"მანდარინები" (BSO)
(MANDARINEBI)
NIAZ DIASAMIDZE
dimecres, 29 de juliol del 2015
divendres, 24 de juliol del 2015
"PARLO D'UN RIU MÍTIC I REMORÓS"
GERARD VERGÉS (1931-2014)
- Tot sovint penso que la meva infància
- té una dolça i secreta remor d'aigua.
- Parlo de la verdor d'un delta immens;
- parlo dels vols dels ibis (milers d'ibis
- com volves vives de la neu més blanca)
- i del flamenc rosat (de l'íntim rosa
- d'un pit de noia gairebé entrevist).
- I parlo del coll-verd brunzint per l'aire
- com la pedra llançada per la fona,
- de l'anguila subtil com la serpent,
- la tenca platejada de les basses.
- Parlo del llarg silenci on es fonien
- l'aigua dolça del riu, la mar amarga.
- Parlo d'un riu entre canyars, domèstic;
- parlo -Virgili amic- de l'horta ufana,
- dels tarongers florits i l'api tendre,
- de l'aixada i la falç, del gos a l'era.
- (Lluny, pel cel clar, va un vol daurat de garses.)
- Parlo d'un riu antic, solcat encara
- pels vells llaguts: els últims, llegendaris
- llaguts, tan afuats com una espasa,
- i carregats de vi, de llana, d'ordi,
- i amb mariners cantant sobre la popa.
- Parlo d'un lent crepuscle que posava
- or tremolós a l'aigua amorosida,
- punts de llum a les ales dels insectes,
- solars reflectiments als ponts llunyans.
- Dolça remor de l'aigua en el record.
dimecres, 8 de juliol del 2015
"THE CAPTURE OF THE HORSE"
JAMES YORKSTON
That morning we awoke undisturbed from a night that had only recently ended
We had no idea of the history of the bed in which we lay in
All we knew now, we must escape from our kind but drunken local hosts
I claim this time ours, for exploring as the day unfolds
The capture of the horse was the aim for a pleasant afternoon's riding
Our hung-over heads proclaim 'night rules apply'
Last time I rode I was thrown by the barking of some greyhound
But I say not a word; for we'll never catch them, why break the spell?
We exchanged the softest of ballads either side of the tiniest of streams
You still dressed like some unkempt Japanese lady and you're laughing
as I murdered the Gaelic that I have never learned or had any want or will to do
I fear your foreign bedfellow is an uneducated fool
We climbed high above Lough Ine, Oh the memory's overwhelming
Coming ready or not and you're caught in the burling of the bracken
Tears, blood and laughter and you swore at the stupidity of the branch
And at our stupid adventure and at my coarse and idle hands.
We had no idea of the history of the bed in which we lay in
All we knew now, we must escape from our kind but drunken local hosts
I claim this time ours, for exploring as the day unfolds
The capture of the horse was the aim for a pleasant afternoon's riding
Our hung-over heads proclaim 'night rules apply'
Last time I rode I was thrown by the barking of some greyhound
But I say not a word; for we'll never catch them, why break the spell?
We exchanged the softest of ballads either side of the tiniest of streams
You still dressed like some unkempt Japanese lady and you're laughing
as I murdered the Gaelic that I have never learned or had any want or will to do
I fear your foreign bedfellow is an uneducated fool
We climbed high above Lough Ine, Oh the memory's overwhelming
Coming ready or not and you're caught in the burling of the bracken
Tears, blood and laughter and you swore at the stupidity of the branch
And at our stupid adventure and at my coarse and idle hands.
"CHEATING THE GAME"
JAMES YORKSTON
The opportunity's there for you
To take your life in your hands
And you know that I'm there for you
And I'll give you that chance
But if she calls my name, should I go cheating the game?
Was I just ignoring you
Getting drunk and blue?
Well the opportunity's there for you
So let's see what you can do
But if she calls my name, should I go cheating the game?
Sure you'd do the very same, you'd be cheating the game...
To take your life in your hands
And you know that I'm there for you
And I'll give you that chance
But if she calls my name, should I go cheating the game?
Was I just ignoring you
Getting drunk and blue?
Well the opportunity's there for you
So let's see what you can do
But if she calls my name, should I go cheating the game?
Sure you'd do the very same, you'd be cheating the game...
