008, Toby Twining, a NY composer and recording artist composed a score for a production of Sarah Ruhl's Eurydice at the Wilma Theatre in Philadelphia. This year, he released the music on an album called, what else, Eurydice. It is amazing, innovative music written for four singers and a cello. Above is a modern dance set to one of the songs, "In a String Room."

Here's the cover to his CD, which I thought was also amazing:

New Song: Eurydice by Sleepthief

Check out the cool string imagery in this music video. Another interesting tidbit: they changed the ending from the traditional tale, but it somewhat reflects Sarah Ruhl's treatment.

Strings Attached

One of the most powerful images in Sarah Ruhl’s Eurydice is string. Orpheus ties a string on Eurydice’s left ring finger to remind her that she loves him. It’s also a token or promise that they are to be married. Orpheus also says that he’s going to play his music on each strand of Eurydice’s hair as if it’s a stringed instrument. Once in the underworld, Eurydice can’t remember Orpheus’ name, but knows it “starts with my mouth shaped like a ball of twine” and in one of the most enigmatic and visually striking moments of the play, her father builds her a room made of string.

The Three Fates from Greek Mythology

Are all these references related and what do they mean? Well historically, string has always held deep cultural significance. There are myths found round the world of Goddesses that weave a thread of life for each living person. They are women who understand that some must die and some must live and control that never ending cycle. In Greek mythology, they are known as the three Fates and even Zeus had to bow to their power.

The use of string and the knotting and tying of string is usually related to remembering and binding. We tie a string on our finger so we won’t forget something.

Some Jewish people tie red string around a wrist or ankle to ward off the evil eye or to bring good luck.

The Navajo people can produce intricate string patterns representing things in nature. They say the Spider Woman (another Life/Death Goddess) brought them to the people to keep their thinking and lives in order; playing the string game is an act of remembering.

In areas around Bulgaria and Romania, red and white braided string is worn to welcome the spring.

In Papua New Guinea women make Bilium, which means both “string bag” and “womb.” The bags are made from a single strand of string by rubbing new strands into the old on the thighs. The artist figuratively and literally becomes a part of the art. These bags are used in rituals and found in myths.

The Hmong people of China, Vietnam, Laos and Thailand have a healing ritual called string-tying. They believe the body houses many souls and when a soul becomes separated from the body, it causes illness and disease. The Shaman will tie string around the ailing person's wrist to bind the soul back to the body, often while the person holds eggs and money as part of the ritual.

The Pagans practiced knot magic, in which a spell was cast through the knotting of string. The knots could be to bind together two lovers or the unknotting could be the release and healing of past pain.

It seems this idea of remembering and binding are played out in the play. The director’s concept for our production focuses on remembering and forgetting. The string definitely represents remembering: remembering love, remembering music, remembering names and relationships.

I love that the Father builds a room for Eurydice out of string. I see him, like the women in Papua New Guinea, loving constructing the room out of his own self and memories. Rooms are not allowed in the Underworld. Rooms would denote individualism and identity, neither which seem to be present there. A string room could hold not only the memory of earthly home where Eurydice occupied a room, but in the string could be woven strands and pieces of her identity and memories.

The string binds and defines in the story as well. Orpheus is attempting to bind Eurydice to him with the string ring. Marriage itself is a binding – a birth and a death – of relationships and identity. We see this played out through the relationships that Eurydice has with Orpheus and her Father. In the beginning of the play, Orpheus seems to want to mold Eurydice into what he wants. He is a musician and he seems intent on making Eurydice learn his music. Turning her hair into a vehicle for his music could be seen as a manipulative appropriation. Building the room could be a way for the Father to bind Eurydice to him. Look for ways in which Eurydice is bound and defined by those relationships. Is binding bad? Yes, no, maybe both… you decide. All of our relationships inhabit this space between binding and freedom. One of my favorite poems is The Silken Tent by Robert Frost It is a beautiful metaphor for finding a healthy balance of both.

The Silken Tent

At midday when the sunny summer breeze
Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent,
So that in guys it gently sways at ease,
And its supporting central cedar pole,
That is its pinnacle to heavenward
And signifies the sureness of the soul,
Seems to owe naught to any single cord,
But strictly held by none, is loosely bound
By countless silken ties of love and thought
To everything on earth the compass round,
And only by one's going slightly taut
In the capriciousness of summer air
Is of the slightest bondage made aware

Look on the Dear Eurydice Stories page for stories about weaving the thread of life

and a story of how the Spider Woman brings weaving to the Navajo people.



Dear Eurydice Music

Lisa Hall, our director, asked the cast and crew members to submit songs that make them think of the play Eurydice. Here's our first selection sent in by Aubrey Bench, who plays Eurydice herself: I'll Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab for Cutie.

