في انتظار جودو مسرحية للكاتب الإيرلندي صمويل بيكيت الذي فاز بجائزة نوبل للأداب عام ١٩٦٩ و قد رفض استلام الجائزة بنفسه مُتَجنّباً بذلك إلقاء خطابٍ على الملأ عند استلام الجائزة..
عرفت أعماله بما يسمي بمسرح العبث و يقال إن هذه المسرحية تعتبر أهم مسرحية في القرن العشرين باللغة الإنجليزية!

المسرحية الصراحة سيئة!
تدور أحداث المسرحية حول شخصين ينتظران شخصاً يدعو جودو ..
مش عارفين مين جودو دة و هو طبعاً مبيجيش والحمدلله انه مجاش!

الفكرة مكررة ومفيهاش أي جديد و المقصود من المسرحية إنك ممكن تضيع وقت كبير من حياتك في انتظار حاجة او شخص وانت عارف من جواك إنها مش حتحصل...
الحوارات كلها ملهاش معني وفيها تكرار ...
مفيش أحداث تقريباً و أجزاء كتير مش مفهومة..
مش عارفة ايه دة بجد و ليه بيتقال عليها حلوة !
أذواق بقي..

A nice homage would be to write nothing.

*

That is what I wrote this afternoon. Before that, a friend told me to write something. He was so sure that I could. I am never sure about what I can or cannot do. But he thought so. That was nice.

Nothing much happened after that, until another kind friend paid this review a visit and said "to wait". And "if he does not show up tomorrow..." Well, what is to be done then? There are messengers that assured me he would come. I will keep waiting. Contemplating the same places, the same scenarios, over and over, until I can predict the entire world. n  Never neglect the little things of life.n
And then I think. And then, some more. Do I really want to keep waiting?
I wonder if I even have that choice.

Then, a beautiful woman with a quick mind that could leave you staring at your shoes, utterly perplexed, came along. She told me that I comprehended an author with finesse. I thanked her, of course. But... did I? In the middle of this constant—and often tiresome—analysis that I cannot escape from, can I even begin to grasp the concept of anything at all?
There is meaning, somewhere. But I fear it will keep evading our presence until... Ah. Choose the metaphor you like. n  This is getting alarming.n

A couple of minutes later, another lovely woman said that this was clever. I am not sure of that since I believe Goodreads would delete this in a heartbeat. But, oh well. n  Nothing to be done.n

The second I finished writing this, a third woman, equally stunning and of enviable wits, appeared. This good friend that I so admire, asked me something like "Can we keep waiting even when he makes an appearance?" And that made me ponder. Are we prepared for such a visit? Us, simple mortals, are we ready to face that kind of revelation? We are still waiting by that tree. Still complaining about so much waiting. But I wouldn't know what to do if... n  I may be mistakenn, though. I have the feeling I thought about this yesterday. Not sure what day is today but I definitely thought about this... yesterday. God. n  Either I forget immediately or I never forget.n

I was about to leave when another kind man approached and left a lovely comment about the quality of this review. I often disagree but that is how my head functions. And it is always nice to read that, so I thanked him. n  It's the normal thing.n

After some time—do not know how much time since I can never measure it—another friend stopped by. He was asking when to read a certain book. He was not waiting for Godot, he was waiting for the right time. Oh. That might just be him...
No. Ah, yes. Time. That unforgiving time that refuses to stop. Time flows, always. Always the minutes. Always the decades. Even if we remain in the same place, with the same glance, the same companionship: ourselves. I would like that friend to read this book as soon as possible. But I do not own the proper words to convince him. Hell, I do not own any word. They own me; a powerless captive. So, I think, I believe, I cannot say much.
n  We wait... A diversion comes along and what do we do? We let it go to waste. Come, let's go to work! In an instant all will vanish and we'll be alone once more, in the midst of nothingness!n
Or worse, we won't be here at all.
n  ...you have to deciden, my friend.