"WHEN THE HAAR ROLLS IN"
JAMES YORKSTON
You asked me to jump the 45 measured feet
into the water, but I am no folly built for your lazy pleasure,
if only it were so.
Your hands were fairly stone cold as you placed them on
my neck, we climbed off the train at Birnam
we anchored out city living to our rural past.
High above the fields of Killiecrankie
we made up rhymes and names for passing polite
strangers, you dared me out of earshot, faces beamed behind backs.
Macgregor pulling on his lead to climb more snowed up
steps, my winter jacket cast me out as a well dressed loon,
existing on the margins, exciting to be sharing Christmas with you all.
I thought I'd see you up the Birks O'Aberfeldy,
as if some common thoughts would bring us together 10
years later for nothing really just a look just to drink you in.
I carry your memory like a big bag full of feathers
once stuck in the back of my throat but now a warming
dream finally.
And now I'm more concerned about keeping the neighbours
cat out of my garden than who you may or may not be fucking
and who may be dancing a jig in the middle.
How stupid I was believing in fate and fairness
and all the big questions that I could not answer
so I busied myself with the flippancy of art.
The genius is the subtlety of the waves lapping on the shore
slowly taking over the dry shale with it's salty tongue
like a lounge singer.
And uppity nonchalance uncaring for the land
it's reclaiming uncaring for the crowds it's drawing
the next day I shall walk in it's wake.
Discovering the bones and the pottery once a native of
this shoreline paying a visit to the coast hoping to be recognised by
descendants of descendants and taken in and loved.
Discovering the bones and the pottery once a native of
this shoreline paying a visit to the coast hoping to be recognised by
descendants of descendants and taken in and loved.
From Baltimore we sailed hoping to escape my temper
I put you in a song wrapped you up with cotton wool
I cast you as an angel battling my demons.
Cold bloodedly you took your opportunity
a North London Hogmanay the year my faith was shattered
a sunken city came alive with fireworks.
Eager to please I sang like a stranger
and me and my Taig friends we drank you under the table
and the music you swore by it was nothing it was terrible.
Scared by the noise of your shrieking
the dog chased ghosts in the kitchen
he tore up newspapers and ate all the jam and the glassware
you collected was smashed and lilting on the floor.
When the saddening sweeps through me like a stubborn
sea wind when I'm feeling my worst and the best news in world
fails to move me and I cannot bare your touch or to share a word
or gossip or humour well that's when I need you most
just to be here to be quiet and warm and free with the
drink until I forget such moments exist.
When the haar rolls in it's just a question of waiting
it out and that's when the music I swear gets me through
I close my eyes and everything is OK.
When the haar rolls in it's just a question of waiting
thing out and that's when the music I swear gets me through
I close my eyes and everything's OK.
From Baltimore we sailed hoping to escape my temper
I put you in a song wrapped you up with cotton wool
I cast you as an angel battling my demons.
A North London Hogmanay the year my faith was shattered.
into the water, but I am no folly built for your lazy pleasure,
if only it were so.
Your hands were fairly stone cold as you placed them on
my neck, we climbed off the train at Birnam
we anchored out city living to our rural past.
High above the fields of Killiecrankie
we made up rhymes and names for passing polite
strangers, you dared me out of earshot, faces beamed behind backs.
Macgregor pulling on his lead to climb more snowed up
steps, my winter jacket cast me out as a well dressed loon,
existing on the margins, exciting to be sharing Christmas with you all.
I thought I'd see you up the Birks O'Aberfeldy,
as if some common thoughts would bring us together 10
years later for nothing really just a look just to drink you in.
I carry your memory like a big bag full of feathers
once stuck in the back of my throat but now a warming
dream finally.
And now I'm more concerned about keeping the neighbours
cat out of my garden than who you may or may not be fucking
and who may be dancing a jig in the middle.
How stupid I was believing in fate and fairness
and all the big questions that I could not answer
so I busied myself with the flippancy of art.
The genius is the subtlety of the waves lapping on the shore
slowly taking over the dry shale with it's salty tongue
like a lounge singer.
And uppity nonchalance uncaring for the land
it's reclaiming uncaring for the crowds it's drawing
the next day I shall walk in it's wake.
