Christopher Bernard reviews Brazilian dance troupe Grupo Corpo’s 21 and Gira at Cal Performances

Bald person in a white ruffled tutu bending over to the left in a profile view.
Still from Gira, by Grupo Corpo. Photo: Jose Luiz Pederneiras

21 and Gira

Grupo Corpo

Zellerbach Hall

University of California, Berkeley

Gyres of Eshu

A review by Christopher Bernard

Cal Performances (the Bay Area’s most adventurous promoter of dance, music and live performance) delivered once again one late weekend in April, as part of its Illuminations: “Fractured History” series: Brazil’s formidably gifted dance company, Grupo Corpo.

Based in Brazil’s legendary Minas Gerais, and founded in Belo Horizonte in 1975, the company is driven by the synergistic talents of two brothers, Paulo and Rodrigo Pederneiras, house choreographer, and director and set and lighting designer, respectively, who have created, with their collaborators, an aesthetic that blends classical ballet and the complex heritage of Brazilian culture, religious and ritual traditions, the whole leavened by a musical culture that is wholly unique.

The company brought two ambitious dances to Berkeley’s Zellerbach Hall. The first was their breakout dance, from 1992, which put the company securely on the international dancing “map”: 21, a number that retains an enticing mystery to it. It also introduced one of the company’s musical signatures: the music and instruments of Marco Antonio Guimarães and the artists of the Uakti Instrumental Workshop. These last not only have a unique armamentarium of instruments, but even use their own microtonal scales, unless my ears were fooling me—essential elements of what makes the company’s work uniquely engaging.

21 was groundbreaking: a slow burn that used the entire company in a processus of simple chthonic motives, closely gripping the floor like the movements of wary but defiant jungle animals, on dancers at first dressed entirely in yellow bodysuits against a pitch-black background, appearing at first behind a misty transparent screen that creates a ghost-like effect, and rising midway through the work as the dance moved to illumination from mystery.

The dance began with a hypnotic monotony of group motions with slight variations against a polyphony of percussion and string and blown instruments entirely new to this listener’s ear, and gradually morphed into a succession of solos and increasingly elaborate duos, trios, and corps, by turns haunting, raunchy, and carnivalesque, until its energies, long simmering, boiled over and broke out into a joyously orgiastic conclusion that brought the Brazilian gods to the stage and the local audience to their feet.

The imaginative use of lighting and color, as well as the costume designs (which transmogrified from the monotone to the wildly polychrome) of Freusa Zechmeister, were as vital to the overall effect as motion and music.

The second dance, Gira (“Spin”), from 2017, takes the elements of spiritualist rite suggested in 21 and brings them unapologetically to the fore. The dance is based on the rituals of Umbanda (a merging of West and Central African religions such as Yoruba with Catholicism and spiritism) to the music of the jazz band Metá Metá and vocals from Nuno Ramos and Eliza Soares. The dance is based on rituals calling forth the spirit of Eshu, a deity who acts as a bridge between humanity and the world of the orixás of Ubamba, Condomblé, and the spiritualities they have in common. Eshu commands and drives the rite of the giras, or spinning, whose motions, like those of the dervishes of Islam, open the dancers to the gods and the gods to the dancers.

Gira evolved as a series of variations on the motions of the ritual, increasingly fugal, danced by the performers as if in the trance that the ritual aims, paradoxically, both to create and to emerge from. Both male and female dancers wore long white skirts and were bare breasted in a show of a curious mixture of vulnerability, beseeching, and seduction to bring forth the divine.

 It’s a beautiful and evocative work, if overstaying just a little.

Not to be forgotten is the technical brilliance of the dancers themselves: masters of their gifts, and sharpened by the equal mastery of the company’s leadership.

____

Christopher Bernard is an award-winning novelist, poet, and essayist and author of numerous books, including A Spy in the Ruins (celebrating its twentieth anniversary in 2025) and The Socialist’s Garden of Verses. He is founder and lead editor of the webzine Caveat Lector and recipient of an Albert Nelson Marquis Lifetime Achievement Award.

Poetry from Eric Barr

WHOLE

To be able to use

         Both hands

To

        WASH THE DISHES.

To be able to walk

Without having

To think about

       How to walk.

