Dance: Simon Bourdieu
Spoken poem: Didier
Piano: Andrew Infanti
This dance improvisation was made by Simon in response to a piece Matthew Shlomowitz composed for Didier and Andrew during the 2020 lockdown as part of the Music for Cohabiters project -- https://shloms.wixsite.com/musicforcohabiters/videos.
""Al Principe" is a poem by Pier Paolo Pasolini (1961) as translated by Didier below.
If the sun returns, if the evening descends,
if the night has the flavor of nights to come,
if a rainy afternoon seems to be returning from much beloved days I never lived at all,
I no longer have the chance to feel pleasure nor pain from them,
I no longer feel, ahead of me, a whole lifetime…
In order to be a poet, a lot of time is needed, Hours and hours being alone are the only means for framing something which is strength, surrender, vice, freedom, so one can give chaos some style. From now on, I am short on time: it’s death fault, it lies ahead of me, at the sunset of youth.
But also the fault of this our human world, which takes bread from the poor, and peace from poets.
Spoken poem: Didier
Piano: Andrew Infanti
This dance improvisation was made by Simon in response to a piece Matthew Shlomowitz composed for Didier and Andrew during the 2020 lockdown as part of the Music for Cohabiters project -- https://shloms.wixsite.com/musicforcohabiters/videos.
""Al Principe" is a poem by Pier Paolo Pasolini (1961) as translated by Didier below.
If the sun returns, if the evening descends,
if the night has the flavor of nights to come,
if a rainy afternoon seems to be returning from much beloved days I never lived at all,
I no longer have the chance to feel pleasure nor pain from them,
I no longer feel, ahead of me, a whole lifetime…
In order to be a poet, a lot of time is needed, Hours and hours being alone are the only means for framing something which is strength, surrender, vice, freedom, so one can give chaos some style. From now on, I am short on time: it’s death fault, it lies ahead of me, at the sunset of youth.
But also the fault of this our human world, which takes bread from the poor, and peace from poets.
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