Overview
Throughout his life, playwright, poet, and political activist Harold Pinter has consistently cast light on the hypocrisy of power and those who would defend the status quo for the sake of their own security and comfort. Awarded the Wilfred Owen Prize in 2004 for his poetry condemning US military intervention in Iraq, Mr. Pinter has succeeded in combining his artistry with his political activism.
Death etc. brings together Pinter’s most poignant and especially relevant writings in response to war. From chilling psychological portraits of those who commit atrocities in the name of a higher power, to essays on the state-sponsored terrorism of present-day regimes, to solemn hymns commemorating the faceless masses that perish unrecognized, Mr. Pinter’s writings are as essential to the preservation of open debate as to our awareness of personal involvement in the fate of our global community.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780802191717 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Grove/Atlantic, Inc. |
| Publication date: | 04/24/2019 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 144 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
WILFRED OWEN AWARD SPEECH
This is a true honor. Wilfred Owen was a great poet. He articulated the tragedy, the horror, and indeed the pity — of war — in a way no other poet has. Yet we have learnt nothing. Nearly one hundred years after his death, the world has become more savage, more brutal, more pitiless.
But the "free world" we are told (as embodied in the United States and Great Britain) is different to the rest of the world, since our actions are dictated and sanctioned by a moral authority and a moral passion condoned by someone called God. Some people may find this difficult to comprehend, but Osama bin Laden finds it easy.
What would Wilfred Owen make of the invasion of Iraq? A bandit act, an act of blatant state terrorism, demonstrating absolute contempt for the concept of international law. An arbitrary military action inspired by a series of lies upon lies and gross manipulation of the media and therefore of the public. An act intended to consolidate American military and economic control of the Middle East masquerading — as a last resort (all other justifications having failed to justify themselves) — as liberation. A formidable assertion of military force responsible for the death and mutilation of thousands upon thousands of innocent people.
An independent and totally objective account of the Iraqi civilian dead in the medical magazine The Lancet estimates that the figure approaches one hundred thousand. But neither the United States nor the United Kingdom bother to count the Iraqi dead. As General Tommy Franks (U.S. Central Command) memorably said, "We don't do body counts."
We have brought torture, cluster bombs, depleted uranium, innumerable acts of random murder, misery, and degradation to the Iraqi people and call it "bringing freedom and democracy to the Middle East." But, as we all know, we have not been welcomed with the predicted flowers. What we have unleashed is a ferocious and unremitting resistance, mayhem, and chaos.
You may say at this point, What about the Iraqi elections? Well, President Bush himself answered this question only the other day when he said, "We cannot accept that there can be free democratic elections in a country under foreign military occupation."
I had to read that statement twice before I realized that he was talking about Lebanon and Syria.
What do Bush and Blair actually see when they look at themselves in the mirror?
I believe Wilfred Owen would share our contempt, our revulsion, our nausea, and our shame at both the language and the actions of the American and British governments.
March 18, 2005
CHAPTER 2DEMOCRACY
There's no escape.
The big pricks are out.
They'll fuck everything in sight.
Watch your back.
March 2003
CHAPTER 3MOUNTAIN LANGUAGE
CHARACTERS
Mountain Language was first performed at the National Theatre in London on October 20, 1988. The cast was as follows:
YOUNG WOMAN Miranda Richardson
ELDERLY WOMAN Eileen Atkins
SERGEANT Michael Gambon
OFFICER Julian Wadham
GUARD George Harris
PRISONER Tony Haygarth
HOODED MAN Alex Hardy
SECOND GUARD Douglas McFerran
Designer Michael Taylor
Director Harold Pinter
I
A PRISON WALL
A line of women. An ELDERLY WOMAN, cradling her hand A basket at her feet.
A YOUNG WOMAN with her arm around the Woman's shoulders.
A SERGEANT enters, followed by an OFFICER. The Sergeant points to the Young Woman.
SERGEANT Name?
YOUNG WOMAN We've given our names.
SERGEANT Name?
YOUNG WOMAN We've given our names.
SERGEANT Name?
OFFICER (to Sergeant) Stop this shit, (to Young Woman) Any complaints?
YOUNG WOMAN She's been bitten.
OFFICER Who?
Pause.
