photographies et poésies : Katia da Silva
musique : extrait du Premier Livre de pièces pour flûte, par O. Capparos (2002).
interprétation : Isabelle Hureau
FIVE RIBBONS OF SILK
The ribbons refer to the fluidity of certain languages. In the past i have thought of another language as being barbed wire around me as a protective fence.
Lets sustain a stare.
Its all you know. Poison rushing through
my blue veins
And now the wings of butterflies present.
The butterflies fly up in wide spirals.
Lets crush their wings.
Ribbons of silk move around me
touching my temples, touching my chin
which is numb from the wine.
Now i can wear white again.
She drinks juice and lets the wind lift her skirt.
I try to outstare her and thats how i know.
They flee and sway with the ribbons of silk. Silk ribbons of language
create fences around me.
The three cats know more than us.
Are they swaying or am i
The wallpaper was crying
Contorting the image. Distorting its original thought.
Forcing it to forget the beginning
I wish I could say at least the colours remain.
But the colours mixed together to create dirty grey browns.
A sad grotesque echo of what it used to be
Everything was a sad echo.
Maybe a while ago everything was fresh and fun.
Too much fun set in.
madness set in.
the air was cold but there was a nauseating warmth.
In the morning. We’ll walk slowly to the sea.
And hold eachothers hand on the way.
There will be no sun.
it will be grey. The wind will make us squint.
My hair will cover my eyes sometimes. Sometimes I will try to stop it.
You will smile at me sometimes. But I’ll be smiling more.
But mostly you will watch the ground as we walk and I’ll be watching the sky.
Down at the beach there’ll be some birds.
We will stand side by side facing the sea.
The sand will be wet from rain during the night.
I’ll let go of your hand.
Then I will take my bag off my shoulder
and lower it to the ground.
I’ll take off my shoes
and put them next to the bag.
I’ll take off my clothes
and drop them in a pile on top of my shoes.
You will want to swim too but I won’t let you.
I’ll let you watch me from the shore.
When I reach the water I’ll turn and smile back.
Then I’ll walk through the waves and get goosebumps.
I’ll swim out to where I can’t touch the ground. Out between some sharks.
You’ll watch me get torn and ripped apart.
You will wait for the birds because they will want the scraps.
After their excitement dies down,
you’ll pick up my clothes and my bag.
Turn your back. And walk back up the sand.
And she was hiding in the light
and she was searching in the dark
with a ghost called Janie right by her side.
Holding hands. They journeyed far.
They played with days. They chased the night.
Janie was her best friend.
But Janie was alive and she was dead.