Every morning, I flee the toxic effervescence of cities,
Where no one controls his thought, that of the birds
Where people mate in the thousands,
Without knowing what they will do, without love,
Where one is more tired in a day than in a week,
I flee with my reason, I flee with my heart,
With the determination of a South American poet,
I flee the violence of all hypocritical looks,
That of thoughts, insults behind imaginary masks,
I flee the toxic effervescence of the city,
Where Mexican jaguars are caged,
Where trees are slaves of men,
And artists slaves to appearances,
This city that flees the landscapes like ferocious animals,
She flees the poetry and calm of the centuries-old gardens,
This city flees Berlioz and Sibelius, Debussy, Dante,
To worship David Bowie or Prince,
The new gods of electricity, pop art,
This city abandons the mechanics of rivers, to poets alone,
I flee the bustle of the cities, By love, by wisdom,
Out of love for a happy princess,
Waiting for me to sing the renewal of the indomitable rivers,
And I am at last away from the deafening mirrors. Beauty.
They have found their place,
In offices, administrations, companies,
Now they are proud, beautiful, radiant,
God keep us safe, they are brilliant,
If they can leave me alone,
The circle will be complete; I would not have to fight anymore,
They will continue to shine, to be beautiful,
Whatever they want,
I wouldn’t meet them again,
I prefer to listen to the song of the blackbird.
NB : the last verse is a phrase in a lied by Berlioz
I was a teacher in a previous life, and had to fight hard with these people, i was in the wrong place, at the wrong moment
Louis Hector Berlioz
a fav that many chose
Though frustrated & misunderstood
he still composed the best he could
it has been a few
hours since walking
away but there will
never be a completion
like Wagner's ring
cycle but he
and i share
oh no do i
compare my
pittance
against
his HIS
i'm a Berlioz
fellow who
always gladly
doubles the
cellos in fact
may i apply
doubling to
every section
if the orchestra
now i
feel com
fortable
and can
breath
then
suggest that
i return to the
melody of this
SYMPHONY
so at twilight
i know not
hesitate to
complete
this performance
and so back i go
and lift the seat
as if the sheets
to reveal what
Freud would
say but i don't
agree is like
going back to
the warmth of
the womb but
truly i just have
more
poetry
to re
lease
his hair
blown
back
by
the
wind
section
which he
had
doubled
like all the
other sections
no mic
rophones
back in the
day but wood
made
strings
that would
abundantly
ring
ton
ality
sing
songs
from the
mad mind
though socially
refined and
an equally com
posed composure
defined as a conductor
conducting
electricity
from the
ether
sit in the center
of a cathedral as
his requiem mass
amasses as if from
a Tesla coil
not to be fooled
or foiled as the brass
north south east and west
in eighteen
thirty seven
Berlioz invent
ed quadrophonic
stereo
softly she
speaks and
i being older
deafened by too
much Berlioz on level
eleven ask for forgiveness
she shuts
up but using
hand gestures
and finger figures
i seem to sum it up
about a three legged man
as the
rest goes
blank as instead
i try to read her toes
but they are plump and
sluggish my wish i sign i love
you
just composing
thoughts Berlioz
my favorite but
since my wife
is sleeping i can't
bang away an etude
on our piano
so i will
turn up
the volumn
of my finger
tips that tap
morse code
supposing
that you
caught that
as if a coon
dog barking
that i've
treed you but
won't let you
down
wrestling with
myself since i
need to stop
writing
this is
my nineth
symphony deaf
Beethoven conducting
but i love
Berlioz if those
who know added an
extra movement to his loved
work it's not
nor is there profit
just the promise of a kind word
but back
to my symphony
musical poetry being sylabacally
with
or without
the beat doesn't
matter as
long as i keep
time with the deaf
conductor
my eyes on his
eyes but his ears are far from here
in his
head but i'm
in my head so instead
i only
take cadance
and escape from his
baton telling
me now is the time
but i'm timpani part melody
i can
play notes
as written as wrote
don't
bore us
with the choir
UNTITLED
A jug of wine
Pack of smokes
And Hector Berlioz on the hi-fi
Oh the vibrations
Broken rhythms
The now in perfect oblivion
Imagination in isolation
Smoke thick enough
To cloud the eyes to choke
Sips of wine revive
And elicit after a spell
Go to hell!
With this attitude
Words are thrown freely
Carelessly on the paper
Amazing the results
One wonders about the greats
How much stoned poetry?
Dave Austin
WE ate cherries for breakfast
in our pink champagne
by evening we're twisted,
and yes,quite insane
lounging in loveland
on coconut isle
you taste like chartreuse
in a Berlioz style
classical music kissing the air
taking us higher
alive and aware
obsession,possession,
come take me away,
the fire and the passion,
I need you today!
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