Elseneur

Ce blog continue sur http://elseneur.hautetfort.com/ mais il possède également une ramification toute neuve sur http://elseneur.aminus3.com/, qui reprend certaines de mes photos préférées, en grand format.

Si une balade en noir et blanc vous tente...

Now in Vienna there's ten pretty women
There's a shoulder where death comes to cry
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows
There's a tree where the doves go to die
There's a piece that was torn from the morning
And it hangs in the gallery of frost
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws

Oh I want you, I want you, I want you
On a chair with a dead magazine
In the cave at the tip of the lily
In some hallways where loves never been
On a bed where the moon has been sweating
In a cry filled with footsteps and sand
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take its broken waist in your hand

This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
With its very own breath of brandy and death
Dragging its tail in the sea

There's a concert hall in Vienna
Where your mouth had a thousand reviews
There's a bar where the boys have stopped talking
They've been sentenced to death by the blues
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
With a garland of freshly cut tears?
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
Take this waltz its been dying for years

There's an attic where children are playing
Where I've got to lie down with you soon
In a dream of hungarian lanterns
In the mist of some sweet afternoon
And I'll see what youve chained to your sorrow
All your sheep and your lilies of snow
Ay, ay, ay, ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
With its I'll never forget you, you know!

This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz ...

And I'll dance with you in Vienna
I'll be wearing a river's disguise
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder,
My mouth on the dew of your thighs
And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
With the photographs there, and the moss
And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty
My cheap violin and my cross
And you'll carry me down on your dancing
To the pools that you lift on your wrist
Oh my love, oh my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz
It's yours now, it's all that there is.

(D'après "Petite valse de Vienne" de Federico Garcia Lorca)

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[William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, V, 1]

Impossible de s'en lasser...!

Terrible orage d'été dans les lueurs du petit matin, des éclairs zébrant la chambre de bleu, une pluie diluvienne ricochant sur les corniches.

Un véritable plaisir.

Décidément, je crois que je n'arrive pas bien à passer à autre chose pour le moment (hormis Manu Chao qui, on l'aura compris, accompagne l'accouchement douloureux de mon travail au point que j'envisage de le citer dans les remerciements). Le souvenir d'une petite nuit d'été et de boue reste encore accrochée en moi, quelque part, et Leonard, Leonard est comme toujours là au bon moment. Je l'ai écouté en boucle assise sur mon plancher grinçant par de froides nuits de février où le temps ne voulait pas reprendre son cours. Je l'ai écouté des nuits entières dans l'obscurité zébrée d'éclats de lune. Je l'ai écouté sans discontinuer, encore et encore, jusqu'à ce que j'en tombe de sommeil, jusqu'à ne plus penser à rien, jusqu'à parvenir, enfin, à faire le vide. Et je l'écoute encore aujourd'hui, apaisée par les certitudes tristes qu'il sème derrière lui.