{"id":715,"date":"2013-04-12T16:14:21","date_gmt":"2013-04-12T14:14:21","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/?page_id=715"},"modified":"2013-05-03T01:38:56","modified_gmt":"2013-05-02T23:38:56","slug":"6-still-life","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/teksty\/teksty-oryginalne\/teksty-vdgg\/6-still-life\/","title":{"rendered":"6. Still Life"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/a>
\nPilgrims<\/strong><\/p>\n

Sometimes you feel so far away,
\ndistanced from all the action of the play,
\nunable to grasp significance,
\nmarking the plot with diffident dismay,
\nstranded at centre stage,
\nscrabbling through your diary for a lost page:
\nunsure of the dream.
\nKicking a stone across the beach,
\naching for love and comfort out of reach:
\nthe way ahead seems to be so bleak,
\nthere’s no-one with any friendship left to speak
\nor show any relation
\nbetween your present and future situations…
\nlost to the dream.
\nAway, away, away–look to the future day
\nfor hope, some form of peace
\nwithin the growing storm.
\nI climb through the evening,
\nalive and believing
\nin time we shall all know our goals
\nand so, finally, home;
\nfor now, all is secret –
\nthough how could I speak it,
\nallow me the dream in my eye!
\nI’ve been waiting for such a long time
\njust to see it at last, all of the hands tightly clasped,
\nall of us pilgrims.<\/p>\n

Walking in silence down the coast,
\nmerely to journey – here hope is the most,
\nmerely to know there is an end;
\nall of us – lovers, brothers, sisters, friends
\nhand in hand.
\nShining footprints on the wet sand
\nlead to the dream.
\nThe time has come, the tide has almost run
\nand drained the deep: I rise from lifelong sleep.
\nIt seems such a long time
\nI’ve dreamed but now, awake,
\nI can see we are pilgrims and so
\nmust walk this road,
\nunknown in our purpose,
\nalone, but not worthless,
\nand home ever calling us on.
\nWe’ve been waiting here for so long,
\nall of our hands joined in hope,
\nholding the weight on the rope
\nall of us pilgrims.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

Still Life<\/strong><\/p>\n

Citadel reverberates to a thousand voices, now dumb:
\nwhat have we become? What have we chosen to be?
\nNow, all history is reduced to the syllables of our name
\n– nothing can ever be the same:
\nnow the Immortals are here.
\nAt the time, it seemed a reasonable course
\nto harness all the force of life
\nwithout the threat of death,
\nbut soon we found that boredom and inertia
\nare not negative, but all the law we know,
\nand dead are Will and words like survival.<\/p>\n

Arrival at immunity from all age, all fear and all end…
\nWhy do I pretend?
\nOur essence is distilled
\nand all familiar taste is now drained,
\nand though purity is maintained,
\nit leaves us sterile,
\nliving through the millions of years,
\na laugh as close as any tear….
\nLiving, if you claim that all
\nthat entails is
\nbreathing, eating, defecating,
\nscrewing, drinking,
\nspewing, sleeping, sinking ever down and down
\nand ultimately passing away time
\nwhich no longer has any meaning.<\/p>\n

Take away the threat of death and all you’re
\nleft with is a round of make-believe;
\nmarshal every sullen breath and though you’re
\nultimately bored by endless ecstasy
\nthat’s still the ring by which you hope to be engaged
\nto marry the girl who will give you forever
\n– that’s crazy, and plainly
\nthat simply is not enough.<\/p>\n

What is the dullest and bluntest of pains,
\nsuch that my eyes never close without feeling it there?
\nWhat abject despair demands an end
\nto all things of infinity?
\nIf we have gained, how do we now meet the cost?
\nWhat have we bargained, and what have we lost?
\nWhat have we relinquished, never even knowing
\nit was there?<\/p>\n

What chance now of holding fast the line,
\ndefying death and time
\nEverything we had is gone?
\nEverything we laboured for and favoured more
\nthan earthly things reveals the hollow ring
\nof false hope and of false deliverance.<\/p>\n

But now the nuptial bed is made,
\nthe dowry has been paid,
\nthe toothless, haggard features of Eternity
\nnow welcome me between the sheets
\nto couple with her withered body–my wife. Hers forever,
\nhers forever,
\nhers forever
\nin still life.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

