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you
could also call it : “the country of no return” |
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a funny
game an army of skiers, soldiers in trenches happiness the Mont-Blanc of languages alive vanilla or chocolate cream fancy pens internationally white week-end of childhood in Europe did that stone on the road kill any of them? ultra-sophisticated cars at the foot stuck in traffic say, dad, what’s a modern man? a film at war |
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come
on, kids I’m not English! why is the instructor talking to me that way? in 1890, everything was there the stage was set the movies didn’t talk yet keeping silent letting time speak for itself seeing factories the erosion they have taken everything, we have citizens work to their own consumption we work well separated |
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oh,
look the cloud took away the landscape there are still clouds there are still clouds that won’t let go saute-ma-montagne, saute we were talking about things that are impossible and any real landscape was also impossible hell-packed snow to rework each night packing down total security total safety there is wind in the mike rustling rattling the avalanche |
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the
angel of the story is a skier a storm from heaven swirled swelling the wings of the Angel he can’t fold them back this storm carries him into the future, to which the Angel keeps turning his back as the debris in front of him flies to the skies we name this storm progress Walter couldn’t take it in Port-Bou progress came to a halt to German workers, prisoners who made weapons to kill their own brothers |
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to fiancées
with aluminum rings to resistant shells that chose not to who is responsible? the skier with the red balaclava has he killed the mule the last mule the ice skating woman makes figures puppets inhabit the white space take it easy like in science-fiction films like in advertisements it works silently from 1 to 10 disorderly |
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and
again we have facts the 1938 strike as your Friend and Boss, I’m counting on you bauxite electricity water machines dams 23-year-olds Americans know the tricks we have colonies the world is ours the white world everything to be taken learn savage what taming means |
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pourtant
que la montagne est belle comment peut-on s'imaginer dancing dogs dancing the frozen dog in Nanook impassive in the frozen air did Flaherty pay Nanook in fish? the shadows keep gliding Kellerleleux in its postcard I can see the factory the bridge the Russian staircase from here there better |
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you
can see Moscow now bosses don’t even have to see their worked to become invisible on the left two colored parkas a bus goes by cut going through a tunnel the voice that speaks the voice / history shadows pray in the snow at the sign ballet in the fog scraping snow off the fake landscape in order to see the hidden peaks the end of the roll blanc de blanc to what ends? |
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going
to Asnières 7 minutes trip I’m reading Walter the Moscow diaries And then, as there were only a few minutes left, my voice became unsure and Asja saw that I was crying. Then she said: Don’t cry or else I will start crying as well and when I start crying I don’t stop as easily as you. Then we went back up to the reception desk where there was nothing to do (but I didn’t want to wait for the sovietduchi), the maid appeared – I escaped without tipping her, I came out of the hotel with my suitcase, and Asja, carrying Reich’s coat under her arm, followed me. I had her call me a sleigh by phone. But as I was about to board and having already said goodbye again, I asked her to come with me to the corner of Tverskaia. There, she got out, I pulled, even as the sleigh started off, her hand, one more time, here, in the open street, to my lips. She stayed still a long time and then waved. I waved back from the sleigh. First, she seemed to walk back and then I couldn’t see her anymore. With the large suitcase on my lap I went crying in the twilight through the streets to the station. |
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skiers
come out of the metro sticks ahead happiness manifesto (end) all’s fair in love and snow let’s go together white prairies of our memories frame taken colonized no more virgin territory the leisure of industry ski lifts cable cars happyhumans ski slope professionals |
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larticifial
snow toboggan in tropical flowers a sliding mass gathers no moss cosmonaut mass heavily equipped highly watched over lull silence always someone slowing down someone holding things back the man with dynamite blue like pierrot |
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Nathalie
Nambot |
