mercredi 4 juin 2014

La terre est ronde (Corée-corrèze)

conférence Young Houn amphi de la médiathèque le 23 mai à 19h

vernissage de l'exposition de Isha (photo de Francette)

photo de Francette, graphiste pour la médiathèque

Have you ever walked alone on a grey day in some village
And watch how the long evening soon become the past ?
How the small and brief wind touches our shoulders
Full of question marks.
I make a hat out of these question marks
Question marks without questions.
You may wear it much later in the evening
When there is no reason to use
Body gestures and presumptions that can only take us till the river
But why is it that I say black and you look at the black sheep ?
Why is it that I say white and you think of purity ?
What have you done to me two years ago ?
What a strange disease you have passed it to me,
Why am I allowed to love everything that breathes ?
It is a morning’s work
That the moon has started.
It must be carried on
Finished by the noon.
Oh ! But my poor poor soul !
You and your colourful thoughts
The thoughts in me like a rainbow in hell.
We’d better float on the ocean
Than to walk on the fragments.
Then, here comes a shiny boy
Mischiveous smiles and wild imaginations.
I wanna play hide & seek with you.
But he frowns at my smiles.
Smiles of fragile minds
Frowns of fragile minds
How we read the same book
But must live differently.
Like the angry poem I wrote last night
About the girl looking for me in a mountain of sunsets
But what is a language if not a shadow?
What is ‘I’ if not a benefit to ‘you’ ?
Come out of the cave of the seriousness,
For it will always be there no matter what.
And do not let what I say to you be forgotten
Like a broken leaf blowing helplessly in apocalyptic storms.
Remember the times of conflicts and wasted sentiments.
I know it hurts growing up:
It hurts to let go of dead poets,
It hurts to come out of the prison
Of your mothers and fathers,
It hurts to hug the one in front of you,
It hurts to express your hatefulness,
Your boredom,
Your love,
It hurts me when she throws at me
The can full of yellow left-over paints.
It hurts her when I throw some blues at her.
Tomorrow she might bring me a camera to hear and a recorder to see
And that’s better for all.
Tomorrow I will be on a different train
To find other brothers and sisters.
Sometime in this doggy dreams of snow
In fields of blossomed flowers,
A chamaleon in silence, glued,
One of the roads must be taken
One of the instruments must be played.
The page of the book that cannot be turned.
I am sorry.
I am sorry.
Now look how selfish are the lovers,
Decide to love only one another
Promise the stars
Make a pact with the heaven.
What is in between them?
A /, a , or a ! ?
Even the subtlest sand won’t able to go
In between their souls,
Firmer than a ‘self’
Firmer than the master with food
Firmer than the old man’s tears from half-closed eyes.
Perhaps they were born in a wrong place
Perhaps they were to born in a different place
Perhaps I was born in a wrong time.
But the world is round,
And so are the dimensions
We try hard to make our thoughts square
That are naturally round.
For we are part of nature and nature is round.
One can be in the same place but in different times
Or, in the same time but different places.
Out in the forest of paranoia and silence,
Crying the tears of yesterday,
Taking an ideal travel in memory,
The telephone rings
« Girl, you gotta paint some heavenly landscape of your own imagination ! »
I am glad.
Thank you partner in crime
Thank you girl with a double bed
Thank you teacher of plants and stars
Thank you sculptor in rice fields
Thank you child of rational mind
Thank you painful acrobat
Thank you jazz enthusiast
Thank you endeavouring merchant
Thank you idle thinker
Thank you poetic dog
Thank you book keeper
Thank you sensitive lady of the house
Thank you the forgottten souls
A goodbye in future tense.



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