La Rossa<\/strong><\/p>\n

Lacking sleep and food and vision,
\nhere I am again, encamped upon your floor,
\ncraving sanctuary and nourishment,
\nencouragement and sanctity and more.
\nThe streets seemed very crowded,
\nI put on my bravest guise –
\nI know you know that I am acting,
\nI can see it in your eyes.
\nIn the harsh light of freedom I know
\nthat I cannot deny that I have wasted time,
\nhave frittered it away in idle boasts
\nof my freedom and fidelity
\nwhen simpler words would have profited me most…
\n…it isn’t enough in the end,
\nwhen I’m looking for hope.
\nThough the organ monkey screams
\nas the pipes begin to spit
\nstill he’ll go through the dance routines
\njust as long as he thinks they’ll fit,
\njust as long as he knows that it’s dance,
\nsmile – or quit.<\/p>\n

Like the monkey I dance to a strange tune:
\nwhen all of these years I’ve longed to lie with you,
\nI’ve bogged myself down in the web of talk,
\nquack philosophy and sophistry –
\nat physciality I’ve always baulked,
\nlike the man in the chair who believes it’s
\nbeyond him to walk.
\nI’ve been hiding behind words,
\nfearing a deeper flame exists,
\nfaintly aware of the passage
\nof opportunities I have missed.<\/p>\n

But the nearness and the smell of you,
\nLa Rossa from head to toe….
\nI don’t know what I’m telling you,
\nbut I think you ought to know:
\nsoon the dam wall will break,
\nsoon the water will flow.
\nThough the organ-monkey groans
\nas the organ-grinder plays
\nhe’s hoping, at the most,
\nfor an end to his dancing days…
\nstill he hops up and down on his perch
\nin the usual jerky way.
\nThough this might mean an end to all friendship,
\nthere’s something I’m working up to say.<\/p>\n

Think of me what you will:
\nI know that you think you feel my pain –
\nno matter if that’s just the surface.
\nIf we made love now would that change all that ahs gone before?
\nOf course it would, there’s no way
\nit could ever be the same…
\none more line crossed,
\none more mystery explained.
\nNow I need more than just words,
\nthough the options are plain
\nthat lead from all momentary action.
\nIf we make love now it will change all
\nthat is yet to be…
\nnever could we agree in the same way again.
\nOne more world lost, one more heaven gained.<\/p>\n

La Rossa, you kow me,
\nyou read me as though I am glass;
\nthough I know it
\nthere’s no way in which I can pass –
\nthough it means that you’ll finish my story
\nat last I’d trade all the clever talk,
\nthe joking, the smoking and the quips, all the midnight conversations, all the friendship,
\nall the words and all the trips
\nfor the warmth of your body,
\nthe more vivid touch of your lips.<\/p>\n

All bridges burning behind me,
\nall safety beyond reach:
\nthe monkey feels his chains out blindly,
\nonly to find himself released.
\nTake me, take me now and hold me deep
\ninside your ocean body,
\nwash me as some flotsam to the shore,
\nthere leave me lying evermore!
\nDrown me, drown me now and hold me down
\nbefore your naked hunger,
\nburn me at the altar of the night–
\ngive me life!<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

My Room (Waiting for Wonderland)<\/strong><\/p>\n

Searching for diamonds in a sulphur mine,
\nleaning on props that are rotten,
\nhoping for anything, looking for a sign
\nthat I am not forgotten.
\nLost in a labyrinth of future mystery,
\ntracing my steps, all mistaken,
\ntrusting to everything, praying it can be
\nthat I am not forsaken.<\/p>\n

I wait by the door, wondering
\nwhen you will come and keep me warm;
\nI pray for the end of the night,
\nhoping the light will still the storm
\nwhich presently entraps me:
\nhelpless sea-monster stranded on the shore,
\nmarooned in an ecstasy of waiting,
\nI yearn, although knowing that I shall dive
\nno more in the tide already racing.<\/p>\n

My lungs burst to cry: „Finally
\nhow could you leave me here to die?
\nI freeze in the chill of this place
\nwith no friendly face to smile goodbye –
\nhow could you let it happen?”<\/p>\n

How could you let it happen?
\nDreams, hopes and promises,
\nfragments out of time,
\nall of these things ahve been spoken…
\nstill you don’t understand how it feels
\nwhen I’m waiting for them to be broken.<\/p>\n

