L'histoire de cet étonnant 45T (1980) réunissant le bassiste de feu Bauhaus David Jay et le peintre et poète René Halkett, né à Weimar Albrecht Georg Friedrich Freiherr von Fritsch, et mort citoyen britannique, est contée (entre autres souvenirs) ici.
Le texte des deux poèmes de René Halkett, le premier ayant de loin ma préférence (rien que les deux premiers vers ...):
Nothing
I know
As if I could remember it I know -
Nothing is left
Nothing exists
Not even past to be remembered.
If no one can remember no one can tell
If no one
Can remember -
No one
Can tell.
As if I could remember it
I'd tell -
There was that light.
That blinding light which turned all matter
to unseen light
Not darkness.
Darkness cannot exist where light can not
be known.
Nothing is left
No matter
And no more light
And no more dark
And nothing.
As if I could remember it I know
I have
A hand
Unseen in my weightless hand restlessly lies
on nothing
For it needs to write.
To write what matters when no matter
is left to write upon.
My hand now writes on nothing
It writes.
Know then that nothing lasts forever
And nothing will remain when I
have written.
These words on nothing will remain
For nothing lasts for ever.
It will remain
Remain
Remain
Waiting for new creation.
Armour
I am distressed
Cold
Cold.
How. Did the burning wood disintegrate?
at last?
I am undressed
Between the iron and my naked skin
Nothing is left
No more protection against my armour
I dare not move
Cold iron cuts
My naked flesh
Cold pain. Sharp pain
Disarming pain
Armour protects
But now my arm
Can not wiled arms
Frozen, in pain.
Slowly, in hope or fear, my arm
Spreads out the gaudy surcoat -
challenge or disguise
The tatters fly away
My armour is undressed
Steal, beg or borrow other guise, and play!
Play.
Play the fool, the hero.
Play the lover, the monk, the peasant.
Play one an all!
Play them
And let them play
Let Hero play the Fool
And Fool the Hero
Let Peasant play the Monk
And Monk the Peasant
All play the Lover
Lover play them all.
Play, guiser, endless permutations
of disguise
Armour protects you still
And while play in pain
Protecting iron
Will scrape away your skin,
Your naked flesh
And in the end
will leave your bones undressed
Your secret core disclosed
And rest you truly, gentlemen.
Pas grand chose d'équivalent depuis, à l'exception notable du (malheureusement très confidentiel) 45T de Willem de Ridder avec Crawl Unit.
Si seulement (Super)Stropharia se prenait un peu plus au sérieux dans ses expériences avec Aleksey Rafiev ou Aleksander Lugin ...
Le texte des deux poèmes de René Halkett, le premier ayant de loin ma préférence (rien que les deux premiers vers ...):
Nothing
I know
As if I could remember it I know -
Nothing is left
Nothing exists
Not even past to be remembered.
If no one can remember no one can tell
If no one
Can remember -
No one
Can tell.
As if I could remember it
I'd tell -
There was that light.
That blinding light which turned all matter
to unseen light
Not darkness.
Darkness cannot exist where light can not
be known.
Nothing is left
No matter
And no more light
And no more dark
And nothing.
As if I could remember it I know
I have
A hand
Unseen in my weightless hand restlessly lies
on nothing
For it needs to write.
To write what matters when no matter
is left to write upon.
My hand now writes on nothing
It writes.
Know then that nothing lasts forever
And nothing will remain when I
have written.
These words on nothing will remain
For nothing lasts for ever.
It will remain
Remain
Remain
Waiting for new creation.
Armour
I am distressed
Cold
Cold.
How. Did the burning wood disintegrate?
at last?
I am undressed
Between the iron and my naked skin
Nothing is left
No more protection against my armour
I dare not move
Cold iron cuts
My naked flesh
Cold pain. Sharp pain
Disarming pain
Armour protects
But now my arm
Can not wiled arms
Frozen, in pain.
Slowly, in hope or fear, my arm
Spreads out the gaudy surcoat -
challenge or disguise
The tatters fly away
My armour is undressed
Steal, beg or borrow other guise, and play!
Play.
Play the fool, the hero.
Play the lover, the monk, the peasant.
Play one an all!
Play them
And let them play
Let Hero play the Fool
And Fool the Hero
Let Peasant play the Monk
And Monk the Peasant
All play the Lover
Lover play them all.
Play, guiser, endless permutations
of disguise
Armour protects you still
And while play in pain
Protecting iron
Will scrape away your skin,
Your naked flesh
And in the end
will leave your bones undressed
Your secret core disclosed
And rest you truly, gentlemen.
Pas grand chose d'équivalent depuis, à l'exception notable du (malheureusement très confidentiel) 45T de Willem de Ridder avec Crawl Unit.
Si seulement (Super)Stropharia se prenait un peu plus au sérieux dans ses expériences avec Aleksey Rafiev ou Aleksander Lugin ...
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