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Chapter 1: What is the significance of Samuel Beckett's 120th anniversary?
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Drama on One is offered as a podcast at rte.ie forward slash drama on one and of course here on RTE Radio 1 on Sunday nights. This year, we celebrate the 120th anniversary of Samuel Beckett's birth. Our Beckett season is available online, featuring radio versions of What, The Old Tune, All That Fall, and tonight's featured work, A Piece of Monologue.
The work is introduced by Gerry Dukes, whose stage adaptation with Barry McGovern of Beckett's post-war trilogy of novels, I'll Go On, has played around the world.
Chapter 2: How does Gerry Dukes introduce A Piece of Monologue?
So, before we hear the play itself, Gerry introduces a piece of monologue by Samuel Beckett, first performed in 1979.
A piece of monologue begins, the first line is very simple, birth was the death of him. Now that is a cliché, of course it is, but it is more than just a cliché. It resonates in all kinds of directions in the context because this is a stage play. Not just the radio, it's a stage play. The actor doesn't move during the play. He just stands there and speaks. There's a low level of lighting.
The actor is downstage left. There's a lamp with a globe. centre stage dimly lit and there is a suggestion of a bed end on stage right which is white to catch the light just like the actor is dressed in bed socks and a bed gown and has white hair so everything is well let's put it like this everything is grey on stage and it's a slow fade up and it's a slow fade down at the end
And the piece is short. It takes a long time to speak. It is, birth was the death of him. And then there are a number of moments in the play which echo other moments in Beckett's work.
One of the things that comes into the play is there's a recollection in the speech of a wall upon which was affixed many years ago loads and loads of photographs of loved ones, of family members, of the speaker himself. But over the years, these have been ripped from the wall, torn into shreds. Some of them have left their thumbtacks in the wall still.
But there is the suggestion that as one ages, the gradual stripping away of memory, of connections with loved ones, all of these things happen. So this is a play that encapsulates all of that. all of those deplorable developments in our endings into a kind of trinity, a lament in prose. And it is an extraordinarily powerful thing. And it doesn't go very far.
There's a bed, a window, a wall, a lamp. There is three accounts of lighting the lamp. The third one is of a memory of somebody else lighting the lamp. with a spill. The first two are done with matches, which of course would be normal enough in the 20th century, but the spill suggests a pre-electric time and the spill would come from another source of light or heat somewhere else.
We use matches to light our candles now, not spills. Beckett remembers and he stitches this into the memory of the speaker. So it is, as I say, it's a trinity, a lament for something that is coming to a close. We will never be conscious of our ending. This is something that exploited before in the play, Play.
One of the notions that informs the play is that the last moment of human consciousness might in fact be infinite. that it doesn't end, despite being boxed and put away. That's a cheery note on which to end.
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Chapter 3: What themes are explored in A Piece of Monologue?
Words are few, dying too. Birth was the death of him, ghastly grinning ever since, up at the lid to come, in cradle and crib. At suck, first fiasco, with the first totters, from mammy to nanny and back, all the way, Bandied back and forth. So ghastly grinning on from funeral to funeral to now. This night. Two and a half billion seconds. Again. Two and a half billion seconds.
Hard to believe so few.
Chapter 4: How does the setting influence the performance of A Piece of Monologue?
From funeral to funeral. Funerals of, he all but said, of loved ones. Thirty thousand nights. Hard to believe so few. Born dead of night. Sun long sunk behind the larches. New needles turning green. In the room dark gaining, till faint light from standard lamp, wick turned low. And now, this night, up at nightfall, every nightfall, faint light in room, whence unknown, none from window.
Next to none. No such thing as none. Gropes to window and stares out. Stands there staring out. Stock still staring out. Nothing stirring in that black vast. Gropes back in the end to where the lamp is standing. Was standing. when last went out. Loose matches in right-hand pocket. Strikes one on his buttock the way his father taught him. Takes off milk-white globe and sets it down.
Match goes out. Strikes a second as before. Takes off chimney, smoke clouded. Holds it in left hand. Match goes out. Strikes a third as before and sets it to wick. Puts back chimney. Match goes out. Puts back globe. Turns wick low. Packs away to edge of light and turns to face east. So nightly. Up, socks, nightgown, window, lamp. Backs away to edge of light and stands facing blank wall.
Covered with pictures once. Pictures of, he all but said, of loved ones. unframed unglazed pinned to wall with drawing pins all shapes and sizes down one after another gone torn to shreds and scattered strewn all over the floor not at one sweep no sudden fit of Ripped from the wall and torn to shreds one by one. Over the years. Years of nights. Nothing on the wall now but the pins. Not all.
Some out with the wrench. Some still pinning a shred. So stands there facing blank wall. Dying arm. No more. No less. No. Less. Less to die. Ever less. Like light at nightfall. Stands there facing east. Blank pin-pocked surface once white in shadow. Could once name them all. There was father. That gray void. Their mother. That other. They're together, smiling, wedding day. They're all three.
That gray blot. They're alone. He alone. So on. Forgotten. All gone so long. Gone. Ripped off and torn to shreds. Scattered all over the floor. Swept out of the way under the bed and left. Thousand shreds under the bed with the dust and spiders.
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Chapter 5: What memories are evoked in the monologue?