<\/a><\/p>\n

Childlike Faith in Childhood’s End<\/strong><\/p>\n

Existence is a stage on which we pass
\na sleepwalk trick for mind and heart:
\nit’s hopeless, I know,
\nbut onward I must go
\nand try to make a start
\nat seeing something more than day to day
\nsurvival, chased by final death
\nif I believed this the sum
\nof the life to which we’ve come,
\nI wouldn’t waste my breath
\nSomehow, there must be more. There was a time
\nwhen more was felt than known
\nbut now, entrenched inside my sett,
\nin light more mundane,
\nthought rattles round my brain:
\nwe live, we die…and yet?<\/p>\n

In the beginning there was order and destiny
\nbut now that path has reached the border,
\nand on our knees
\nis no way to face the future, whatever it be.
\nThough the forces which hold us in place
\nlast through eons in unruffled grace
\nwe, too, wear the face of creation.<\/p>\n

As anti-matter sucks and pulses periodically
\nthe bud unfolds, the bloom is dead,
\nall space is living history.
\nIt seems as though time must betray us,
\nyet we’re alive
\nand though I see no God to save us,
\nstill we survive
\nthrough the centuries of progress
\nwhich don’t get us very far.
\nAll illusion! All is bogus –
\nwe don’t yet know what we are…
\nLaughing, hoping, praying, joking, Son of Man!
\nwith lowered eyes but lifting hearts,
\nwe’re grains of sand
\nand though, in time, the sea
\nmay claim us for its own
\nwe are the rocks which root the future –
\non us it grows!<\/p>\n

We might not be there to share it
\nif eternity’s a jest
\nbut I think that I can bear it
\nif the next life is the best.
\nEven if there is a heaven when we die,
\nendless bliss would be as meaningless as the lie
\nthat always comes as answer to the question,
\n„Why do we see through the eyes of creation?”<\/p>\n

Adrift without a course,
\nit’s very lonely here,
\nour only conjecture
\nwhat lies behind the dark.
\nStill, I find I can cling to a lifeline,
\nthink of a lifetime which means more
\nthan my own one –
\ndreams of a grander thing than we are.
\nTime and Space hang heavy on my shoulders:
\nwhen all life is over who can say
\nno mutated force shall remain?
\nThough the towers of the city are denied
\nto we men of clay
\nstill we know we shall scale
\nthe heights some day.
\nFrightened in the silence –
\nfrightened, but thinking very hard,
\nlet us make computations of the stars.<\/p>\n

Older, wiser, sadder, blinder, watch us run:
\nfaster, longer, harder, stronger, now it comes:
\ncolour blisters, image splinters gravitate
\ntowards the centre, in final splendour disintegrate,
\nThe universe now beckons
\nand Man, too, must take His place…
\njust a few last fleeting seconds
\nto wander in the waste,
\nand the children who were ourselves move on,
\nreincarnation stills its now perfected song,
\nand at last we are free of the bonds of creation.<\/p>\n

All the jokers and gaolers, all the junkies
\nand slavers too,
\nall the throng who have danced a merry tune –
\nhuman we can all be,
\nbut Humanity we must rise above,
\nin the name of all faith and hope and love.
\nThere’s a time for all pilgrims,
\nand a time for the fakers too,
\nthere’s a time when we all will stand alone
\nand nude,
\nnaked to the galaxies –
\nnaked, but clothed in the overview…
\nas we reach Childhood’s End we must start anew.<\/p>\n

And though dark is the highway,
\nand the peak’s distance breaks my heart,
\nfor I never shall see it, still I play my part,
\nbelieving that what waits for us
\nis the cosmos compared to the dust of the past…
\nIn the death of mere humans life shall start!<\/p>\n

All lyrics by Peter Hammill<\/p>\n

\"Przewi\u0144<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Pilgrims Sometimes you feel so far away, distanced from all the action of the play, unable to grasp significance, marking the plot with diffident dismay, stranded at centre stage, scrabbling through your diary for a lost page: unsure of the … Czytaj dalej →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":659,"parent":517,"menu_order":6,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"sidebar-page.php","meta":{"_sitemap_exclude":false,"_sitemap_priority":"","_sitemap_frequency":"","footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-715","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/715","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=715"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/715\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":717,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/715\/revisions\/717"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/517"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/659"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/vdgg.art.pl\/portal\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=715"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}