I looked the play up in Wiki who wrote the play was "a metaphor for the
futility of man's existence when salvation is expected from an external
entity, and the self is denied introspection." I agree.
We find happiness from within. I enjoyed dipping into Lawley's study as
well as Wiki's interpretations. I got interested in this subject after
a comment to one of my poems. I was asked once if I was waiting lost
love or Godot? For those who haven read the play and enjoyed its many
possibilities: There are four main characters: Vladimir, Estragon, Posso and Lucky.
Much like the TV series, Seinfeld, the play was about nothing really,
just hanging out conversing about life, death and
later suicide. Like Seinfeld there were four main
characters in conflict with one another's philosophy of life. They
kept each other company. This is what many of us do on
paper, we're always trying to find our art from in between
the pages of our lives.
Because the play was so simple, many tried reading in
hidden metaphors. Some thought Godot was actually
God. Maybe, the four main characters were
at Heaven's gate awaiting God's approval for salvation
and entry into heaven. Simplicity makes
great writing. In the movie, "7 days and 7 nights,"
Harrison Ford, said something to like, "I want to
complicate the hell out of my life." I think as
writers and readers of writing, we all want to
complicate the hell out of true art. We strive for
hidden meanings behind all we do.
The following is my poem Salvation Bound
in homage to the play "Waiting for Godotz:
Estragon and Vladimir's spirit has ascended to the mountain
tops and are now looking back from which they came
Estragon removes his boot from his foot, half
expecting to find more than nothing there,
Vladimir tipped his hat half expecting to find more
Than nothing there,
Both are self-absorbed, hungry for salvation,
One angry and rude, One gentle and weak,
They didn't know why they needed Godot, just knew
they were supposed to meet him by a tree, there is one nearby,
of this they were sure, but nothing else,
Vladimir's cry is shrill and loud, an angry philosopher-type,
Estragon was meek, self-absorbed, and preoccupied with easing
his own hunger and pain?
Both were weary and anxious to meet Godot so they could
Move on. I don't know if this was move on "in death or life."
"Where was Godot? They cried. They eventually lost
track of time. "Was he to be here yesterday or today?"
A slave called Lucky soon arrived in tow by his master, Posso,
All four began doing a swap-hat dance, each believing
Their hats were magical and they wanted
to know how it felt to be someone else.
Lucky sang them all a song about an inhospitable earth, where
"A slave diminishes in a world that does not
nurture him." Maybe, he was named Lucky because
he had no expectations. I think all humans will diminish in a world
with no expectations or nurturing from others.
Lucky and Posso departed.
A small messenger boy appeared, once again, "Godot, my master,
will not be coming today, but surely tomorrow he will." Both were
invisibly tied to the arrival of Godot and could not leave. They
were honor-bound to wait.
Both Vladimir and Estragon seem to be living the same day
over and over, just like in the movies, Ground Hog or 51st Date,
And every night Vladimir sang a maternal lullaby to Estragon as he
adopted the fetal position of a child in sleep.
Posso and Lucky appeared once again, this time their roles
reversed, Lucky was leading Posso by a shorter rope. Posso
was now blind. The slave Lucky did not run away. He still had
no expectations and he stayed faithful as Posso reflects,
"They give birth astride of a Grave, the light
gleams an instant, then it's night, Once more."
And the messenger boy appears once again, Godot, my
master, will not be coming today, but surely tomorrow he
will." The two consider hanging themselves with Estragon's
belt. It broke in two and Estragon's pants fell down and he
didn't care They are stooges trapped somewhere in between
freedom and imprisonment, and a grave and a gleam of light.
Kudos to Lawley for taking on a classic. So many of us forget
it is the past that leads us into today. Sincerely, Joyce White