Since my stroke

Twelve years ago

I have been hemipelagic,

My left arm and left leg

Were left paralyzed.

Meaning that medically

I am considered

       Half

 Not

     Whole

Oh, to be Whole again

But in losing the use of my arm and leg

I have grown one appendage for

       Compassion

And another for

       Empathy

Although, because the stroke altered how

       I speak.

      I sound

       Gruff, short, and angry

To others

Despite being only

       Half.

I like

      And treat

Myself and others

      A whole

Lot

Better than

 I did before

When I really was

              Whole.

SUNSET WALK

On tonight’s unsteady sunset walk

The crows squawked, the crickets chirped, 

and even the blue birds were screaming at me

 to fall and die. 

To provide a bigger meal than the roadkill rabbit at the end of the drive.

UP ON THE ROOF

When my medications make me feel like jumping off a roof

I Can’t tell the difference between my emotions and the medications

How do I convince myself that it is 

The meds not me?

That my feelings are a chemical reaction.

Not a true reflection

 of my inner life

In time, after conversations with my wife, friends, and dog

I am able to distinguish my feelings from those generated by the drugs.

And I talk myself down 

“Stay off the roof, stay off the roof.” I tell myself as I lie in bed under a cover.

When I realize a fall from the roof

 will only make things worse 

and require more drugs

I settle down with the dog,

Fall asleep, 

and dream of flying.

ERIC BARR taught acting and directing at University of California, Riverside. He was the Founding Director of the UCR Palm Desert MFA in Creative Writing and Writing for the Performing Arts.

Barr has written in a number of different genres, from screenplays to poetry.  His work has appeared in Connotation Press and The Journal of Radical wonder. He was a co-writer on the feature film, A Thousand Cuts.

In addition to his writing, Barr worked as a theatre director and acting coach.   He was the Artistic Director of the Porthouse Theatre in Cleveland, taught movement for actors at the Stella Adler Conservatory of Acting in Los Angeles, and worked as an acting coach with the National Theatre of the Deaf. 

Since surviving a series of strokes Barr has written and performed his one-man show, A Piece Of My Mind”, about his surgeries, hospitalizations, and rehab around the country.  His podcasts on stroke recovery can be found at http/www.apieceofmymind.net 

Poetry from Mahbub Alam

Middle aged South Asian man with reading glasses, short dark hair, and an orange and green and white collared shirt. He's standing in front of a lake with bushes and grass in the background.
Mahbub Alam

The Last View

The last view I like to ask

The world is composed of music

The blood always stirs with this tune of the varieties of musical tastes

The nature itself a bond for love in every opposite the male – female

 Everything sings together, sings for each other, the teaching of love

As the teacher always teaches us to be sympathized with the sorrowful

And be happy to see the other’s happiness

The eyes will come to close its sight

The world may say us ‘Good Bye’

We must smile over the last thought or sigh

The view may show the glory for both of us we live in love

In cry and laugh

What’s the most feature of the reality nowadays?

There is no water to play the boat

The view, not vivid can give us relief, the foggy night

The tigers do not the matter for eating their cubs

On the other hand the view of devouring humanity

What brings up the ending?

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

26 April, 2025.

Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times the Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad. His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos for seven years.

Poetry from Don Bormon

South Asian teen boy with short black hair, brown eyes, and a white collared school uniform with a decal.

Evening Time

After a hot day,

The sun gradually moves to the west.

The heat of a summer day becomes cold.

The land and everything gets relief.

The big fireball in the sky.

Goes far and becomes small.

The giant white sun

Becomes a yellow ball.

A cold fresh air comes from the east.

To give a new life to the creations.

The leaves of the trees.

Dance with the cold wind.

The coconut trees spread their heads

Above, to feel the cold air.

After a summer day,

The trees want water from us,

To get a new life.

After a summer day,

They want water,

To release their tiredness!

The nature also feels happy,

When it becomes cool!

The entire sky becomes yellowish,

With the evening’s yellow sun.

The sun dives into the sea!

In the evening.

The sun goes to its home,

With a yellowish color.

The birds also go their home,

With the sun!

A summer’s day ends,

With a cold sky!

Summer and Rain

Summer is the time of heat.

It turns everyplace into desert.

A place which is not a desert,

But feels like a desert!

For the heat storm.

