A Poem for Nina Ananiashvili

In 1990 I wrote a poem for prima ballerina, Nina Ananiashvili of the Bolshoi Ballet, while working with her at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles CA. The poem can be found in my chapbook, Wildweed.

Here is a video of Nina Ananiashvili doing "The Dying Swan." This is the most spectacular version I have ever seen of this.

After viewing it, see below for the poem I wrote, complete with the backstory of writing it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mFJGhQYex-E&index=3&list=PLCF02F1EC240D42CB

Before retirement, I worked in stage production for over twenty-seven years, in Hollywood, California.

This is a poem I wrote backstage at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles, CA, while working on the final Bolshoi Ballet tour back in 1990. First, I will give you the back-story of the writing of the poem, then I will read the poem itself.

The poem is titled, Poezija: The Ballerina.

Poezija is the Russian word for poetry. I wrote this poem for Nina Ananiashvili, who was the prima-ballerina of the Bolshoi ballet in 1990. The poem is about two prima-ballerinas; one about to retire and one who is just coming up. This poem has 3 parts and here is the story behind those parts:

I was working as the foreman of a backstage rigging crew when I wrote parts 1 & 2 of this piece. It was written, literally, on a steel beam, 80 feet in the air, while rigging a new fly-rail system for the Shrine Auditorium in the summer of 1990. We were on a deadline to get the fly rail system working for the new season of the Bolshoi Ballet, which was arriving at The Shrine in three weeks. While watching union welders create new structural support beams for the system, and waiting for parts to be hoisted from the stage 80 feet below, I found the time and inspiration to write a poem! As I had no pen and paper, only the sharpie in my tool-belt, I used it to write on one of the new steel beams, which I just happened to be sitting on! The original writing still exists on that structural beam itself, high over the backstage grid of the theatre.

Part 3 of this poem was written three weeks later, for Nina Ananiashvili, the new prima-ballerina for the Bolshoi. As it turned out, this would be their final tour performed in the United States before the U.S.S.R. split apart and the Bolshoi, as we had known it, all but disappeared. This part of the poem was written backstage while I was working on the ballet, as I watched Nina dance in her premier performance for the season. I later presented it to her and she, in return, presented me with an autographed Bolshoi baseball cap with the inscription... "To Steven— the best poet in America." This was very flattering to a young man of 40.

When I put the three parts of the poem together, it became evident to me that the poem represented the retiring of one prima-ballerina and the new rising star of another. It seemed like serendipity that the three parts fit so well into one piece.

Near the end of the poem is the phrase, No feather . . . no down! This is the Russian way of saying . . . Break a leg!

Now, here is the poem:
 
Poezija: The Ballerina

1.
An aged tree
struggles to grow free
from itself:
its outer branches turned inward;
twisting, turning,
pushing in and up
then outward again
as it struggles
through life,
throughout the years--
a countless calendar
for all intents and purposes;
an ode of our inhumanity
to nature,
if it could speak.

The prima-ballerina . . . retires!

2.
Structured steel
struggling to be free
of itself:
(countless) cables of iron twisting
across, downward,
around each other
then upward again;
giant steel beams
pinnacle
as if struggling
for life--
a welded calendar,
dedication of humanity
to science and entertainment
is what it seeks.

The prima-ballerina . . . is born!

3.
Poezija . . .
you are the ballerina.
The song of your dance
takes wings in my heart
—it soars.
It flies inside me
but you are the swan.

Poezija . . .
like a flowing verse,
your rhythm.
Your movements
melt together
like snowflakes
in the sun.

Twirl me into a trance.
Take all of me
into your dance.
No feather . . . no down!
Your passion is poezija.
You are
the ballerina.

 © C. Steven Blue