Ariel Kalma - Les Temps des Moissons (1975, part 1)
The man at the window - narration
Reduced version 21.09.2014:
This is the street.
I am a man at the window.
How long have I sat here?
- all the time (whispering) no one saw me…
how long I will stay here?
- beyond the time
(whispering) no one will see me,
but I keep looking here, as now
the street and people has always been there
and will always be there, because I see it.
Nonsensical truths, but there are no better.
It is easy to understand
Too obvious to describe
As something at this moment… As something at this moment
Nothing missing, nothing is superfluous
I am everything I see
SELF-PORTRAIT AS A HORSE
When I was still a horse in a meadow
I must have lived in his body
have seen in his eyes what he saw
that life would never begin
nor would ever end,
nor be repeated
I must have left his body and my memories
must have remained behind in him
on the other side a horse is standing
look it in the eyes – it will look in yours
I had been forgiven for one day more
I was left behind among
motionless horses and cattle,
a foundling laid in a world
His vacant eyes stare into the scene,
why then? who are you,
where were you?
Without reproach, he must have known
what was about to happen.
I have no reply.
The world around him is perfectly clear,
has been observed.
there was one
a time, and now it's past, there's a place
and this too has been deserted,
these are comfort,
but why ?
Not because of what has been, but because of
but the silence afterwards,
but what is no more,
but of what?
An Empty Place to Stay IX
Give me the winter, the desolate landscape, the field without signs of life, the force of resilient heather
Give me a galloping horse, but one on his side in the grass.
give me an empty place to stay
Give me a question, no answer.
I trace the windows of my room.
Only the black reflection of distance in the panes, of a peaceful landscape,
and beyond it, no one.
and the landscape were folding their invisible arms around my shoulders.
We need for nothing, they are saying, we have forgotten this world.
But these are no arms, it is landscape.
The yellowed photos in the display cases
what do they see, what do they see? I look at them, but for what?
Their faces have come to belong to the world, to the world , which remains silent.
So this is it, desertion, here is the place where they took their leave,
connection for lichun’s part?
You never spoke to me personally
But you did virtually,
And we were friends
Across the barriers
of distance time and culture.
In your words I read, I read,
Something that reaches far beyond
A universal tenderness
Simple, complex words.
I never spoke to you personally
Yet you were you, important
Something like a whispering guide
In uncertain times.
Die Kunst der Fuge
The flocks of birds above the valley, the fleeting
moments of being together and falling apart.
all these repetitions looking for a single moment,
in which memory and desire dissolve into each other.
disappearing together, finding those moments,
and losing them.
What unites them, scatters them ..
It wanders, merges, falls apart, disappears
and it repeats itself, as if something always
has to be sought, found, lost, sought,
as if again and again there must be something
before it disappears and after.
You see a man in the room
he seems drowned into himself.
this man it’s me, I know
but if you stare at a picture of yourself
you will drift into the reverie
of who you are and whom you mean
when you mention I,..
it’s like that
With words that cannot be understood..
no one has ever seen himself
but the longing remains
for the invisible I
you are searching in a man in the room
for what was left of you.
JP voice with EN subtitle
3 acts_version 07
set up: https://vimeo.com/103757705
A picture of the final scene shoot of the Arie part. It was a great evening!