Note to self: being a man of A Certain Age, do not read Beckett’s KRAPP’S LAST TAPE on your own in the middle of the night again.
I always go back to Beckett. I found WAITING FOR GODOT when I was around twenty years old, and that was it. I continue to learn from him. I’ve never seen Beckett performed, which I guess some people might find odd, but, you know, I never lived in what you might call a cultural hub. I’ve only ever read Beckett. Once, I was too young to do more than admire KRAPP’S LAST TAPE. Then, I was the voice of the younger Krapp on tape. Now I’m Krapp. This is how actors grow up with King Lear. Except that Lear is a lion at bay, and I’m a mad old writer. We have Krapp, instead, with the ghosts of the past and his seventeen copies sold, of which eleven at trade prices.
(“…sometimes one would think you were struggling with a dead language.”)