OFFICER (cont.) Who? Who's been bitten?
YOUNG WOMAN She has. She has a torn hand. Look. Her hand has been bitten. This is blood.
SERGEANT (to Young Woman) What is your name?
OFFICER Shut up.
He walks over to Elderly Woman.
OFFICER (cont.) What's happened to your hand? Has someone bitten your hand?
The Woman slowly lifts her hand. He peers at it.
OFFICER (cont.) Who did this? Who bit you?
YOUNG WOMAN A Doberman pinscher.
OFFICER Which one?
Pause.
OFFICER (cont.) Which one?
Pause.
OFFICER (cont.) Sergeant!
Sergeant steps forward.
SERGEANT Sir!
OFFICER Look at this woman's hand. I think the thumb is going to come off. (to Elderly Woman) Who did this?
She stares at him.
OFFICER (cont.) Who did this?
YOUNG WOMAN A big dog.
OFFICER What was his name?
Pause.
OFFICER (cont.) What was his name?
Pause.
OFFICER (cont.) Every dog has a name! They answer to their name. They are given a name by their parents and that is their name, that is their name! Before they bite, they state their name. It's a formal procedure. They state their name and then they bite. What was his name? If you tell me one of our dogs bit this woman without giving his name I will have that dog shot!
Silence.
OFFICER (cont.) Now — attention! Silence and attention! Sergeant!
SERGEANT Sir?
OFFICER Take any complaints.
SERGEANT Any complaints? Has anyone got any complaints?
YOUNG WOMAN We were told to be here at nine o'clock this morning.
SERGEANT Right. Quite right. Nine o'clock this morning. Absolutely right. What's your complaint?
YOUNG WOMAN We were here at nine o'clock this morning. It's now five o'clock. We have been standing here for eight hours. In the snow. Your men let Doberman pinschers frighten us. One bit this woman's hand.
OFFICER What was the name of this dog?
She looks at him.
YOUNG WOMAN I don't know his name.
SERGEANT With permission sir?
OFFICER Go ahead.
SERGEANT Your husbands, your sons, your fathers, these men you have been waiting to see, are shithouses. They are enemies of the State. They are shithouses.
The Officer steps toward the Women.
OFFICER Now hear this. You are mountain people. You hear me? Your language is dead. It is forbidden. It is not permitted to speak your mountain language in this place. You cannot speak your language to your men. It is not permitted. Do you understand? You may not speak it. It is outlawed. You may only speak the language of the capital. That is the only language permitted in this place. You will be badly punished if you attempt to speak your mountain language in this place. This is a military decree. It is the law. Your language is forbidden. It is dead. No one is allowed to speak your language. Your language no longer exists. Any questions?
YOUNG WOMAN I do not speak the mountain language.
Silence. The Officer and Sergeant slowly circle her. The Sergeant puts his hand on her bottom.
SERGEANT What language do you speak? What language do you speak with your arse?
OFFICER These women, Sergeant, have as yet committed no crime. Remember that.
SERGEANT Sir! But you're not saying they're without sin?
OFFICER Oh, no. Oh, no, I'm not saying that.
SERGEANT This one's full of it. She bounces with it.
OFFICER She doesn't speak the mountain language.
The Woman moves away from the Sergeant's hand and turns to face the two men.
YOUNG WOMAN My name is Sara Johnson. I have come to see my husband. It is my right. Where is he?
OFFICER Show me your papers.
She gives him a piece of paper. He examines it, turns to Sergeant.
OFFICER (cont.) He doesn't come from the mountains. He's in the wrong batch.
SERGEANT So is she. She looks like a fucking intellectual to me.
OFFICER But you said her arse wobbled.
SERGEANT Intellectual arses wobble the best.
Blackout.
2
VISITORS ROOM
A PRISONER sitting. The Elderly Woman sitting, with basket.
A GUARD standing behind her.
The Prisoner and the Woman speak in a strong rural accent.
Silence.
ELDERLY WOMAN I have bread —
The Guard jabs her with a stick.
GUARD Forbidden. Language forbidden.
She looks at him. He jabs her.
GUARD (cont.) It's forbidden, (to Prisoner) Tell her to speak the language of the capital.
PRISONER She can't speak it.