Everyone else send in your songs! All the songs will be collected on our Dear Eurydice Music page.

New Story: Wicked John and the Devil

Wicked John and the Devil

This is one of my very favorite traditional Appalachian tales. 

It's probably one of the most humorous death-evasion tales around.

 

There once was a man so mean that everyone called him Wicked John. He had a blacksmith shop up in the hills and he didn’t like to be bothered by nobody. He swore at the kids that came snooping around his shop, he kicked at stray cats and shouted at the ladies that tried to get him out to church meetings.

One thing about him though, he always did treat a stranger right. I think he did it just to rattle the townfolk, for when a stranger came through town, people would shut up their shutters and doors and whisper and point with suspicion. Well, Wicked John would just call that tattered traveler right into his shop and serve him his best victuals.

And that’s just what happened one day. An old man all shriveled up like a raisin, came hobblin’ along the road hunkered over and using two canes. The town folk were passing him by on the other side of the road and casting backward glances at him. Wicked John just gave a scowl and invited that old man into his shop. He put down his work and went to get him some supper.

Wicked John brought back a big plate loaded up with ham-meat, a mess of greens, corn bread and boiled sweet potato and said, 

“Now here you go old man, just see if there’s something you can chaw on.”

And Wicked John went back to his work. The next time John looked up, the old man had finished his meal and was beginning to stand up. He was looking a might stronger. Away went one cane and then the other and he started to straighten up, taller and taller and taller. And there he stood with a long white robe and a long white beard and he just sort of glowed. And he had a bunch of keys hanging on a chain around his waist. He says,

“John, I reckon you know who I am.”

Well Wicked John hadn’t step foot inside a church all his born days, so he didn’t have a clue.

“I am Saint Peter, John. I guard the pearly gate to heaven. Once a year I come down and roam around to see if I can find any decent folks left on the earth. The first one I come across that treats me with kindness, I give them three wishes. Now I know what a mean man you’ve been your whole life, but you’ve been good to me, so I’m going to give you the three wishes.”

Wicked John just stood there a thinking.

“Go on John,” said St. Peter, “Anything you’ve got a mind to, you can wish for it and hit’ll be that a way.”

John started looking around the room, trying to get an idea of what to wish for. There was a gleam in his eye, for he was thinking mean. John, said

“I know! You see this big hammer here? Those blame boys are always coming in here and messing with it. They like to take it out back and bust up rocks with it and every time I need it, I have to go looking for it and, con-found, if it ain’t been left to rust in the rain, like as not. And I jest wish that anybody that teches my hammer won’t be able let go of it and it would pound on them something fierce till I say stop!”

Well Saint Peter looked pretty sorry, and said,

“Laws, John, that’s a terrible wish, but I’ve got to give it to you. Now, what’s your next wish?”

John was still looking around his shop when his eyes lay on his high backed rocking chair. He got a devilish grin on his face and he said,

“You see that rocking chair over there on my porch? That’s my chair! And there’s nothing I like better after a hard day’s work that to sit out there and rock into the evening, but blast it all, if most nights, someone else is already sitting in it and it just makes me mad! I wish that whoever sits in my chair won’t be able to get out of it and would get rocked so hard it’d about knock his brains out till I say stop."

Saint Peter just shook his head and replied,

“You’ve just one wish left, John, and it seems to me that you might want to be thinking of your immortal soul.”

But John he had already decided on what his last wish should be.

“Come here, Saint Peter,” and John led him out onto the porch, “You see that old thorn bush over there? That there is a fire bush and in the spring that old thorny bush grows the biggest and purtiest red blossoms you ever did see, but con-found if folk don’t some along and break off a switch whenever they got a mind to. And folks driving their buggy to my shop, back over it and tromple all over it until it’s a wonder that it’s still alive. I just wish that anybody who teches my bush, that it will just catch them and hold them down in the middle of the bush where the thorns are the longest and it will just sticker them till I say stop.”

Well, old Saint Peter looked mighty sad, stepped over the threshold and was gone. Wicked John grew older and the older he got, the meaner he got, until finally folks said that he was wickeder than the devil himself. When Old Scratch heard this, he decided it was time to take Wicked John from this world, cause he didn’t want anyone getting a bigger or better reputation than himself. So the devil called one of his sons to him,

“Little Devil, you go on up there get that old man, Wicked John. Tell him it’s time for him to come down here to live.”

Wicked John was working on a wagon tire when he looked up and there in the doorway stood a little baby devil and he said,

“Wicked John, you a vewy, vewy bad man. My daddy says it time fow you to come and live with us now.”