Later, another friend came along and said that this review was his favorite of the year so far. And I thought that was a lovely compliment. The problem is that I kept thinking. And analyzing. And in further reflection I said to myself, “okay, I know I cannot measure time, I know that I am not sure if I am still living a yesterday or I am already living my tomorrow because this permanent sense of ennui that fills each day makes me forget everything, but I am aware that the year has just started.” And here we are, standing on this immense world with a myriad of possibilities and its inexorable absurdity haunting us everyday—an absurdity that allows anything to happen—so the fact that this review full of nonsense is someone's favorite of the year that has just begun, made me think. A better one might be written tomorrow. Or in a minute. And then, that's it. Ah. Stop thinking. n  All I know is that the hours are long, under these conditions.n ... n  Let us not waste our time in idle discourse!n I will make sure to say this as soon as I see this friend. Because days will pass and time will pass and things must be said.
n  ...the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.n But that endless process does not apply to our ephemeral nature.

"Lovely musings", another friend wrote a couple of minutes ago. But when you think about it, there's nothing much to do, really. We are always looking for something new. Something else. Nothing much for me to find. n  It'd pass the timen, they say. I haven't met anyone yet with the ability of breaking that vicious circle. We are here to spend time... And watch the sky as it changes its colors. A constant feeling of n  another day done withn. We want to move, we say we'll go, we stay right here, like a not so lucky man with a rope around his neck.
Honestly. n  One is not master of one's mood.n

As I was about to conclude with this illogical ode to the absurd, this dull melody that echoes the unpredictable nature of things and the tiresome search for what we are not meant to know, two more friends came along. The first one claimed to have seen him, the reason of it all. Apparently, he was trying to remember something. And at a cafe, no less! Whereas some of us are part of this useless but inevitable seek of meaning in life, trying to fill the gaps with something that might embody some source of comfort rather than simply embrace such absurdity of existence, hope for nothing and achieve a sense of freedom—if not freedom itself—Godot is passing the time at a cafe, completely unaware of our existence and our strong desire to meet him, as we see our days go by. Days that no longer perceive a different color. n  ...habit is a great deadener.n
The last friend recommended me to watch the play that introduced me to these people that were waiting for Godot. And then mentioned another one. I cannot think of a better ending to this preposterous review. To postpone for a while this awfully exhausting search for meaning and enjoy another play that will probably make me think of that search almost immediately.
Human nature, my friend.

To be continued.
If you write.


Jan 12, 16
* Also on my blog.

مسرحية عبثية لم ترق لي، مضيعة وقت.

Waiting for Godot
Waiting for Godot
Waiting for Godot
Waiting for Godot


كم كانت دهشتي وانا احمل (تي شيرت) رجالي خاص بزوجي يحمل العبارة السابقة، (تي شيرت) قديم مطبوعا عليه تلك العبارة بأحجام مختلفة... تلك العبارة التي لم افهم ما هي والـ (تي شيرت) مغر جدا لأن استخدمه كقطعة للتنظيف :)

سألته عن الـ (تي شيرت) الغريب ولماذا أحضر مثله للمنزل فأجابني في هيئة سؤال: مش انتي عندك تي شيرت اللجنة المنظمة لنموذج جامعة الأمم المتحدة من أيام الكليه؟؟

قلت له: آه ومحتفظة بيه جديد زي ما هو كتذكار

فرد: ده بقى تذكار من محاضرات المسرح من ايام الكلية؟؟

قلت له: مش فاهمة!!

سألني: عمرك ما قريتي مسرحية بيكيت
Waiting for Godot??

فكان ردي: لأ

زوجي خريج الجامعة الأمريكية وفيها يدرسون مقررا للمسرح ويمثلون فيه...وكانت تلك هي المسرحية التي يمثلونها

أخبرني انه كان يقوم بدور
Lucky
التابع لـ
Pozzo
وصاحب المونولوج الغريب والأشهر في عالم المسرح العبثي

أخبرني القصة في عجالة محتفظا بالتفاصيل وإن كنت تساءلت هل
Godot
هي تحريف لـ
God??

