Lire cet article en écoutant : Beethoven: String Quartet No.7 "Razumovsky No.1" / Juilliard String Quartet (1976 Movie) 3ème mouvement : 20.24
Moments forts : 24.28 ; 26.10
OU
La jeune fille et la mort de Schubert bien sûr !
Les clics incessants de la photographe officielle m'ont empêchée d'apprécier ce spectacle à sa juste valeur qui vous vous en doutez, étant donné le titre et l'auteure/autrice (suicidée à 28 ans), nécessite la plus grande attention, voire concentration, le texte étant traduit.
La comédienne a été particulièrement convaincante en livrant une performance É-POUS-TOU-FLANTE sur un remix d'Experience de Ludovico Einaudi (il fallait être à la hauteur de la charge émotionnelle de ce morceau) et un peu moins lorsqu'elle prononçait le mot "putain" (mot récurrent dans le texte original) comme si elle était obligée de le dire parce que c'est dans le texte, pas de façon naturelle. Son engagement personnel physique et émotionnel sur scène, sa sincérité dans son travail, sont en tout cas indéniable. Moi, simple spectatrice, j'en serais bien incapable. Brava !
Pour revenir sur le texte que j'étais venue découvrir ce soir, quelques passages m'ont vivement interpelée vivement et j'ai cherché aussitôt leur traduction. Je partage donc avec vous mes passages préférés (imaginez-les entrecoupés de "clic" et vous comprendrez ce que j'ai ressenti tout au long du spectacle). Enjoy et désolée pour la mise en page qui ne respecte pas toujours l'originale mais j'ai fait de mon mieux.
page 3
(A very long silence.)
– But you have friends.
(A long silence.)
You have a lot of friends.
What do you offer your friends to make them so supportive?
(A long silence.)
What do you offer your friends to make them so supportive?
(A long silence.)
What do you offer?
(Silence.)
a consolidated consciousness resides in a darkened banqueting hall
near the ceiling of a mind whose floor shifts as ten thousand
cockroaches when a shaft of light enters as all thoughts unite in an
instant of accord body no longer expellent as the cockroaches
comprise a truth which no one ever utters
(Ce sont les premiers mots de la pièce).
Utter : prononcer, proférer, exprimer publiquement
page 4
I am sad
I feel that the future is hopeless and that things cannot improve
I am bored and dissatisfied with everything
I am a complete failure as a person
I am guilty,
I am being punished
I would like to kill myself
I used to be able to cry but now I am beyond tears
I have lost interest in other people
I can't make decisions
I can't eat
I can't sleep
I can't think
I cannot overcome my loneliness, my fear, my disgust
I am fat
I cannot write
I cannot love
My brother is dying, my lover is dying, I am killing them both
I am charging towards my death
I am terrified of medication
I cannot make love
I cannot fuck
I cannot be alone
I cannot be with others
My hips are too big
I dislike my genitals
page 5
At 4.48
when depression visits
I shall hang myself
to the sound of my lover's breathing
I do not want to die
I have become so depressed by the fact of my mortality that I have
decided to commit suicide
I do not want to live
I am jealous of my sleeping lover and cover his induced
unconsciousness
When he wakes he will envy my sleepless night of thought and
speech unslurred by medication
I have resigned myself to death this year
Some will call this self-indulgence
(they are lucky not to know its truth)
Some will know the simple fact of pain
This is becoming my normality
page 6
And I am
deadlocked by that smooth psychiatric voice of reason which
tells me there is an objective reality in which my body and mind
are one. But I am not here and never have been.
(...)
Watching
me, judging me, smelling the crippling failure oozing from my
skin, my desperation clawing and all-consuming panic
drenching me as I gape in horror at the world and wonder why
everyone is smiling and looking at me with secret knowledge of
my aching shame.
Shame shame shame.
Drown in your fucking shame.
(...)
the only doctor who ever
touched me voluntarily, who looked me in the eye, who laughed
at my gallows humour spoken in the voice from the newly-dug
grave, who took the piss when I shaved my head, who lied and
said it was nice to see me. Who lied. And said it was nice to see
me. I trusted you, I loved you, and it's not losing you that hurts
me, but your bare-faced fucking falsehoods that masquerade as
medical notes.
Your truth, your lies, not mine.
