I'm writing this in the hopes that you can give input. I have revised my monolog "Joseph". I'd like you to read it, and I'm hoping that this time I get responses from actors and from people that are grammarians. I have two specific questions: are there any mistakes grammatically? As an actor, do you think it reads well? Also, many of my monologs are written as poetry--line by line. Do you think that this monolog should follow that rule? I'm torn about it.
Thanks for any input you can give.
Joseph
I love her so much. What is that to them, now? Look at her, so absorbed in that
baby. How is it that this has
happened to me?
I
always thought that I would live life alone, and I was content with that. I liked being alone. My thoughts were my own; my life was
mine to rule. I answered to no
one. Yes, it did get a little
lonely from time to time, but even that was nice, in a way. I could revel in the solitude, the
silence, and the sense of pervasive stillness that filled my life. And if I did ever feel the need for companionship,
there were always my brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins...every one of
them with a family of their own--loud, raucous, stridently breaking up the
early morning stillness with their bickering, their banter, their hilarity. I would find myself heading for home
after a very short time, content once more with my solitary state.
And
then I saw her. She had always
been in the periphery of my vision, so to speak, a quiet little thing--quiet,
but not shy. She seemed to be all
eyes, to the point that the other children left her to her own devices. There was something almost unnatural
about her, about the way that she just--looked,
as if she were keeping the events around her in some sort of ledger inside
herself. As she grew to be of marriageable
age, this trait proved to make her somewhat less than desirable to the young
suitors of Nazareth. To the
average man, this was not a woman to be favored. Too much looking and too little talking were disconcerting
to them. But to me...I loved
her the more for her silence. She
did not prattle on about inconsequential affairs, but when she did speak, her
words spoke volumes. I worked up
my courage and asked for her hand.
Our
courtship was not your normal one.
Yes, we did talk of our life together, as much as was necessary to
understand her wants and needs for the future. But that was not our main focus. No, we discussed the Tanakh—the Torah, the Prophets, and the
Writings. We loved to speak of He
who is to come, Messiah--of the prophecies in all their confusion. It was our favorite game. How would he appear? Would he be triumphant king or
suffering servant? Or could these
conflicting descriptions somehow all apply to the same person? How could that be?
Today,
we have our answer, for this servant king is suckling on Mary’s breast. Fully human, he cries when he is
hungry, wet or cold. His cries
reach into my innermost being. I
never realized how much I could love someone who is not my own. But he is not
just fully human. The angels, the
shepherds—the sky with its enormous star all have revealed him to be Messiah. Messiah—my son. It is true, and yet it doesn’t fit well
on a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths.
How strange—living, he lies wrapped as one who is dead. Yes, I know it’s necessary to keep him
straight and strong, but it still troubles my heart. I don’t want to think of my son, my beloved, and death. My son…
My
child, what will our future be?
Should I announce you as my son?
But you are not my son.
Should I put myself in danger of being called a naïve fool or worse by proclaiming
the truth—you are Messiah, sent by God? What will Mary do? I only have to look at your mother to
know that she is not concerned about any of this. Not in the slightest.
What secrets is she keeping? I feel that they are the first of many, and
I know that she will keep them until the end of time.