Discovering the bones and the pottery once a native of
this shoreline paying a visit to the coast hoping to be recognised by
descendants of descendants and taken in and loved.
Discovering the bones and the pottery once a native of
this shoreline paying a visit to the coast hoping to be recognised by
descendants of descendants and taken in and loved.
From Baltimore we sailed hoping to escape my temper
I put you in a song wrapped you up with cotton wool
I cast you as an angel battling my demons.
Cold bloodedly you took your opportunity
a North London Hogmanay the year my faith was shattered
a sunken city came alive with fireworks.
Eager to please I sang like a stranger
and me and my Taig friends we drank you under the table
and the music you swore by it was nothing it was terrible.
Scared by the noise of your shrieking
the dog chased ghosts in the kitchen
he tore up newspapers and ate all the jam and the glassware
you collected was smashed and lilting on the floor.
When the saddening sweeps through me like a stubborn
sea wind when I'm feeling my worst and the best news in world
fails to move me and I cannot bare your touch or to share a word
or gossip or humour well that's when I need you most
just to be here to be quiet and warm and free with the
drink until I forget such moments exist.
When the haar rolls in it's just a question of waiting
it out and that's when the music I swear gets me through
I close my eyes and everything is OK.
When the haar rolls in it's just a question of waiting
thing out and that's when the music I swear gets me through
I close my eyes and everything's OK.
From Baltimore we sailed hoping to escape my temper
I put you in a song wrapped you up with cotton wool
I cast you as an angel battling my demons.
A North London Hogmanay the year my faith was shattered.
divendres, 3 de juliol del 2015
"DECAPITACIÓ II"
EL PETIT DE CAL ERIL
Altre cop una col·laboració amb LA VEU d'en Roger Mas.
L'infant el cavall de cartró
turmenta i mutila amb gest obstinat
Li escurça les potes, li talla la cua
li esclafa les anques a cops de martell
i amb llargues agulles forada ses nines
(l'infant clou els llavis, té rostre de vell)
Llavors l'abandona per altres joguines
Se'n cansa i reprèn el cavall mutilat
Cal vol escapçar-los
Com bleixa!
Com sua!
I brolla la sang invisible...
turmenta i mutila amb gest obstinat
Li escurça les potes, li talla la cua
li esclafa les anques a cops de martell
i amb llargues agulles forada ses nines
(l'infant clou els llavis, té rostre de vell)
Llavors l'abandona per altres joguines
Se'n cansa i reprèn el cavall mutilat
Cal vol escapçar-los
Com bleixa!
Com sua!
I brolla la sang invisible...
dijous, 2 de juliol del 2015
"OBRIU LES MANS"
EL PETIT DE CAL ERIL
Obriu les mans
que no ho veieu
n'hi ha per tothom
tanquem els ulls
mirem endins
n'està ben ple
les fonts d'aquest jardí
són tan gegants
els fruits del més petit
aquest ens serviran
sentim com cau fins baix als peus
i no fa mal
sabem que és nostre
i que en el fons no és més que res
els ponts d'aquest camí
estan desfets
però es pot travessar el riu
per un mateix
amarg i suau
ha estat cansat
som-hi!
llimat i llarg
restant-hi el cap
únic
ets fel de mag
és curt i ras
compte
som rics
d'esperit
és vi
és vida teva.
que no ho veieu
n'hi ha per tothom
tanquem els ulls
mirem endins
n'està ben ple
les fonts d'aquest jardí
són tan gegants
els fruits del més petit
aquest ens serviran
sentim com cau fins baix als peus
i no fa mal
sabem que és nostre
i que en el fons no és més que res
els ponts d'aquest camí
estan desfets
però es pot travessar el riu
per un mateix
amarg i suau
ha estat cansat
som-hi!
llimat i llarg
restant-hi el cap
únic
ets fel de mag
és curt i ras
compte
som rics
d'esperit
és vi
és vida teva.