And while I was believing that you were different and that you
maybe even felt the distress that sometimes flickered across
your face and threatened to erupt, you were covering your arse
too. Like every othoer stupid mortal cunt.
To my mind that's betrayal. And my mind is the subject of these
bewildered fragments.
Nothing can extinguish my anger.
And nothing can restore my faith.
This is not a world in which I wish to live.
page 7-8
–Yes. It's fear that keeps me away from the train tracks. I just
hope to God that death is the fucking end. I feel like I'm eighty
years old. I'm tired of life and my mind wants to die.
–That's a metaphor, not reality.
–It's a simile.
–That's not reality.
–It's not a metaphor, it's a simile, but even if it were, the defining
feature of a metaphor is that it's real.
(A long silence.)
–You are not eighty years old.
(Silence.)
Are you?
(...)
–No. I'm depressed. Depression is anger. It's what you did, who
was there and who you're blaming.
–And who are you blaming?
–Myself
(...)
Body and soul can never be married
I need to become who I already am and will bellow forever at this
incongruity which has committed me to hell
Insoluble hoping cannot uphold me
I will drown in dysphoria
in the cold black pond of my self
the pit of my immaterial mind
How can I return to form
now my formal thought has gone?
Not a life that I could countenance.
They will love me for that which destroys me
the sword in my dreams
the dust of my thoughts
the sickness that breeds in the folds of my mind
page 9
Every compliment takes a piece of my soul
An expressionist nag
Stalling between two fools
They know nothing
– I have always walked free
Last in a long line of literary kleptomaniacs
(a time honoured tradition)
Theft is the holy act
On a twisted path to expression
A glut of exclamation marks spells impending nervous breakdown
Just a word on a page and there is the drama
I write for the dead the unborn
After 4.48 I shall not speak again
I have reached the end of his dreary and repugnant tale of a sense interned
in an alien carcass and lumpen by the malignant spirit of the moral
majority
I have been dead for a long time
Back to my roots
I sing without hope on the boundary
RSVP ASAP
Sometimes I turn around and catch the smell of you and I cannot go on
I cannot fucking go on without expressing this terrible so fucking awful
physical aching fucking longing I have for you. And I cannot believe
that I can feel this for you and you feel nothing. Do you feel nothing?
(Silence.)
page 10
And I go out at six in the morning and start my search for you. If I've
dreamt a message of a street or a pub or a station I go there. And I wait
for you.
(Silence.)
(...)
I've never in my life had a problem giving another person what they
want. But no one's ever been able to do that for me. No one touches me,
no one gets near me. But now you've touched me somewhere so fucking
deep I can't believe and I can't be that for you. Because I can't find you.
(...)
Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you for rejecting me by never being there, fuck you for making me feel shit about myself, fuck you for bleeding the fucking love and life out of me, fuck my father for fucking up my life for good and fuck my mother for not leaving him, but most of all,
fuck you God for making me love a person who does not exist,
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU.
p 12
I dread the loss of her I've never touched
love keeps me a slave in a cage of tears
I gnaw my tongue with which to her I can never speak
I miss a woman who was never born
I kiss a woman across the years that say we shall never meet
Everything passes
Everything perishes
Everything palls
my thought walks away with a killing smile
leaving discordant anxiety
which roars in my soul
No hope No hope No hope No hope No hope No hope No hope
p. 12-13
When I'm an old lady living ion (in ?) the street forgetting my name
p.3
My love, my love, why have you forsaken me?
She is the couching place where I never shall lie
and there's no meaning to life in the light of my loss
Built to be lonely
to love the absent
Find me
Free me
from this
corrosive doubt
futile despair
horror in repose
I can fill my space
fill my time
but nothing can fill this void in my heart
The vital need for which I would die
Breakdown
(...)
–No ifs or buts.
–I didn't say if or but, I said no.
–Can't must never have-to always won't should shan't.
The unnegotiables
Not today.
(Silence.)
p. 14
–It's not your fault, that's all I ever hear, it's not your fault, it's an
illness, it's not your fault, I know it's not my fault. You've told
me that so often I'm beginning to think it is my fault.
–It's not your fault.
–I KNOW.
–But you allow it.
(Silence.)
Don't you?
–There's not a drug on earth can make life meaningful.
–You allow this state of desperate absurdity.
