W-A-R
My fascination for goats in theater goes back to tragōidíā, "goat-song" and of course Edward Albee's Who Is Sylvia? Liwaa Yazji's play Goats poses many questions and one of them is, “What is truth in time of war?” I listened to its abridged version offered at PEN World Voices and a word was repeated, "terrorist," which I heard for the first time during the bloody Romanian revolution (30 years have passed since then). The word entered in our deeply malnourished lexicon, severely brainwashed national psyche instantly. We repeated it like in a haze, but did we know its meaning? Could we separate the bad from the good ones? "When the war ends..." says one character in Yazji's play but her hopeful thought is immediately dismissed. Because, after all, that war in Syria has not ended. And it’s not the only war. Humans are hunted. Lives are lost. Lies are dissipated. Hunger and despair and empty beds and blood have been wasted. There is no way to explain cruelty.
Many people have compared my style to Ionesco's because we were both born in Romania. But while I am in awe of his writing, my roots run deeper where they meet Alfred Jarry's Ubu Roi, Amiri Baraka's Dutchman, Samuel Beckett's Krapp's Last Tape. The absurdity and cruelty are part of all of us. Another character in Yazji's play admits the real tragedy: "We have killed our sons," and towards the end of the play (at least in this version) the father opens the coffin to stay next to his dead son. Picture that. This type of theater is brutally needed. Because the goats are now on stage: we have returned full-circle to their song, to tragōidíā. But the cost is devastating.
Thank you, Tony Naumovski for recommending me this play. You were great! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=seiy3VHtxI0