"GRIBI BESTIAL"
EL PETIT DE CAL ERIL
Som fets de somnis i vides d'abans
que quan l'ensopegues
et deixa distant
i quan l'encomanes et quedes igual
com sé que el que m'espera
és menys estrany
que el que ara em passa quan ho veig clar
que el que m'atansa a ser més com cal
on tot sembla que agafa sentit
com quan ensopegues al teu caminar
quan et despertes d'aquest sotrac
som fets de tones de pols seminal
que quan l'esternudes et quedes igual
i quan la mossegues fa un gribi bestial
som tots miracles de l'esperit còsmic
petites mostres del pànic diví
tot se m'escapa però soc tan feliç.
que quan l'ensopegues
et deixa distant
i quan l'encomanes et quedes igual
com sé que el que m'espera
és menys estrany
que el que ara em passa quan ho veig clar
que el que m'atansa a ser més com cal
on tot sembla que agafa sentit
com quan ensopegues al teu caminar
quan et despertes d'aquest sotrac
som fets de tones de pols seminal
que quan l'esternudes et quedes igual
i quan la mossegues fa un gribi bestial
som tots miracles de l'esperit còsmic
petites mostres del pànic diví
tot se m'escapa però soc tan feliç.
"FOC"
LE PETIT RAMON
És a dir, Ramon Faura. Aquest tema prové del seu darrer disc
"Senyores, senyores, senyores" (2015), farcit de bones col·laboracions.
"Senyores, senyores, senyores" (2015), farcit de bones col·laboracions.
Aquí sentireu la fantàstica veu d'en Roger Mas.
Foc, a casa del meu pare. Llibreteria en flames. El barri està cremant. Foc, han esclatat els vidres.
Algú crida a l'escala. Ferran carbonitzat. Foc, la boira negra ofega. Els han vist amb benzina.
Sant Jaume devorat.
Algú crida a l'escala. Ferran carbonitzat. Foc, la boira negra ofega. Els han vist amb benzina.
Sant Jaume devorat.
Cremen les nines, crema la pols, cremen qui sóc dolor cremat. Han enviat els gossos. Volen que no siguem
el que pensem, que no plorem el que sentim. Ei!... que això sóc jo, i ho esteu cremant.
I aquí muntaran l'hostal.
Foc, a casa del meu pare. La meva casa en flames, cobdícia devorant. Foc, a casa del meu pare. Tota una
vida en brases. Tot un món arrasat.
Foc, s'amaguen en banderes. Volen la nostra terra. Segresten el passat.
Cremen les nines, crema la pols, cremen qui sóc dolor cremat. Han enviat els gossos. Volen que no siguem
el que pensem, que no plorem el que sentim. Ei!... que això sóc jo, i ho esteu cremant.
I aquí construiran l'hostal.
el que pensem, que no plorem el que sentim. Ei!... que això sóc jo, i ho esteu cremant.
I aquí construiran l'hostal.
Foc, foc, foc, foc.....
dimecres, 1 de juliol del 2015
"EL LAMENT DE PERCEVAL"
LE PETIT RAMON
Quan tinc diners en el banc, sóc molt menys educat.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, sóc molt menys educat.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, no tracto bé els meus.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, sóc molt més prepotent.....
Però això gasto tant, per no tenir diners en el banc.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, sóc molt menys educat.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, sóc molt menys educat.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, rebrego els nens.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, sóc molt més insolent....
Però això gasto tant, per no tenir diners en el banc.....
.. ..
Quan tinc diners en el banc ja no sóc com Perceval.....
Ni gotes de sang a la neu, ni oca ni falcó ni foie....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, sóc molt més maleducat.....
Però això gasto tant, per no tenir diners en el banc.....
.. ..
Quan tinc diners en el banc, no tracto bé als cambrers....
no tracto bé als taxistes, no tracto bé al carter.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, escupo als tolits....
També escupo als sords i també escupo als cecs.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, sóc molt menys educat.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, no tracto bé els meus.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, sóc molt més prepotent.....
Però això gasto tant, per no tenir diners en el banc.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, sóc molt menys educat.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, sóc molt menys educat.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, rebrego els nens.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, sóc molt més insolent....
Però això gasto tant, per no tenir diners en el banc.....
.. ..
Quan tinc diners en el banc ja no sóc com Perceval.....
Ni gotes de sang a la neu, ni oca ni falcó ni foie....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, sóc molt més maleducat.....
Però això gasto tant, per no tenir diners en el banc.....
.. ..
Quan tinc diners en el banc, no tracto bé als cambrers....
no tracto bé als taxistes, no tracto bé al carter.....
Quan tinc diners en el banc, escupo als tolits....
També escupo als sords i també escupo als cecs.....
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