dimanche 28 octobre 2007
samedi 27 octobre 2007
ma dernière danse.
Ce soir, 25 ans après "La danse du diable" au théâtre Edouard VII, la boucle est à jamais bouclée. Ferdinand Faure a définitivement quitté les feux de la rampe sur la scène du théâtre du Rond Point. "La mort d'Avignon", dernière partie de "l'Epilogue" de "L'Homme qui danse" avait des airs de fête ce soir. Les gens se parlaient, d'autres se reconnaissaient. Certaines figures du spectacle étaient là, d'autres plus obscures et le public, totalement acquis et complice. Philippe Caubère visiblement en forme (malgré le rhume) semblait heureux de jouer et de se donner totalement... Les rires fusaient jusqu'à l'hystérie et les larmes... Les sanglots et les larmes quand Ferdinand reçoit dans sa loge tous les personnages de sa "vie" : le Général De Gaulle, Mauriac, Sartre, Johnny, Robert, toute la bande du groupe Electron (dont un certain Michel devenu ministre de la culture ["il n'y en a eu en quarante ans" lance Caubère à ceux qui cherchent qui peut bien être ce fameux Michel...], Mme Colomer et, bien entendu, Claudine, sa mère, revenue en chemise de nuit exceptionnellement ce soir de cet endroit qui ressemble à un hôpital mais en pire... La tristesse de quitter un ami et celle réelle de refermer un chapitre de sa propre vie... J'ai eu beau tricher en retournant voir les deux épisodes de "L'Epilogue", l'émotion m'a de nouveau submergé... La plus grande blague en forme de drame burlesque, la farce absolue s'est achevée ce soir... Elle ne nous quittera évidemment jamais mais la proximité de la scène, la complicité justement qu'elle provoque s'est évanouie sur le trottoir de l'avenue et les DVD ne la remplaceront jamais... Mais qui sait ? Peut être Caubère trouvera-t-il une astuce pour faire revenir Ferdinand sous une forme ou une autre... La question se pose légitimement d'ailleurs... Que va bien pouvoir faire Caubère désormais ?
vendredi 26 octobre 2007
jeudi 25 octobre 2007
para el gabacho de mi alma... (p.-e.)
de un viejo maricón para un joven lleno de sueños y esperanzas, guapo como la noche.
un abrazo lleno de olvido
sin ningun pensamiento
sino el de tomar una caña.
mercredi 24 octobre 2007
à celui dont les yeux m'ont empêché de dormir cette nuit...
the man with the beautiful eyes
when we were kids
there was a strange
house
all the shades were
always
drawn
and we never heard
voices
in there
and the yard was full of
bamboo
and we liked to play in
the bamboo
pretend we were
Tarzan
(although there was no
Jane).
and there was a
fish pond
a large one
full of the
fattest goldfish
you ever saw
and they were
tame.
they came to the
surface of the water
and took pieces of
bread
from our hands.
our parents had
told us:
“never go near that
house.”
so, of course,
we went.
we wondered if anybody
lived there.
weeks went by and we
never saw
anybody.
then one day
we heard
a voice
from the house
“YOU GOD DAMNED
WHORE!”
it was a man’s
voice.
then the screen
door
of the house was
flung open
and the man
walked
out.
he was holding a
fifth of whiskey
in his right
hand.
he was about
30.
he had a cigar
in his
mouth,
needed a
shave.
his hair was
wild and
uncombed
and he was
barefoot
in undershirt
and pants.
but his eyes
were
bright.
they blazed
with brightness
and he said,
“hey little
gentlemen,
having a good
time, I
hope?”
then he gave a
little laugh
and walked
back into the
house.
we left,
went back to my
parent’s yard
and thought
about it.
our parents,
we decided
had wanted us
to stay away
from there
because they
never wanted us
to see a man
like
that,
a strong natural
man
with
beautiful
eyes.
our parents
were ashamed
that they were
not
like that
man,
that’s why they
wanted us
to stay
away.
but
we went back
to that house
and the bamboo
and the tame
goldfish.
we went back
many times
for many
weeks
but we never
saw
or heard
the man
again.
the shades were
down
as always
and it was
quiet.
then one day
as we came back from
school
we saw the
house.
it had burned
down,
there was nothing
left,
just a smoldering
twisted black
foundation
and we went to
the fish pond
and there was
no water
in it
and the fat
orange goldfish
were dead
there,
drying out.
we went back to
my parents’ yard
and talked about
it
and decided that
our parents had
burned their
house down,
had killed
them
had killed the
goldfish
because it was
all too
beautiful,
even the bamboo
forest had
burned.
they had been
afraid of
the man with the
beautiful
eyes.
and
we were afraid
then
that
all through our lives
things like that
would
happen,
that nobody
wanted
anybody
to be
strong and
beautiful
like that,
that
others would never
allow it,
and that
many people
would have to
die.
from The Last Night on Earth Poems by
Charles Bukowski (c) 1992
when we were kids
there was a strange
house
all the shades were
always
drawn
and we never heard
voices
in there
and the yard was full of
bamboo
and we liked to play in
the bamboo
pretend we were
Tarzan
(although there was no
Jane).
and there was a
fish pond
a large one
full of the
fattest goldfish
you ever saw
and they were
tame.
they came to the
surface of the water
and took pieces of
bread
from our hands.