(Silence.)
You allow it.
(Silence.)
–I won't be able to think.
I won't be able to work.
–Nothing will interfere with your work like suicide.
(Silence.)
–I dreamt I went to the doctor's and she gave me eight minutes to
live. I'd been sitting in the fucking waiting room half an hour.
(A long silence.)
Okay, let's do it, let's do the drugs, let's do the chemical
lobotomy, let's shut down the higher functions of my brain and
perhaps I'll be a bit more fucking capable of living.
Let's do it.
p. 15-17
abstraction to the point of
unpleasant
unacceptable
uninspiring
impenetrable
irrelevant
irreverent
irreligious
unrepentant
I don't imagine
(clearly)
that a single soul
could
would
should
or will
and if they did
I don't think
(clearly)
that another soul
a soul like mine
could
would
should
or will
irrespective
I know what I'm doing
all too well
No native speaker
irrational
irreducible
irredeemable
unrecognisable
derailed
deranged
deform
free form
obscure to the point of
True Right Correct
Anyone or anybody
Each every all
drowning in a sea of logic
this monstrous state of palsy
still ill
Symptoms: Not eating, not sleeping, not speaking, no sex drive, in
despair, wants to die.
Diagnosis: Pathological grief.
Sertraline, 50mg. Insomnia worsened, severe anxiety, anorexia, (weight
loss 17kgs,) increase in suicidal thoughts, plans and intention.
Discontinued following hospitalisation.
Zolpiclone, 7.5mg. Slept. Discontinued following rash. Patient
attempted to leave hospital against medical advice. Restrained by three
male nurses twice her size. Patient threatening and uncooperative.
Paranoid thoughts – believes hospital staff are attempting to poison her.
Melleril, 50mg. Co-operative.
Lofepramine, 70mg, increased to 140mg, then 210mg. Weight gain
12kgs. Short term memory loss. No other reaction.
Argument with junior doctor whom she accused of treachery after
which she shaved her head and cut her arms with a razor blade.
Patient discharged into the care of the community on arrival of acutely
psychotic patient in emergency clinic in greater need of a hospital bed.
Citalopram, 20mg. Morning tremors. No other reaction.
Lofepramine and Citalopram discontinued after patient got pissed of
with side affect and lack of obvious improvement. Discontinuation
symptoms: Dizziness and confusion. Patient kept falling over, fainting
and walking out in front of cars. Delusional ideas – believes consultant
is the antichrist.
Fluoxetine hydrochloride, trade name Prozac, 20mg, increased to 40mg.
Insomnia, erratic appetite, (weight loss 14kgs,) severe anxiety, unable
to reach orgasm, homicidal thoughts towards several doctors and drug
manufacturers. Discontinued.
Mood: Fucking angry
Affect: Very angry.
Thorazine, 100mg. Slept. Calmer.
Venlafaxine, 75mg, increased to 150mg, then 225mg. Dizziness, low
blood pressure, headaches. No other reaction. Discontinued.
Patient declined Seroxat. Hypochondria – cites spasmodic blinking and
severe memory loss as evidence of tardive dyskinesia and tardive
dementia.
Refused all further treatment.
100 aspirin and one bottle of Bulgarian Cabernet Sauvignon, 1986.
Patient woke up in a pool of vomit and said 'Sleep with a dog and rise
full of fleas.' Severe stomach pain. No other reaction.
Hatch opens
Stark light
the television talks
full of eyes
the spirits of sight
and now I am so afraid
page 18
Where do I start?
Where do I stop?
How do I start?
(As I mean to go on)
How do I stop?
How do I stop?
How do I stop?
How do I stop?
How do I stop?
How do I stop?
How do I stop?
How do I stop?
A tab of pain
Stabbing my lungs
A tab of death
Squeezing my heart
I'll die
not yet
but it's here
Please...
Money...
Wife...
