The Play

The plot alms at being luminous;

Flashes of light form into solid bodies.
It’s a landscape of hallucination,
Successive terraces melting into clouds.

Crests of quivering lights,
On the point of dissolving
Or exploding,
Become supreme in the depth of their colors.

The rhythm of the lights pulsates
Through a labyrinth of mirrors;
Their unreal presence is heightened
By the luminosity of the stage.

A falling rock penetrates the scene;
From a rock,
Sprays of water fall like incandescent wires;
A jet of dazzling yellow light
Bursts from a swarm of forms.
The light carries away and transforms everything.

A blood-red light surrounds a form,
Accentuates its shape;
Soft shadows and waves of light
Meet on the ground, in the sky.
The crowd,
Massed like a heap of stones,
Seems weightless
In the rhythmic anguish of lights and shadows.

In the clean, cutoff light
The figure,
Bloodstained,
Crowned with thorns,
Receives the light,
Filled with mysterious shadows,
That filters through the crowd
Pressing closer
To the serene, almost fragile figure.
It is this solemn face,
So simply wrought—
¬A stupendous face
From another sphere—
Sad,
Neglected,
Almost forgotten,
The flesh stretched with shadows,
Where the finest locks of hair
Wave and escape under the crown of green thorns
And descend in thick masses over the shoulders;
It is this likeness of human flesh
That is history’s greatest masterpiece:
A dead body most beautiful.

A scuffle explodes among the horses,
And a dazzling light accompanies the Lord God
Through black clouds rimmed with fire,
As though attracting him by mysterious force,
Raising him,
The clouds bending toward him,
The Light that has rent Him from within,
Rising