"Manon" poem

I have been haunted since the weekend by that heart-breaking performance of "Manon".  To anyone who isn't into ballet, or isn't into MacMillan, or isn't into doomed love stories, it must seem insane that I have taken myself to see this particular ballet no less than four times in the last year.  But MacMillan's narrative works are like the Shakespeare of ballet; endlessly nuanced, their understanding of psychology and character so deep and layered, one can keep on seeing them and always get something new. If I could afford it, I would go back again before the present run finishes; indeed, if I weren't going to tea at a friend's place tonight I could happily go back and see Marianela Nuñez again.  She was wonderful.  As were both the guys, and the whole cast, and the whole damn' thing.  I suppose there may come a day one day when I have seen enough "Manon"s, but that day is not now.

Lovers (MacMillan’s “Manon”)

When he first looks across at her

Shy and yet radiant, turning away,

The whole tragedy is there

Implicit in that moment.

My heart begins to break again

For these two foolish innocents

Who touch, delighting, unawares;

Too far apart to meet, though deep in love.

She is all happy brightness, full

Of certainty; accepts

This adoration as her only due,

Expects the world to be her slave.

He is the honest devotee

Who’ll never waver in his faith

Not even in the face of death.

His goddess is no constant star,

Though brilliant as a meteor.

He must burn with her as she falls.

Neither can see the other’s way;

The other path, untreadable.

The dancing steps must break apart,

And the heartbroken end ensues

Inevitable as every loss.

Hurtling into despair and death

All of us crying with their fall

All of our loves consumed with theirs.