From 'tamaya' Poem by Morgan Michaels

From 'tamaya'



Waiting in the vestibule, Billy studied the nave. He traced its heights, its airy canyons, its decorative clap-trap until he became impatient. Where were they, his friends? Then they turned up, and, after buying tickets at the window, broke into groups. Larry fiddled with his camera-cord until it snapped and the camera fell to the ground with a crash. Together, John and Tamaya marveled at the lamps hung from the rafters, high above them. Tom joined Billy, and together they found seats close to the screen. Soon, they were joined by the rest, and everyone sat down for the show.

Outside, it was getting dark. From the stained-glass the light faded out just as the credits began. Meant to be scary, the old film was only sad. Billy had never seen 'The Phantom Of The Opera' in this version or any. He knew it was from the Twenties and all. A cowled organist played the score from the chancel, adding to the mood. There was plenty of time to catch the sub-titles. People read slower in those days, decided Billy. The niche where the phantom wooed the diva was cool.

After the final scene, when the villain had been chased into the Seine by the mob and the last chords faded, there was a smokey silence lasting minutes. They waited. Then, the organist struck an eerie barcarole, suiting the troupe of ghouls, who emerged jerkily, one by one, from a pit in the floor.These were followed by others from the wings, masked and bobbing, some on stilts, some dressed in bizarre get-ups and more still, till soon the narthex was crowded with them, creeping and leaping, leering and jeering in the faces of the largely-amused crowd, who observed how the forces of light and darkness were conjoined and often proceeded from a sole source. Challenged by a particularly scary ghoul, a child cried out from his place in a pew and grabbed his father's hand. Altogether the audience turned and, in chorus, vented a reassuring 'ohh', and the kid settled down. Every time a costumed ghoul paused by their pew to cavort, Billy watched Tamaya from the corner of his eye. But, sitting a row back and dwarfed by John, he remained impassive- neither flinching nor smiling. 'Prig', thought Billy, in disapproval. That's the way Tamaya was. Billy was still upset about his remark at the dinner table, earlier. That's the way he was, though.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success