Well, Wicked John didn’t want to go but he said,

“Well, I don’t mind going with you little devil, but I just can’t go until all my work is finished. You see this wagon wheel? I just wouldn’t feel right unless I got this job done. Why don’t you grab that hammer over there and give me a hand?”

Well, all kids like to play with tools, so the little devil went right over to that hammer and picked it up. Lam-bam! Lam-bam! Lam-bam! That hammer was hitting him all over and he couldn’t let go of it either!

“Wicked John, tell this hammer to stop. I want my mommy!”

“If I tell that hammer to stop, are you going to go out that door and down that road and not come back any more?”

“Oh, I AM I AM! Pwease tell this hammer to stop!”

“All right then....stop hammer.”

And that hammer let loose of that little devil and - whippity cut - that devil tore out of there and never came back! Well, Old Scratch didn’t much like that, so he called one of his bigger sons to him, ‘bout teenager size.

“Little Devil, you go up there and tell that old man, Wicked John, to get on down here and no more FOOLISHNESS!”

Wicked John was working on a horseshoe when he looked up and saw a medium sized devil in his doorway.

“Daddy says to come get you, Old Man, and no foolishness!”

“All right,” said Wicked John, “just a few more licks. Reckon you can let me finish this horseshoe. Come on in. I’ll not be a minute or two.”

“Don’t think about asking me to help you, Old Man, you’ll find I’m not as easy to trick as my baby brother.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t think of it. You can just take a load off while you wait if’n you want. There’s a chair over there.”

And he pointed to the rocking chair. The minute that devil sat down, the chair grabbed on to him and wouldn’t let him go. It began rocking back and forth, back and forth. The more the devil tried to get out, the harder that old chair rocked him, until his head was just a going whammity-bang, whammity-bang whammity-bang on the back on that high rocker. And finally he got to beggin and hollering for Wicked John to let him loose. Wicked John said,

“If I tell that chair to stop, are you going to go out that door and down that road and not come back to these parts no more?”

“Oh, I AM I AM, just tell the chair to stop!”

“All right then. Stop chair.”

And that devil tore out there - whippity cut - and was never seen again. Well Old Scratch didn’t like that and decided that he would have to go up and get Wicked John himself. Next thing John knew, there was the Old Boy himself standing in the doorway himself, with his horns, his long tail and his pitchfork and he said,

“Wicked John, now I’ve come to get you. I don’t appreciate how you’ve treated my boys and it’s going to go poorly for you. Get up! You a coming with me and no more of this FOOLISHNESS!”

The Old Devil reached in and grabbed Wicked John by the collar and started dragging him out. Now Wicked John might have been old, but all those years of rotten, mean behavior had made him tough and scrappy and the two old boys went at it, fighting, punching, scratching, beating and biting, till the Devil was foaming-at-the-mouth mad!

“Confound Ye, Old Man! I’m going to lick the hide off you right now, just see if I don’t. Now, where’ll I get a switch?”

The Old Devil looked around and reached for that fire bush and the instant he touched it – whoosh - it sucked him up into the middle of it where the thorns were the thickest. He tried to thrash around, but the more he did, the more he was stuck fast. Finally he just stayed right still with his legs sticking out of the top of the bush and said in a very small voice,

“Mister?”

“What do you want?”

“Please, sir, let me out of here.”

“I’ll let you go on one condition, that you nor none of your boys will ever bother me again, ya hear? You promise me that and I might let you go!”

“I promise! You’ll never see me or any of mine ever again.”

So Wicked John set him loose and such a kicking up dust, you never did see and - whippity cut - the Old Boy left then and there and he wasn’t moseyin’ neither. 

Well, Wicked John just kept getting older and meaner, and eventually, even though no one was comin for him, there was nothing for him to do, but up and die. He went on up to the pearly gates and knocked. Saint Peter opened the gates a crack and said,

“Why Wicked John, what are you doing here?”

“Well, I’ve passed on and need a place to go.”

Saint Peter just shook his head and pulled out his big recording book.

“You see this book, John? This is where we make an accounting of all the deeds a person does in his life. This here page is yours. On this side is where we record all the good deeds you’ve done and if you look closely, there are a few entries written, way up at the top. And this other side, this is where we write all the mean and wicked deeds you’ve done. As you can see, it’s plum full down to the bottom. Why we’ve had to squeeze in more, diagonally and crosswise in the borders. No, John, there hain’t a chance in the world of you getting in this place,”

And Saint Peter shut the gates. So Old John turned around and went down the staircase. Down, down, down. And when he came in sight of the gates of the other place, one of the little devils happened to peek out.

“Daddy, daddy, look a yonder!”

Old Scratch came a running and when he saw who was a coming, he said,

“Bar the gates, boys, bar the gates!”