All the... He all but said, the loved ones. Stands there facing the wall, staring beyond. Nothing there either. Nothing stirring there either. Nothing stirring anywhere. Nothing to be seen anywhere. Nothing to be heard anywhere. Room once full of sounds. Faint sounds, whence unknown. Fewer and fainter as time wore on, nights wore on. None now, no, no such thing as none.
Rain some nights still slant against the panes, or dropping gentle on the place beneath, even now. Lamp smoking, though wick turned low. Strange. Faint smoke issuing through vent in globe. Low ceiling stained by night after night of this. Dark shapeless blot on surface elsewhere white. Once white. Stands facing wall after the various motions described.
That is, up at nightfall and into gown and socks. No. In them already. In them all night. All day. All day and night. Up at nightfall in gown and socks and, after a moment to get his bearings, gropes to window. Faint light in room, unutterably faint, whence unknown. Stands stock-still staring out into black vast. Nothing there, nothing stirring that he can see.
Here, dwells thus as if unable to move again. Or no will left to move again. Not enough will left to move again. Turns in the end and gropes to where he knows the lamp is standing. Thinks he knows. Was last standing. When last went out. Match one as described for globe, two for chimney, three for wick. Chimney and globe back on, turns wick low. Backs away to edge of light and turns to face wall.
East, still as the lamp by his side. Gown and socks white to take faint light. Once white. Hair white to take faint light. Foot of pallet, just visible edge of frame. Once white to take faint light. Stands there staring beyond. Nothing. Empty dark. till first word always the same, night after night the same. Birth.
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Chapter 6: How does the play reflect on aging and memory?
Then slow fade up of a faint form, out of the dark. A window, looking west. Sun long sunk behind the larches. Light dying, soon none left to die. No, no such thing as no light. Starless, moonless heaven dies on to dawn and never dies. There in the dark, that window. Night slowly falling. Eyes to the small pane gaze at that first night. Turn from it in the end to face the darkened room.
There in the end, slowly, a faint hand, holding aloft a lighted spill. In light of spill, faintly, the hand and milk-white globe Then second hand, in light of spill, takes off globe and disappears, reappears empty, takes off chimney. Two hands and chimney in light of spill, spill to wick. Chimney back on, hand with spill disappears, second hand disappears, chimney alone in gloom.
Hand reappears with globe, globe back on, turns wick low, disappears, pale globe alone in gloom. glimmer of brass bedrail fade birth the death of him that nevoid smile thirty thousand nights stands at edge of lamplight staring beyond into dark hole again window gone Hands gone. Light gone. Gone.
Chapter 7: What is the significance of lighting and objects in the play?
Again and again. Again and again gone. Till dark slowly parts again. Grey light. Rain pelting. Umbrellas round a grave. Scene from above. streaming black canopies, black ditch beneath, rain bubbling in the black mud, empty for the moment. That place beneath. Which, he all but said, which loved one? Thirty seconds to add to the two and a half billion odd. Then fade. Dark, whole again.
Blessed dark. No. No such thing as whole. Stands staring beyond, half hearing what he's saying. He? The words falling from his mouth. Making do with his mouth. Lights lamp as described. Backs away to edge of light and turns to face wall. Stares beyond into dark. Waits for first word always the same. It gathers in his mouth. Parts lips and thrusts tongue forward. Birth. Parts the dark.
Slowly, the window. That first night.
The room.
The spill. The hands. The lamp. The gleam of brass. Fade. Gone. Again and again. Again and again. Mouth agape. A cry stifled by nasal. Dark parts. Grey light. Rain pelting. Streaming umbrellas. Ditch. Bubbling black mud. Coffin out of frame. Who's?
Move on to other matters Try to move on to other matters How far from wall Head almost touching As at window Eyes glued to pain staring out Nothing stirring Black vast Stands there stock still staring out as if unable to move again. Or gone the will to move again. Gone. Faint cry in his ear. Mouth agape. Closed with hiss of breath. Lips joined. Feel soft touch of lip on lip.
lipping lip, then parted by cry as before. Where is he now? Back at window staring out, eyes glued to pain as if looking his last, turns away at last and gropes through faint unaccountable light to unseen lamp. White gown moving through that gloom. Once white. Lights and moves to face wall as described. Head almost touching. Stands there staring beyond waiting for first word.
It gathers in his mouth. Parts lips and thrusts tongue between them. Tip of tongue. Feels soft touch of tongue on lips of lips on tongue. Fade up in outer dark of window. Stare beyond through rift in dark to other dark. Further dark. Sun long sunk behind the larches. Nothing stirring. Nothing faintly stirring.
Stock still, eyes glued to pain, as if looking his last at that first night of thirty thousand odd Turn away in the end to darkened room Where soon to be, this night to be Spill, hands, lamp, gleam of brass Pale glow baloned in gloom Brass bedrail catching light
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Chapter 8: How does the play conclude with themes of existence and loss?
Never were other matters. Never two matters. Never but the one matter. The dead and gone. The dying and the going. From the word go. The word begone. Such is the light going now. Beginning to go. Where else? Unnoticed by him staring beyond. The globe alone. Not the other. The unaccountable. From nowhere. On all sides, nowhere. Unutterably faint. The globe alone.
Alone. Gone.
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