فطلب مني ألا افكر فيها على هذا النحو ولاقرأ المسرحية

قررت ان ابحث عن المسرحية واقرأها

قرأتها بالإنجليزية كما كان يمثلها في الجامعة ....قرأتها منذ مدة تقارب السبع سنوات ولهذا لا استطيع تذكر تفاصيل الشخصيات والتحدث عنها أو تفاصيل المسرحية، فبعد سبع سنوات فقط الفكرة العامة تبقى

قمة الجنون

الكل في انتظار جودو

جودو يبعث برسالة تفيد انه سيظهر ولكنه لا يظهر

قمة العبث... مازالوا ينتظرونه ... رتابة الموقف وتكرار الانتظار لا يدفعهم لكسر تلك الحلقة المفرغة والخروج منها

فليفعلوا شيئا مفيدا بحياتهم بدلا من انتظار جودو الذي لا يظهر

أليس من الممكن انه فقط سيظهر إذا ما فعلوا ما يستح�� ظهوره؟؟

ياللعبث والجنون

وانبهرت بحق بالمونولوج ... فهو بخلاف كونه مربكا فإن تكرار بعض كلماته وتقارب بعض مفرداته يجعل إلقائه صعبا جدا

بالطبع لا يوجد تسجيلا للمسرحية كما مثلها الطلبة في الجامعة الأمريكية، إلا ان هناك مقاطعا للمونولوج بلغات مختلفة على اليوتيوب

أعجبتني المسرحية رغم اعتراضاتي على احد تفسيراتها، وربما مازلت منبهرة في تقييمها بكونها قد تم تمثيلها على مسرح في مصر من قِبل طلاب جامعة

گودو «خدا» نیست. گودو اساسا «چیزی» نیست. گودو مجهول است، مثل تمام کنش‌های نمایش. در جهان خصمانه‌ی نو، نمی‌شود منتظر «کسی» بود، فقط می‌توان منتظر بود.

بکت برای من مثل گدار در سینما است؛ فیلم‌هایش جزء موردعلاقه‌ترین‌هایم نیستند، ولی با این‌حال همیشه عناصری دارند که شگفت‌زده‌ام می‌کنند. معنای آثارش به‌طور کامل برایم قابل احاطه‌کردن نیست (برخلاف ایبسن یا برگمانِ مدرنیست)، و این عدم قطعیت در برداشت است که جایگاه او را چنین خاص می‌کند.

I've heard about this for years & always meant to get around to reading it. This is a reason that high school kids hate 'classics'. According to the Wikipedia article, this absurdist play was voted "the most significant English language play of the 20th century". There are an incredible amount of different interpretations & articles about this. It's an amazing body of bullshit - proof that people, especially critics, are so bored (or have such a fierce case of cranial-rectal inversion) that they bother to try to find any significance at all. Of course they can argue about it. It's so pointless that almost any interpretations will fit depending on how much mental masturbation one feels like performing.

Here's the Wikipedia article:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waiting...

I was building a toy for my grandson during the 1.5 hours I spent listening to this, so the time wasn't wasted.

n  Bulgarian review below/Ревюто на български е по-долуn
In many of the film scores which he composed, Hans Zimmer includes a ticking clock motif. In “Dunkirk” he even used the so-called Shepard tone – an auditory illusion whose pitch sounds like it is constantly ascending, although it remains the same. In his play Samuel Beckett also hangs an imaginary giant clock (perhaps on that same lonely tree where the characters want to hang themselves) to tick time away for Estragon and Vladimir, but gives up the suspense technique. There is no suspense. There also seems to be a vacuum of time, though we can clearly hear the ticking, which shows that time is actually passing. There is only endless waiting.

“Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it’s awful!”
Beckett was inspired for his play from Caspar David Friedrich’s painting “Two Men Contemplating the Moon”. The sombre figures and the silhouette of the dead tree eerily contrast the golden moon in the distance. In the same way both V. and E. are constantly straining their eyes to see their shining moon on the horizon – their Godot – but what they lack is dynamics. “The air is full of our cries”, says Vladimir. “But habit is a great deadener”. And the habit of doing nothing when you are muffled by the long cold fingers of meaninglessness doesn’t let its victims escape easily. In an interview, Maria Popova says “Critical thinking without hope is cynicism. Hope without critical thinking is naïveté”. V. and E. naively hope that their salvation will come from outside, not from themselves. That is why they are caught in the impossible vicious circle of waiting for someone to bring meaning to them, but the meaning in their existence is to wait for someone to bring meaning to them.
“We always find something, eh Didi, to give us the impression we exist?”