They slammed them shut and turned the key. When Wicked John got to the gates, the Devil said,

“You’re not welcome in here, Wicked John, you just turn right around there now and put off from here.”

“Yeah,” said the Little Devil, “you’re a baaaad man!” And John replied,

“Well, I thought that was the point of this here place.”

“Old man, you made us a promise to have nothing more to do with you and that’s that way it stands.”

Wicked John felt a little lost,

“Con-found! What in tarnation am I to do now? Saint Peter won’t let me in yonder and you’ve locked me out. What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?”

So, the Devil, he looked around for his longest set of tongs and reached way back into his fiery furnace and pulled out a white-hot glowing ember.

“Here you go, Old Man, you jest take this chunk of fire and go on off somewheres and start you a hell all of your own.”

Now sometimes in the night, if you’re out in the swamp, you might see a ball of light moving along the horizon. Some folks call it will-o-the-wisp, other folks say it swamp lightning or swamp gas, but it ain’t that at all. It’s just Wicked John doing his lonely wandering looking for a place to call his own.

In some of the versions, Wicked John carries his bit of light in a hollowed out gourd, which is the beginning of jack-o-lanterns.

Story Source:  I consulted two written versions, When the Lights Go Out, 20 Scary Tales to Tell by Maragaret Read MacDonald, Illustrations by Roxane Murphy, Published by The H. W. Wilson Company; and Grandfather Tales by Richard Chase, Illustrated by Berkeley Williams Jr., Published by Houghton Mifflin Company.

The Mythology of Loss

Orpheus looks back at Eurydice

The play Eurydice is based on the Greek myth Orpheus and Eurydice. One of my jobs as dramaturg is to look at other myths that are comparative to Orpheus and Eurydice. I was able to find 12 different myths that include a trip to the underworld to retrieve a loved one. The stories came from Babylonia, Kenya, India, New Zealand, Egypt, Greece, Rome, Scandinavia and North America. People went to retrieve their spouses, lovers, a father, brother, cousin and in one case, they rescued themselves.

Ishtar rescues Tammuz from the Underworld

- Babylonia

While each story was quite different from the rest, they all held commonalities, such as a yearning for a loved one who was dead; an effort to bring the loved one back by courageously facing what is arguably the biggest fear there is: death; and whether the mission was successful or not, there was usually some wisdom won in the journey.

Pare and Hutu pulling themselves back up to the land of the living

by  grabbing onto roots and burrowing their way up

- New Zealand.

We know that Orpheus and Eurydice doesn’t end well. Orpheus, armed with his powerful love and magical music, could not save Eurydice from death. What about the other myths? Did they all end the same way? Well the final score is:

Death: 6          (where the loved one stayed dead)

Love: 4             (where love was stronger than death)

Mixed: 2          (6 months in the underworld and 6 months on earth – which explains the seasons.)

But regardless the outcome, there was usually a sense of balance and acceptance in the end. I will be posting many of these stories and they will be archived on the Dear Eurydice Stories page.

Savitri watches as Yama, Lord of the Dead,

comes  for her husband Satyavant

- India

Dealing with our own mortality and with losing someone we love are very powerful themes. They are among the most commonly addressed throughout the oral stories that have been passed down through the ages. In folktales, we find many common death motifs. There are the stories about a hero who imprisons death so he won’t have to die. After awhile, the hero usually learns that everything must die eventually, and he frees death. There are stories about a hero who learns the secret of healing, but there is a rule: if death stands at the foot of the bed, the hero may heal, but if death stands at the head of the bed, the hero must not interfere. All goes well for the hero until the day his own beloved is the one that is dying and death stands at the head. I will also sharing many of these stories on the blog. They are powerful and help us process our own sense of sorrow and loss. Here’s the first story, it’s from India and follows another common death motif:

The Mustard Seed

The Buddha Shakyamuni was known far and wide as a great teacher and healer. There were even rumors that he could bring people back from the dead. One day a woman came to him sorrowing over her child who had died. She pleaded with Buddha to restore her child to life. The Buddha listened patiently to her and was touched by her deep despair. He said, “Mother, if you bring me just one mustard seed from a household where no one has died, I can make a potion that will bring your child back to you.”

The woman was so excited. Mustard seeds grew everywhere! They were so common, that almost every yard had some. She went from door to door in her village, but could not find one family that had not been touched by death.

Undaunted she traveled to other villages, passing fields of mustard seeds; surely she could find a home that had not tasted death. After days of searching, she wearily returned to Buddha. “Master,” she said, “I have tried so hard to do what you have asked, but could not. But in the journey I have come to speak with many people who have been visited by death. I understand now that death is as pervasive as the mustard seed.” The woman returned home sorrowing, but not alone.