Silence.
PRISONER(cont.) She doesn't speak it.
Silence.
ELDERLY WOMAN I have apples —
The Guard jabs her and shouts.
GUARD Forbidden! Forbidden forbidden forbidden! Jesus Christ! (to Prisoner) Does she understand what I'm saying?
PRISONER No.
GUARD Doesn't she?
He bends over her.
GUARD (cont.) Don't you?
She stares up at him.
PRISONER She's old. She doesn't understand.
GUARD Whose fault is that?
He laughs.
GUARD (cont.) Not mine, I can tell you. And I'll tell you another thing. I've got a wife and three kids. And you're all a pile of shit.
Silence.
PRISONER I've got a wife and three kids.
GUARD You've what?
Silence.
GUARD (cont.) You've got what?
Silence.
GUARD (cont.) What did you say to me? You've got what?
Silence.
GUARD (cont.) You've got what?
He picks up the telephone and dials one digit.
GUARD (cont.) Sergeant? I'm in the Blue Room ... yes ... I thought I should report, Sergeant ... I think I've got a joker in here.
Lights to half. The figures are still.
Voices over:
ELDERLY WOMAN'S VOICE The baby is waiting for you.
PRISONER'S VOICE Your hand has been bitten.
ELDERLY WOMAN'S VOICE They are all waiting for you.
PRISONER'S VOICE They have bitten my mother's hand.
ELDERLY WOMAN'S VOICE When you come home there will be such a welcome for you. Everyone is waiting for you. They're all waiting for you. They're all waiting to see you.
Lights up. The Sergeant comes in.
SERGEANT What joker?
Blackout.
3
VOICE IN THE DARKNESS
SERGEANT'S VOICE Who's that fucking woman? What's that fucking woman doing here? Who let that fucking woman through that fucking door?
SECOND GUARD'S VOICE She's his wife.
Lights up.
A corridor.
A HOODED MAN held up by the Guard and the Sergeant.
The Young Woman at a distance from them, staring at them.
SERGEANT What is this, a reception for Lady Duck Muck? Where's the bloody Babycham? Who's got the bloody Babycham for Lady Duck Muck?
He goes to the Young Woman.
SERGEANT (cont.) Hello, miss. Sorry. A bit of a breakdown in administration, I'm afraid. They've sent you through the wrong door. Unbelievable. Someone'll be done for this. Anyway, in the meantime, what can I do for you, dear lady, as they used to say in the movies?
Lights to half. The figures are still.
Voices over:
MAN'S VOICE I watch you sleep. And then your eyes open. You look up at me above you and smile.
YOUNG WOMAN'S VOICE You smile. When my eyes open I see you above me and smile.
MAN'S VOICEWe are out on a lake.
YOUNG WOMAN'S VOICE It is spring.
MAN'S VOICE I hold you. I warm you.
YOUNG WOMAN'S VOICE When my eyes open I see you above me and smile.
Lights up. The Hooded Man collapses. The Young Woman screams.
YOUNG WOMAN Charley!
The Sergeant clicks his fingers. The Guard drags the Man off.
SERGEANT Yes, you've come in the wrong door. It must be the computer. The computer's got a double hernia. But I'll tell you what — if you want any information on any aspect of life in this place, we've got a bloke comes into the office every Tuesday week, except when it rains. He's right on top of his chosen subject. Give him a tinkle one of these days and he'll see you all right. His name is Dokes. Joseph Dokes.
YOUNG WOMAN Can I fuck him? If I fuck him, will everything be all right?
SERGEANT Sure. No problem.
YOUNG WOMAN Thank you.
Blackout.
4
VISITORS ROOM
Guard. Elderly Woman. Prisoner.
Silence.
The Prisoner has blood on his face. He sits trembling. The Woman is still. The Guard is looking out of a window. He turns to look at them both.
GUARD Oh, I forgot to tell you. They've changed the rules. She can speak. She can speak in her own language. Until further notice.
PRISONER She can speak?
GUARD Yes. Until further notice. New rules.
Pause.
PRISONER Mother, you can speak.
Pause.
PRISONER (cont.) Mother, I'm speaking to you. You see? We can speak. You can speak to me in our own language.
She is still.
PRISONER (cont.) You can speak.
