Today (Wednesday, October 16, 2019), my daughter performs as Linda, the mom and wife in a One Act rendition of Death of a Salesman at the University of Nebraska at Kearney.
I am unable to attend, but remember way back in high school when I read this play. I created a found poem from the text of the play, and post that today in honor of her performance. Without further ado, here is:
“Tell them that you’re tired”
A found poem from “The Death of a Salesman”
Music is heard
“You’d never come home”
“Don’t
leave again, will you?”
“Promise?”
“Yeah but
you just said—“
“I guess we didn’t settle anything, heh?”
“Haven’t the time”
Willy, the last to leave…
“Pull yourself together”
“You mustn’t
overemphasize a thing like this”
“Just try to relax
dear. You make mountains out of
molehills”
“This is
no time for false pride”
“I let you down”
“Why didn’t you
answer?”
“Shut it off! Shut it off!”
Willy, the last to leave…
“I won’t fight with him anymore”
“Boy, you must really
be making a hit”
“How long
has he been doing this?”
“Well that’s nothing”
“You got a greatness
in you”
“Something’s—happening to him.
He—talks to himself”
“He tried”
“…you’re not settled, that you’re still kind of up in the air”
“There’s other things
depressing him, Happy”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Just don’t lay it all on me”
“Are you content, Hap? You’re a
success, aren’t you? Are you content?”
“Hell no”
“No man only needs a little salary”
“Just rest”
“You’re my foundation and my support, Linda”
“He’ll find his way”
Biff
remains motionless, tears falling
“Be careful!”
“I can feel it changing”
He starts to go…
“Enough to be happy right here, right now”
“…because it’s not
what you do….it’s contacts!”
“But where are all the
people he knew?”
“Maybe they blame him”
“He’s liked, but he’s
not well liked”
“Why didn’t anybody come?”
“There’s no stranger you’d do that to”
Willy, the last to go…
“He died the death of a salesman”
“You fake! You phony little fake!”
“Yeah but
you just said—“
“All of a sudden, everything falls to pieces”
…whirling about as if to quiet her…
…uttering a gasp of
fear…
…frenzy of sound…
“Just rest”
“Shhh!”
The music has developed into a dead march
All stare
down at the grave
“Better get some rest,
heh?”
“It’s getting dark,
Linda”
“Nobody
dast blame this man”
“…the man didn’t know who he was…”
“…did
not die in vain.”
“I can’t cry”
“I’ll be with you in a
minute”
“He fought it out here, and this is where I’m gonna win it for him”
“I never had a chance to say good-bye”
“We’re
free…We’re free”
…released…
“Today, dear”
“He tried”
“Tire you out a
little”
“Close your eyes. I’ll be right up.”
The music has died away.
Julie SE Paschold
1992