"Garbage Safari" for Philly's FringeArts Festival #DigitalFringe
A menagerie of junk elephants by Christine Stoddard, featuring the first two stanzas from the poem, "The Elephant," by Carlos Drummond de Andrade (1902-1987, Brazilian).
I create an elephant/of my scarce resources./Some pieces of wood/taken of old furniture/might keep him straight.
And I fill him up with cotton,/silk and sweetness./The glue will fast/ his saggy ears.
The trunk curls/and it is the happiest part/of his architecture.
But there are also the tusks,/made of such a pure material/that I can not duplicate.
Such a white this richness/exposed in the circus/without loss or corruption.
And finally the eyes, where is held/the most fluid and permanent part of the elephant, disconnected of every fraud.
Here, my poor elephant,/ready to leave/and search for friends/in a world already tired
that no longer believes in animals/and doubts things.
Here he is, puissant and/fragile mass, winnows himself/and moves slow/his sewed skin/where flowers of cloth
and clouds are allusions/to a more poetic world/where love retakes the natural forms.
//There goes my elephant/through a crowded street,/but they do not want to see him/even not to laugh
at his tail, which might/leave him walking alone./He is all grace, although/his legs are not of much help
and his big belly/threatens to fall off/at the slightest touch./He shows with elegance/his minimal life,
and in town, /there is no soul willing /to take from that sensitive body
his fugacious image,/the clumsy steps,/yet hungry and touching.