Soliloquy For The Loner Spectator / Ultimo espectador del mundo is a translation by Cesar Torres from the book “Conciertos Imaginarios” by Camilo T.
[ Brief splendor. The world beheld.
Things falling apart as this man enters]
Spectator: I sit here to watch; one man leaned his soul close to me,
I am here, straw man, bum, getting closer to, perception,
I’m trembling on my seat, trembling seat drifting on high tide,
stroked by the mare, or maybe by a crazy-one; me, slender
who could not stand nor defend his place, see the stars,
see the falling lights of the sky, madly,
witness those words that never had been spoken,
sit here, without relief from the coldest loneliness, you’re here to watch.
In the beginning I couldn’t find a seat, there was only darkness.
Didn’t notice a reason for being here,
like everyone else I was
dreadfully occupied by being born. And why? why not?
Lonely, I had the feeling of… (¡no quiero estar aquí!)
Why did I come here?
There’s some order in the universe, and that’s why I’m here.
Could I ever be…? …keep quiet in your place, please please!
Limp, come out, see, everything is empty, emptiness of everything,
nothing happens, I have the feeling that I’m being watched.
The performance, am I? Mmmm
The curtains open, the performer, lonely and tormented
looking like a prophet!
There’s nothing to see,
something should happen,
maybe you have to enunciate something like: yesterday I was afraid for my life, si?
no, I can’t assure you if I was alive. Go on, can’t remember anything,
assume that something happened, maybe:
¿será toda mi vida una invención? Or would this invention be my life?
Maybe God will get close to me and let me question him about: discomfort, my seat,
understandable place, my, his, sight, all that is, nonsense, this…
soon that fellow will come and he will not be my invention, at least you
don’t expect too much:
‘Creator you know me? I would prefer not to.’
Pain in my stomach, dream-time, wake-time…
hanging over a common life, say something like:
yesterday I drank a coffee cold and bitter as my blood… yes,
go on: yesterday I thought that somebody smiled at me.
Look at yourself, now, think: Who smiled at me?
Tremble, that’s your life
¿Será este temor momentáneo toda mi vida?
You’re the theater of the world. Why?
Could this mean anything?
Could I mean anything?
Yes, you should only wait…
¿será mentira entonces que estoy hablando?
don’t you read this anymore.
…you can rest now.
Monologue to be recited in any space, bedroom, or scenario; silently or loudly; alone or
with an audience. Made for anyone who could live in the idea of “theatrum mundi”
representing the last or the first one of mankind.
Camilo T. is a Latin-American writer that tries to build a house with words, a theater for the imagination.
Featured photograph by Karissa Lang