We humans are great specialists in giving ourselves the impression that we exist. Even to delude ourselves that the things we do are somewhat meaningful. We would have gone mad otherwise. Maybe we have? “We are all born mad. Some remain so”. Godot is an allegory of what we all are waiting for. Probably also what we turn into while waiting. Perhaps the meaning is to search for meaning, not to expect it to come to you. Maybe there is no meaning. Where are you, Godot?

Beckett’s play is a representative of the theater of absurdity and its scrutiny of existentialism. Life is empty in anticipation of Godot, even communication is a broken wing of a bird, irrational, losing its own thread, a half-life. Samuel Beckett, who prefers “France at war to Ireland at peace”, who, in his own words, writes because he’s fit for nothing else, in his play expresses that mute frantic scream we would all emit if absurdists are really right. They suspect that existence has no meaning, but since this cannot be proven, we have the choice of committing suicide or not. Vladimir and Estragon also consider hanging themselves in a very matter-of-factly tone a few times.

“All evening we have struggled, unassisted.”
It’s almost unbearable to be left to your own devices and your choices. Wondering whether to head for the unfamiliar, not knowing how dangerous it is or stay in the dreadful familiar whose degree of dreadfulness you already know. From an evolutionary point of view we are designed to place sure bets because there is always a swarm of bad things lurking in the dark. The unfamiliar is darkness. In fact, with the night approaching, V. and E. calm down, as if their trial is over for the day – night is a metaphor for death, and when you are dead, you are not expected to continue the painful search for meaning.

“Waiting for Godot” is quite an abstract play which is subject to all sorts of interpretations. Beckett was annoyed by this and wondered why people try to complicate something that was otherwise so simple. A literary critic said that virtually nothing happens in the play. What is more, since Act II is almost a repetition of the Act I, then nothing happens twice. Will there be any point reading “Waiting for Godot” then? There will – because of the lifeless atmosphere that is a reflection of life – life is also very illogical at times, because of the irony and the fragments of pungent insight. And to search for a meaning for yourselves. Always for that.
“That's how it is on this bitch of an earth.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

В доста от филмите, за които е композирал музика, Ханс Цимер включва мотив с тиктакащ часовник. В „Дюнкерк“ дори използва т.нар. тон на Шепард – звукова илюзия, при която ни се струва, че чуваното непрестанно се усилва, макар то да остава същото. В своята пиеса Самюел Бекет също обесва въображаем гигантски часовник (може би на онова самотно дърво, където и персонажите искат да се обесят), който отмерва времето за Естрагон и Владимир, но се отказва от похвата с нагнетяване на напрежението. Напрежение няма. Време също като че ли няма, въпреки че отчетливо чуваме цъкането, което показва как то всъщност си отива. Има само едно безконечно чакане.

„Нищо не се случва, никой не идва, никой не си отива, ужасна работа.“
Бекет се вдъхновил за написването на пиесата си от картината на Каспар Давид Фридрих „Двама души, съзерцаващи луната“. Мрачните фигури и силуетът на мъртвото дърво леко зловещо контрастират на златистата луна в далечината. Така и В. и Е. непрестанно напрягат взор да видят своята грееща луна на хоризонта – своя Годо – но това, което им липсва, е динамика. „Въздухът е пълен с нашите крясъци“, казва Владимир. „Но навикът е голям заглушител“. А навикът да не правиш нищо, когато си скован от студените дълги пръсти на безсмислието, не пуска никак лесно жертвите си. В едно интервю Мария Попова казва, че критичното мислене без надежда е цинизъм, но надеждата без критично мислене е наивитет. В. и Е. наивно се надяват, че спасението им ще дойде някъде отвън, а не от тях самите. Затова са и хванати в невъзможния кръгов капан на това да очакват някой да им донесе смисъл, но смисълът на битието им да е да чакат някого, който да им донесе смисъл.

„Винаги намираме нещо, а, Диди, за да си даваме вид, че съществуваме, нали?“
Хората сме големи специалисти в това просто да си даваме вид, че съществуваме. Дори да се самозаблуждаваме, че нещата, които вършим, все пак имат някакво значение. Бихме полудели иначе. А може би сме? „Всички се раждаме луди. Някои си остават“. Годо е алегория на онова, което всички чакаме. Вероятно и на това, в което се превръщаме, докато чакаме. Може би смисълът е да търсиш смисъл, не да го очакваш сам да дойде при теб. А може би го няма никакъв. Къде си, Годо?