Pause.
PRISONER (cont.) Mother. Can you hear me? I am speaking to you in our own language.
Pause.
PRISONER (cont.) Do you hear me?
Pause.
PRISONER (cont.) It's our language.
Pause.
PRISONER (cont.) Can't you hear me? Do you hear me?
She does not respond.
PRISONER (cont.) Mother?
GUARD Tell her she can speak in her own language. New rules. Until further notice.
PRISONER Mother?
She does not respond. She sits still.
The Prisoner's trembling grows. He falls from the chair onto his knees, begins to gasp and shake violently.
The Sergeant walks into the room and studies the Prisoner shaking on the floor.
SERGEANT (to Guard) Look at this. You go out of your way to give them a helping hand and they fuck it up.
Blackout.
CHAPTER 4THE DISAPPEARED
Lovers of light, the skulls,
The burnt skin, the white Flash of the night,
The heat in the death of men.
The hamstring and the heart Torn apart in a musical room,
Where children of the light Know that their kingdom has come.
1998
CHAPTER 5THE NEW WORLD ORDER
The New World Order was first performed on July 19, 1991, at the Royal Court Theatre Upstairs, London. The cast was as follows:
DES Bill Paterson
LIONEL Michael Byrne
BLINDFOLDED MAN Douglas McFerran
Director Harold Pinter
Designer Ian MacNeil
Lighting Kevin Sleep
A blindfolded man sitting on a chair. Two men (DES and LIONEL) looking at him.
DES Do you want to know something about this man?
LIONEL What?
DES He hasn't got any idea at all of what we're going to do to him.
LIONEL He hasn't, no.
DES He hasn't, no. He hasn't got any idea at all about any one of the number of things that we might do to him.
LIONEL That we will do to him.
DES That we will.
Pause.
DES (cont.) Well, some of them. We'll do some of them.
LIONEL Sometimes we do all of them.
DES That can be counterproductive.
LIONEL Bollocks.
They study the man. He is still.
DES But anyway here he is, here he is sitting here, and he hasn't the faintest idea of what we might do to him.
LIONEL Well, he probably has the faintest idea.
DES A faint idea, yes. Possibly.
Des bends over the man.
DES (cont.) Have you? What do you say?
He straightens.
DES (cont.) Let's put it this way. He has little idea of what we might do to him, of what in fact we are about to do to him.
LIONEL Or his wife. Don't forget his wife. He has little idea of what we're about to do to his wife.
DES Well, he probably has some idea, he's probably got some idea. After all, he's read the papers.
LIONEL What papers?
Pause.
DES You're right there.
LIONEL Who is this cunt anyway? What is he, some kind of peasant — or a lecturer in theology?
DES He's a lecturer in fucking peasant theology.
LIONEL Is he? What about his wife?
DES Women don't have theological inclinations.
LIONEL Oh, I don't know. I used to discuss that question with my mother — quite often.
DES What question?
LIONEL Oh you know, the theological aspirations of the female.
Pause.
DES What did she say?
LIONEL She said ...
DES What?
Pause.
LIONEL I can't remember.
He turns to the man in the chair.
LIONEL (cont.) Motherfucker.
DES Fuckpig.
They walk around the chair.
LIONEL You know what I find really disappointing?
DES What?
LIONEL The level of ignorance that surrounds us. I mean, this prick here —
DES You called him a cunt last time.
LIONEL What?
DES You called him a cunt last time. Now you call him a prick. How many times do I have to tell you? You've got to learn to define your terms and stick to them. You can't call him a cunt in one breath and a prick in the next. The terms are mutually contradictory. You'd lose face in any linguistic discussion group, take my tip.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Death etc."
by .
Copyright © 2005 Harold Pinter.
Excerpted by permission of Grove Atlantic, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Wilfred Owen Award Speech,
Democracy,
Mountain Language,
The Disappeared,
The New World Order,
One for the Road,
The Old Days,
Press Conference,
An Open Letter to the Prime Minister,
House of Commons Speech,
God Bless America,
American Football,
Iraq Debate, Imperial War Museum,
The "Special Relationship",
The Bombs,
Ashes to Ashes,
Weather Forecast,
After Lunch,
Meeting,
Death,