Which comes from everywhere.

The water everywhere, feels boiling!

The road works like a heated pan.

The room is an oven!

Where people being cooked!

Sunlight is like fire.

Which wants to burn everything.

It comes through the cloud,

By breaking the clouds.

This heat is intolerable.

General people feel it like hell!

In this hell,

Rain comes from the sky.

The hell gets water,

Heat become cold.

Cold air comes from the east.

Which gives a new life to mankind.

The animals also get a new life.

The birds also can fly into a new sky.

Finally, the desert becomes cold.

By the blessing of God.

Don Bormon is a student in grade ten at Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

Poetry from Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa

Light skinned Filipina woman with reddish hair, a green and yellow necklace, and a floral pink and yellow and green blouse.
Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa

Being Complacent

Don’t blame the government system

Every country has the same problem

Don’t blame the police force

Being omniscient is not part of their course

Don’t blame the gender

It could be a girl, a boy, or the other

Don’t blame the race

Doesn’t matter, anyone loses trace

Don’t blame the generation

It’s been around every era and nation

Don’t blame the children

It’s not their fault for being frightened

Let’s not be complacent in protection

Anyone can be a victim of abduction

Be aware where your child is

Let an adult always be there, please

Be alone or with a group of friends

It will not hinder those hated fiends

Or even in a public place in a community

One can never guarantee a long time of safety

Crime takes just a moment for you or me

Never be smug and think it will never be.

What Makes A King

What makes a king

Is it about the messages that never fade

Is it about the miracles that were made

Is it the actions that discrimination forbade

What makes a king

Is it the sufferings yet never did complain

Is it the horrors showing of souls drain

Is it about forgiving beyond death’s pain

What makes a king

Is it the conquering death by resurrection

Is it about man’s original sin’s destruction

Is it promise of whole world’s redemption

What makes a king

To believers and unbelievers hope bring

The promise that in no one church cling

Of Unity and Equality all mankind can sing

But what makes a King?

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.

Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.

Poetry from Graciela Noemi Villaverde

Middle-aged Latina woman with straight light brown hair, brown eyes, a few rings on her fingers, a necklace, bracelet, black jacket, and a smile. She's seated at a restaurant table.

Soul of the Book

A sleeping ocean, its inky waves,

dragging secrets in its depths,

stories whispered in a forgotten language,

echoes of voices that fade in time.

A forbidden garden, withered paper flowers,

its petals, words worn by time,

each scent, a dusty memory,

an echo of emotions lost in the mist.

A fogged-up mirror reflects blurred shadows,

dream worlds that dissolve upon touching them,

deep silences, where memory hides,

and dreams are lost in the darkness.

A caged bird, broken paper wings,

its song, a whisper drowned by silence,

in search of an unattainable sky,

imprisoned between the pages, in an eternal twilight.

A petrified heart, beneath cracked leather,

weak heartbeats, a distant echo of lost dreams,

hopes turned to ashes,

fears rooted in darkness.

GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina, based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers and is the UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. She is the Commissioner of Honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.

Poetry from Nigar Nurulla Khalilova

Light skinned Central Asian woman with short blond hair and a tight blue top under a black sweater, seated at a brown wood table.

The mood 

Cats lie on trash bins with tales pointed south,

Arabic Simoom blow high up to heavens.

The gawkers today better shut their own mouths,

The curious sand will get under the palate.

Cars hide under canvas that is set adrift

Dust busily gets under every eyelid.

The nature presents with a very harsh gift

The heart in the chest just refuses to beat.

Today I don’t love me and I don’t love you,

I’ll be the wind that makes all the roofs shutter.

Don’t mind me, friends, I’m feeling blue,

And verses are born that don’t really matter.

Nigar Nurulla Khalilova is a poet, novelist, translator from Azerbaijan, Baku city, currently in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. She is a member of Azerbaijan Writers Union. Nigar N. Khalilova graduated from Azerbaijan Medical university, holds a Ph.D degree. She has been published in the books, literary magazines, anthologies and newspapers in Azerbaijan, Russia, Saudi Arabia, USA over the years. Nigar N. Khalilova participated in poetry festivals and was published in the international poetry festivals anthologies. Conducted data in the Austin International Poetry Festival (AIPF), 2016-2017.