Пиесата на Бекет е представител на театъра на абсурда и неговото вглеждане в екзистенциализма. Животът е безсъдържателен в очакване на Годо, общуването дори е пречупено крило на птица, ирационално, губещо собствената си нишка, в период на полуразпад. Самюел Бекет, който предпочита „Франция във война, отколкото Ирландия в мир“, който по негови думи пише, защото за друго не го бива, изразява в пиесата си онзи ням неистов вик, в който всички бихме зинали, ако абсурдистите наистина са прави. Те подозират, че смисъл да се съществува наистина няма, но тъй като това е непроверяемо, ни остава изборът дали да се самоубием или не. Владимир и Естрагон също обмислят обесване със съвсем делничен тон на няколко пъти.

„Цяла вечер се борихме, оставени сами на себе си.“
Почти непоносимо е да си оставен сам на себе си и на изборите си. Да се питаш дали да тръгнеш към непознатото, което не знаеш колко е страшно, или да останеш в ужасното познато, което все пак знаеш колко е страшно. От еволюционна гледна точка ни е заложено да играем на сигурно, защото в мрака винаги дебнат много лоши неща. Непознатото е мрак. Всъщност с наближаването на нощта В. и Е. се поуспокояват, все едно изпитанието им за деня е приключило – нощта е метафора на смъртта, а когато си мъртъв, от теб не се очаква мъчително да търсиш някакъв смисъл.

„В очакване на Годо“ е доста абстрактна пиеса, която е обект на какви ли не интерпретации. Бекет бил подразнен от това и се чудел защо хората се опитват да усложняват нещо, което иначе си е толкова просто. Един литературен критик казва, че в пиесата на практика нищо не се случва. Нещо повече – тъй като второ действие е почти повторение на първо, то нищо не се случва два пъти. Ще има ли защо да прочетете „Годо“ тогава? Ще има – заради безжизнената атмосфера, която е отражение на живота – защото и в него невинаги има логика, заради иронията и откъслеците хапливи прозрения. И за да потърсите и вие смисъла. Винаги заради това.

„Такива ми ти работи на тая тъпа земя.“

با تعریف هایی که قبلا شنیده و خونده بودم از مضمون و نمادین بودن کارکترها اطلاع داشتم، به تصویر کشیدن پوچی و انتظار بیهوده، میدونستم هدف اینه ولی حقیقتش تا "از چشم بکت"(توضیحات مترجم) رو نخوندم متوجه قشنگی و ظرافت کار نشدم.
با وجود جالب شدن داستان در پایان، نمیتونم از کسلی و خسته کنندگی نمایشنامه بگذرم. و این که تمام مدت منتظر دیالوگی جذاب بودم و هیچ مورد خاصی به چشمم نیومد، همه ی حرفای رد و بدل شده چرت و بی معنی بود. که این هم شاید با هدف بوده باشه و مقتضی پوچی، مضمون اصلی نمایشنامه!

The dilemma of being human:
Why does it happen at all?
Where do we go when it ends?
The perpetual struggle between hope and despair.
Sincere and heartwarming in an odd sort of way.

"Joyce believed in the author omniscient---God the Father---while I saw that such a view was no longer possible. So, I was left to deal with the debris of literature".---Sam Beckett

The debris of life was Beckett's preoccupation throughout his literary life, starting with the play that established his global reputation. Sam once said prisoners could understand it while critics could not.
Godot is not God. Godot is that thing, person or apparition that might give life some meaning but never comes since it does not exist. Beckett's bums are left to contemplate everything from erections to the roads that cross their path and lead to nowhere. Life is stark, barren and worthless. "My birth was an unsuccessful abortion" Beckett once wrote of himself. That's the way his characters feel in WAITING FOR GODOT.

ا"لا شيء يحدث و لا احد يجيء "هذا هو بإختصار فحوى تلك التراجيدية المضحكة!؟
سيظل الإنسان منتظرا للأبد لاي شيء

..العدل..الثراء..النصر..او المختار الذي سيجلب معه السعادة.. اليس هذا هو حال البشر؟؟

احقاقا للحق...ارى ان المسرحيات