our parents had
told us:
“never go near that
house.”
so, of course,
we went.
we wondered if anybody
lived there.
weeks went by and we
never saw
anybody.
then one day
we heard
a voice
from the house
“YOU GOD DAMNED
WHORE!”
it was a man’s
voice.
then the screen
door
of the house was
flung open
and the man
walked
out.
he was holding a
fifth of whiskey
in his right
hand.
he was about
30.
he had a cigar
in his
mouth,
needed a
shave.
his hair was
wild and
uncombed
and he was
barefoot
in undershirt
and pants.
but his eyes
were
bright.
they blazed
with brightness
and he said,
“hey little
gentlemen,
having a good
time, I
hope?”
then he gave a
little laugh
and walked
back into the
house.
we left,
went back to my
parent’s yard
and thought
about it.
our parents,
we decided
had wanted us
to stay away
from there
because they
never wanted us
to see a man
like
that,
a strong natural
man
with
beautiful
eyes.
our parents
were ashamed
that they were
not
like that
man,
that’s why they
wanted us
to stay
away.
but
we went back
to that house
and the bamboo
and the tame
goldfish.
we went back
many times
for many
weeks
but we never
saw
or heard
the man
again.
the shades were
down
as always
and it was
quiet.
then one day
as we came back from
school
we saw the
house.
it had burned
down,
there was nothing
left,
just a smoldering
twisted black
foundation
and we went to
the fish pond
and there was
no water
in it
and the fat
orange goldfish
were dead
there,
drying out.
we went back to
my parents’ yard
and talked about
it
and decided that
our parents had
burned their
house down,
had killed
them
had killed the
goldfish
because it was
all too
beautiful,
even the bamboo
forest had
burned.
they had been
afraid of
the man with the
beautiful
eyes.
and
we were afraid
then
that
all through our lives
things like that
would
happen,
that nobody
wanted
anybody
to be
strong and
beautiful
like that,
that
others would never
allow it,
and that
many people
would have to
die.
from The Last Night on Earth Poems by
Charles Bukowski (c) 1992
mardi 23 octobre 2007
lundi 22 octobre 2007
dimanche 21 octobre 2007
interzone
et si "The Bourne Ultimatum" était la seule véritable adaptation du vieux bill ? du moins, le passage à Tanger...
queer sounds # 01
Baby Dee sera en concert à paris les lundi 05 et le mardi 06 novembre 2007
sur la peniche El Alamein.
je ne pourrai hélas pas m'y rendre (et pour cause, je ne serai pas à Paris) et je le regrette amèrement...
Fleur d'angoisse - Edouard Levé (1965-2007)
Rien de plus symptomatique de notre époque que d'apprendre définitivement le nom d'un artiste dont les oeuvres vous ont marqué depuis des années le jour où l'on vous annonce sa disparition. Edouard Levé avait 42 ans quand il s'est donné la mort lundi dernier. Grand inconnu du grand public, il n'empêche que tout un chacun est forcément tombé à un moment ou à un autre devant une de ses oeuvres et l'a nécessairement gravé dans sa mémoire. Levé travaillait sur une sorte de définition de mémoire collective en en interrogeant les codes et en les détournant. Je m'avance peut être un peu en voyant en lui un élève de Duane Michals mais leur parentèle me semble évidente dans cette mise en scène académique (dans le bon sens du terme) de situation banales afin d'en extraire la dimension dramatique voire tragique. Ses séries "pornographie" et "rugby" sont emblématiques en ce sens mais l'ensemble de son oeuvre est un interrogation permanente du rôle de l'image dans la société contemporaine. Ne serait-on pas de véritablement juger obscènes ses clichés "pornographiques" alors que tous ses modèles sont totalement habillés ? Ne voit-on pas dans ses "rugbymen" des héros dignes de la Grèce Antique ? Passionné de Pérec, comment fallait-il interpréter sa "tentative d'épuisement" de la série "angoisse" ? sa formidablement poétique "fleur d'angoisse" pouvait-elle laisser un doute sur le désespoir de son auteur ? Levé était également écrivain. Je vais sans doute m'intéresser à son "Autoportrait" ou à ses "Oeuvres" publiées chez P.O.L. Quelle tragédie tout de même que de voir une oeuvre aussi forte et originale s'arrêter de la sorte...
samedi 20 octobre 2007
vendredi 19 octobre 2007
je me sens seul et triste ce soir...
comme à dix-sept ans, quand tout prenait des proportions de catastrophes et j'allais me réfugier dans les pages de milliers de livres.
jeudi 18 octobre 2007
pour mes chers poup et maxime et contre tous les tristes sires de la toile...
je n'aurais jamais imaginé que ton absence me pèse tant...
jour de fête
ne nous trompons surtout pas d'adversaire ! les travailleurs ont totalement raison de préserver leurs acquis sociaux... des gens sont morts pour ces droits... ne l'oublions jamais ! le pouvoir en place tente de se légitimer sur le plan des médias et du mélodrame... comme le chantait Barbara : "Restons en colère, soyons vigilants" !
"desert island" songbook # 2
"rock bottom" est un des plus beaux disques au monde... bob était sur la scène du divan du monde mardi dernier pour une soirée promo privée... qui sait... quelqu'un pourrait-il enfin le convaincre de donner un concert ?
mercredi 17 octobre 2007
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