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In Memoriam
The following is from a eulogy for Alan
Harkness, given by Iris Tree:
Alan Harkness had radiance. Anyone who knew him
must have felt this quality of light. He was light in his
voice and movements in spite of the skinny legs and stomping
feet that walked the earth. There was penetrating light in
his thought, intentions and councils - and his search for
clarity was also his search for form - for pure harmony and
true ringing. Nothing murky, devious, soupy or sentimental.
He even shocked us by his uncompromising clarities. He
combined a strong will and great courage with intense
pliability of mind and sensibility of body.
I was
often astounded by the stamina of this seemingly frail,
etherial being. He had another lovely gift - laughter. He
laughed with sympathy, with joy. As a director he was a
wonderful audience to act to. A child I know once said of
him, 'I like that man with a clown's face.' But
he could grieve too, other people's pains afflicted him.
He was happiest, I think, when working with those with whom
he shared his visions or when revelling in things like
streams and trees. 'Art is the revelation of
nature's secret laws' he often quoted. He lighted up
in the presence of all beautiful things, he had the most
delicate and kind way with nature. He was delicate and
tactful - even to plants.
The first time I saw him
was at Michael Chekhov's theatre studio in England. He
was giving a class to the students. They stood around in
their blue practice clothing while he told them the theme
for an improvisation. It was a fairytale about a dying king
who ruled a crumbling kingdom and to whom a young prince was
born. The kingdom revived, the workers started building and
a sort of a song began. The students instantly piled the
structures into a tottering palace and acted with
extraordinary imagination and skill. It seemed strange and
wonderful to me. Later I became his pupil. I hope I am
still.
He was born on July 22nd 1907 in Perth,
Australia. His parents were great hearted people who loved
and believed in, but did not always understand, their
strange delicate son. He went to one of those awful English
boy schools that believe in cold baths, cricket, bullying
and long sermons on Sunday. The boys persecuted him which
made him develop a new cunning and great physical
fearlessness. He finally persuaded his parents to send him
to an art school in Melbourne. There he won a scholarship
and friends among artists who introduced him to the arts.
Through his enthusiasm for Gordon Craig's work he became
interested in stage design and did sets for a company of
players with whom he also started acting. He was fascinated
by all the means of expression in theatre: dance, music,
design, poetry and always the discovery through art of mans
true nature.
He decided to study in Europe the new
theatre techniques developed in Russia and France, was
disillusioned by the decadence of theatre in England and the
dreariness. It was through contact with Michael Chekhov that
his hopes and visions revived.
Michael Chekhov is
undoubtedly a genius. Alan learnt a great deal from him and
through him he learned of the work of Rudolf Steiner whose
experiments with speech and movement have opened a new scale
for the actor to play in. Alan at first resisted the new
approach, later he embraced it. Chekhov made him teacher
director. Alan loved not only to direct trained actors but
to start new students on the trail. He had a wonderful
sympathy for his pupils and real joy in their attempts at
creation. 'It can be wonderful' he would say with
enormous delight at some improvisation a student sketched,
just as he would agonise at a performance which failed its
high intent. That's what we liked. We would be stretched
to find the perfect outward expression for an inward truth.
When the Chekhov Studio moved from England to
Ridgefield Connecticut, Alan moved with it. He acted, taught
and directed his own student performances which were so rich
in promise and new life. It was a great grief to him when
the studio broke up through necessities of war and
discouragement in the first Broadway venture. Mostly however
it was through human reasons. It is very difficult for
people to work together without becoming friends and
enemies, without being for and against. Remaining focussed,
Alan was never entangled in theatrical strife but we was
often the victim of it. Without unity blossoms cannot bear
fruit. With his wife Mechthild, Alan must have come closest
to this unity. Their 'Great Moments from
Shakespeare' gave a beautiful hope of what a close knit
company must become through a concentrated and delicate
process. It was their performance of Lear that fired some of
us to work together. The last agreement was made in Ojai on
a cold windy day in a dark theatre that still kept its
promise of our first attempts. All around us were scattered
the props and pieces of plays, cobwebbed and broken. The
many difficulties of the past met us there with its many
hopes. We discussed our needs. We re-invoked our intentions.
We rehearsed our new plays that were scheduled for today and
Alan reiterated over and over again. 'Now is the time to
begin!'
Work is never lost. Alan has not left
us. The thread between us is vibrant still. I wrote a poem
the night before Alan died. I thought of him at the time and
intended to read it to him. I dedicate it to him
now.
Birds, fish in air and water fleet
Flowers
and their mystery of smell and singing words
From
every flying, throbbing thing that grows and goes
-
This rose, the shadows of the spiders weaving
feet
And all the marvels floating through man's
eyes
Shaped to his moving hope
And his pursuit of
it so wild and far
Beyond the limits of his mortal
scope -
This, and the kiss of meeting loves
Devout
and passing as the seed and child
Follow with lifting
limbs
With fighting, wounding, lifting, seeking
hands
And crying hymns -
All, all this night one
folded bud it seems
That to the sky breaks open to
reveal us -
We are the dreams of God
And when He
wakes we die.
Iris Tree
March, 1952
Iris Tree's poem was on the cover of the program
for the Memorial Performance at the Lobero Theatre on April 9,
1952. The three Irish plays being presented on this occasion
were those being worked on by Alan Harkness when he died.
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