Every act is a symbol
the weight of which crushes me
A dotted line on the throat
CUT HERE
DON'T LET THIS KILL ME
THIS WILL KILL ME AND CRUSH ME AND
SEND ME TO HELL
I beg you to save me from this madness that eats me
a sub-intentional death
p. 19
I thought I should never speak again
but now I know there is something blacker than desire
perhaps it will save me
perhaps it will kill me
a dismal whistle that is the cry of heartbreak around the hellish
bowl at the ceiling of my mind
a blanket of roaches (roaches : cafards)
cease this war
My legs are empty
Nothing to say
And there is the rhythm of madness
–I gassed the Jews, I killed the Kurds, I bombed the Arabs, I
fucked small children while they begged for mercy, the killing
fields are mine, everyone left the party because of me, I'll suck
your fucking eyes out sent them to your mother in a box and
when I die I'm going to be reincarnated as your child only fifty
times worse and as mad as all fuck I'm going to make your life a
living fucking hell I REFUSE I REFUSE I REFUSE LOOK
AWAY FROM ME
–It's all right.
–LOOK AWAY FROM ME
–It's all right. I'm here.
–Look away from me
p. 20
a scall on my skin, a seethe in my heart
a blanket of roaches on which we dance
this infernal state of siege
All this shall come to pass
all the words of my noisome breath
(...)
We are the abjects
who depose our leaders
and burn incense unto Baal (démon)
Come now, let us reason together
Sanity is found in the mountain of the Lord's house on the
horizon of the soul that eternally recedes
The head is sick, the heart's caul torn
Thread the ground on which wisdom walks
Embrace beautiful lies –
the chronic insanity of the sane
the wrenching begins
p21-22
–At 4.48
when sanity visits
for one hour and twelve minutes I am in my right mind.
When it has passed I shall be gone again,
a fragmented puppet, a grotesque fool.
Now I am here I can see myself
but when I am charmed by vile delusions of happiness,
the foul magic of this engine of sorcery,
I cannot touch my essential self.
(...)
Stop judging by appearances and make a right judgement.
–It's all right. You will get better.
–Your disbelief cures nothing.
Look away from me
Hatch opens
Stark light
A table two chairs and no windows
Here I am
and there is my body
dancing on glass
In accident time where there are no accidents
You have no choice
the choice comes after
page 22-23
Cut out my tongue
tear out my hair
cut off my limbs
but leave me my love
I would rather have lost my legs
pulled out my teeth
gouged out my eyes
than lost my love
flash flicker slash burn wring press dab slash
flash flicker punch burn float flicker dab flicker
punch flicker flash burn dab press wring press
punch flicker float burn flash flicker burn
it will never pass
dab flicker punch slash wring slash punch slash
float flicker flash punch wring press flash press
dab flicker wring burn flicker dab flash dab float
burn press burn flicker burn flash
Nothing's forever
(but Nothing)
slash wring punch burn flicker dab float dab
flicker burn punch burn flash dab press dab
wring flicker float slash burn slash punch slash
press slash float slash flicker burn dab
Victim. Perpetrator. Bystander. (bystander : témoin)
punch burn float flicker flash flicker burn slash
wring press dab slash flash flicker dab flicker
punch flicker flash burn dab press flicker wring
press punch flash flicker burn flicker flash
the morning brings defeat
wring slash punch slash float flicker flash punch
wring dab flicker punch slash press flash press
dab flicker wring burn flicker dab flash dab float
burn press burn flash flicker slash
beautiful pain
that says I exist
flicker punch slash dab wring press burn slash
press slash punch flicker flash press burn slash
dab flicker float flash flicker dab press burn slash
press slash punch flash flicker
burn
and a saner life tomorrow
p. 23-24
Sanity is found at the centre of convulsion, where madness is scorched
form the bisected soul.
I know myself.
I see myself.
My life is caught in a web of reason
spun by a doctor to argument the sane.
At 4.48
I shall sleep
I came to you hoping to be healed.
You are my doctor, my saviour, my omnipotent judge, my priest, my
god, the surgeon of my soul.
