back from the ocean, hooves, Henry, chops

The ocean was great. A sensual drifting time.

It was a like a tune-up for the body. Sleep. Hot-tub. Good food. Ocean. Solitude. More sleep. I could do this once a year, go to the ocean alone and sleep.

It took 3 hours at night to get there. 7 hours on a workday afternoon with rush-hour traffic, to return.

Worth it.

As I drove back, I worked on staging Henry V and the life of Genghis Khan. I was listening to Riverdance. The opening song hovers, then drums, then goes BAM as 20 dancers stomp. BAM, they stomp again.

I remember Stephanie Shine's production of Henry V for Seattle Shakespeare Co. When the Chorus gave the opening prologue, ten actors like grey-clay mannequins stood behind him.

Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire
Crouch for employment.

Shakespeare, near the height of his powers, grabbing the play by the throat and heading skyward. He's not even 10 lines into the play yet; those are lines 5 through 8.

And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,
On your imaginary forces work.
Suppose within the girdle of these walls
Are now confined two mighty monarchies

On "mighty monarchies," BAM, BAM, the ten actors took two sharp steps in unison, becoming a military. I shivered. It was one of those fantastic, something-from-nothing, done-right-in-front-of-you-and-it-STILL-made-you-thrill, theatrical moments.

From there, I drifted into how to stage the life of Genghis Khan. In particular, the horses. How to get the sweep and thunder of the only army ever in history to have no infantry; 5 horses for every man. The horses alone would be a company, with an arc and choreography of their own. The Secret History of Genghis Khan describes every horse he ever rode, in detail.

It wasn't only the percussion that sent me on this military bent. It was the Irish dance itself, born out of rebellious obedience to English rulers who decreed the Irish people could not lift their arms above their heads while dancing. "Fine," said the Irish. "Watch this." Arms at their sides, backs ramrod straight, their feet became daggers, drums, the voice of a military.

Think when we talk of horses, that you see them
Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth;
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times,
Turning the accomplishment of many years
Into an hour-glass...

You know what it is? It's chops. Sheer virtuosity. Shakespeare writing, the Irish dancing, Genghis Khan's horsemen attacking -- it's all immanent in the horses flying, hooves pounding.

Admit me Chorus to this history;
Who prologue-like your humble patience pray,
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.

The Chorus's prologue sounds like a drum cadence.

I once saw the national champion snare-drummer do a completely technical roll. One stick at a time. Donk. Donk. Donk. Donk. Donk. Donk. Growing imperceptibly faster until DonkaDonkaDonka, all the way up to Drrrrrrrrrrrrr. No break. It was completely controlled, all the way up into wings-of-a-hummingbird full flying drum roll. And then even more remarkably, just as controlled coming down, slowing all the way back to the original. You never heard a break.

The ovation was instantaneous.

Then he did the same thing with the more difficult double-stroke roll. Right. Right. Left. Left. Right. Right. Left. Left. RightRightLeftLeft, all the way up, all the way down.

Genghis's horsemen believed the honor was in winning, not in how you fought. It didn't matter how you won, or whether you won attacking or fleeing. One of their most frequent tactics, The Fox Chase, was to engage, then suddenly frantically flee. The enemy, emboldened, would pursue. When the enemy was all strung out, suddenly the Khan's horsemen would whirl, engage, win.

Chops.