And I am your proselyte to sanity
p. 24-25
to achieve goals and ambitions
to overcome obstacles and attain a high standard
to increase self-regard by the successful exercise of talent
to overcome opposition
to have control and influence over others
to defend myself
to defend my psychological space
to vindicate the ego
to receive attention
to be seen and heard
to excite, amaze, fascinate, shock, intrigue, amuse, entertain,
or entice others
to be free from social restrictions
to resist coercion and constriction
to be independent and act according
to desire
to defy convention
to avoid pain
to avoid shame
to obliterate past humiliation by resumed action
to maintain self-respect
to repress fear
to overcome weakness
to belong
to be accepted
to draw close and enjoyably reciprocate with another
to converse in a friendly manner,
to tell stories, exchange
sentiments, ideas, secrets
to communicate,
to converse
to laugh and make jokes
to win affection of desired Other
to adhere and remain loyal to Other
to enjoy sensuous experiences with cathected Other
to feed, help, protect, comfort, console, support, nurse or
heal
to be fed, helped, protected, comforted, consoled,
supported, nursed or healed
to form mutually enjoyable, enduring, cooperating and
reciprocating relationship with Other, with an equal
to be forgiven
to be loved
to be free
p.25
–You've seen the worst of me.
–Yes.
–I know nothing of you
p.26
–You don't need a friend you need a doctor.
(A long silence.)
–You are so wrong.
(A very long silence.)
–But you have friends.
(A long silence.)
You have a lot of friends.
What do you offer your friends to make them so supportive?
(A long silence.)
What do you offer your friends to make them so supportive?
(A long silence.)
What do you offer?
(Silence.)
p.27
You'll be all right. You're strong. I know you'll be okay because I like you and you can't like someone who doesn't like themself. The people I fear for are the ones I don't like because they hate themselves so much they won't let anyone else like them either. But I do like you. I'll miss you. And I know you'll be ok.
Most of my clients want to kill me. When I walk out of here at the
end of the day I need to go home to my lover and relax. I need to
be with my friends and relax. I need my friends to be really
together.
(Silence.)
I fucking hate this job and I need my friends to be sane
p.28
–I know. I'm angry because I understand, not because I don't.
p.29
Fattened up
Shored up
Shoved up
my body decompensates
my body flies apart
no way to reach out
beyond the reaching out I've already done
(...)
I thought it was silent
till it went silent
how have you inspired this pain?
I've never understood
what it is I'm not supposed to feel
like a bird on the wing in a swollen sky
my mind is torn by lightning
as it flies form the thunder behind
Hatch opens
Stark light
and Nothing
Nothing
see Nothing
What am I like?
the child of negation
out of one torture chamber into another
a vile succession of errors without remission
every step of the way I've fallen
Despair propels me to suicide
Anguish for which doctors can find no cure
Nor care to understand
(...)
 |
| Sir John Everett Millais, Ophelia, 1851 -1852, Tate Britain, London, UK. J'aurais vu une baignoire ancienne sur scène, style demi-baignoire, posée sur un faux gazon en plastique et des plantes vertes mortes autour. Histoire d'égayer faussement la scène. Et pourquoi pas pousser le clin d’œil en lui faisant enfiler une robe violet pastel ? Ou juste une jupe longue de cette couleur puisqu'elle "dislike her genitals" ? |
Mstill black water
as deep as forever
as cold as the sky
as still as my heart
when your voice is gone
I shall freeze in hell
of course
I love you
you saved my life
I wish you hadn't
I wish you hadn't
I wish you'd left me alone
p.29
Hatch opens
Stark light
the rupture begins
I don't know where to look anymore
Tired of crowd searching
Telepathy
and hope
Watch the stars
predict the past
and change the world with a silver eclipse
the only thing that's permanent is destruction
we're all going to disappear
trying to leave a mark more permanent that myself
I've not killed myself before so don't look for precedents
What came before was just the beginning
a cyclical fear
that's not the moon it's the earth
A revolution
Dear God, dear God, what shall I do?
p.30
All I know
is snow
and black despair
Nowhere left to turn
an ineffectual mortal spasm
the only alternative to murder
Please don't cut me up to find out how I died
I'll tell you how I died
One hundred Lofepramine, forty five Zopiclone, twenty five
Temazepam, and twenty Melleril
Everything I had
Swallowed
Slit
Hung
It is done
behold the Eunuch
of castrated thought
skull
unwound
the capture
the rapture
the rupture
of a soul
a solo symphony
warm darkness
which soaks my eyes
I know no sin
p.31-32
this is the sickness of becoming great
the vital need for which I would die
to be loved
I'm dying for one who doesn't care
I'm dying for one who doesn't know
you're breaking me
Speak
Speak
Speak
ten yard ring of failure
look away from me
My final stand
No one speaks
Validate me
Witness me
See me
Love me
my final submission
my final defeat
the chicken's still dancing
the chicken won't stop
I think that you think of me
the way
I'd have you think of me
the final period
the final full stop
look after your mum now
look after your mum
p.33
Black snow falls
in death you hold me
never free
I have no desire for death
no suicide ever had
watch me vanish
watch me
vanish
watch me
watch me
watch
p35
It is myself I have never met, whose face is pasted on the underside of my mind
(...)
please open the curtains
SITOGRAPHIE :
LE TEXTE EN LIGNE EN PDF (Aucun héritier lésé : l'auteure s'est suicidée à 28 ans, sans enfant). I am so FUCKING grateful to the person who shares this text with the whole world :
BAAL / BELZEBUB / BELZEBUTH
https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Belz%C3%A9buth
OPHELIA
*à propos des 80 ans qu'elle ressent :
LXXVI — Spleen « J’ai plus de souvenirs que si j’avais mille ans »
LXXVI — Spleen « J’ai plus de souvenirs que si j’avais mille ans »
Les Fleurs du mal - Baudelaire, 1857.
Ce chef-d’œuvre a inspiré des tas d'autres poèmes (objectivement moins intenses), dont celui-ci
(...)
Il est de mornes jours, où las de se connaître
Le cœur, vieux de mille ans, s'assied sur son butin,
Où le plus cher passé semble un décor déteint,
Où s'agite un minable et vague cabotin.
Il est de mornes jours las du poids de connaître,
Et, ces jours-là, je vais courbé comme un ancêtre.
Il est des nuits de doute, où l'angoisse vous tord,
Où l'âme, au bout de la spirale descendue,
Pâle et sur l'infini terrible suspendue,
Sent le vent de l'abîme, et recule éperdue !
Il est des nuits de doute, où l'angoisse vous tord,
Et, ces nuits-là, je suis dans l'ombre comme un mort.
Il est de mornes jours, où las de se connaître
Le cœur, vieux de mille ans, s'assied sur son butin,
Où le plus cher passé semble un décor déteint,
Où s'agite un minable et vague cabotin.
Il est de mornes jours las du poids de connaître,
Et, ces jours-là, je vais courbé comme un ancêtre.
Il est des nuits de doute, où l'angoisse vous tord,
Où l'âme, au bout de la spirale descendue,
Pâle et sur l'infini terrible suspendue,
Sent le vent de l'abîme, et recule éperdue !
Il est des nuits de doute, où l'angoisse vous tord,
Et, ces nuits-là, je suis dans l'ombre comme un mort.
Albert Samain, Au jardin de l'infante (1893)
Semper eadem
" D'où vous vient, disiez-vous, cette tristesse étrange,
Montant comme la mer sur le roc noir et nu ? "
- Quand notre coeur a fait une fois sa vendange,
Vivre est un mal. C'est un secret de tous connu,
Une douleur très simple et non mystérieuse,
Et, comme votre joie, éclatante pour tous.
Cessez donc de chercher, ô belle curieuse !
Et, bien que votre voix soit douce, taisez-vous !
Taisez-vous, ignorante ! âme toujours ravie !
Bouche au rire enfantin ! Plus encor que la Vie,
La Mort nous tient souvent par des liens subtils.
Laissez, laissez mon coeur s'enivrer d'un mensonge,
Plonger dans vos beaux yeux comme dans un beau songe,
Et sommeiller longtemps à l'ombre de vos cils !
Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal, 1857.
Le morceau de Gabriel Faure est considéré comme une référence dans le monde musical selon mon collègue prof de musique, R. Lapeyre.
Après un rêve (After a Dream) - Gabriel Fauré lyrics ♪ Après un rêve (After a Dream) ♪
Dans un sommeil que charmait ton image
Je rêvais le bonheur, ardent mirage
Tes yeux étaint plus doux, ta voix pure et sonore,
Tu rayonnais comme un ciel éclairé par l'aurore;
Tu m'appelais et je quittais la terre
Pour m'enfuir avec toi vers la lumière,
Les cieux pour nous entr'ouvraient leurs nues
Splendeurs inconnues, lueurs divines entre vues
Hélas! Hélas, triste réveil des songes
Je t'appelle, ô nuit, rends moi tes mensonges,
Reviens, reviens radieuse, Reviens, ô nuit mystérieuse!
