dominion - poem

David A. Marin

Imperialism, they say. 

He welcomed the dominion with

a handshake sparking silver and

a smile trembling embers.

He shook the hand of the invader

and the emperor - new patron

patroned him over those who

patronized him before

and he contemplated this revenge

asking if he was cast so high

to be cast down,

to obsess over this victory,

to do great things

to loom,

to be a tyrant,

or to do great things.

He writes in the tongue of his enemy

he writes in the tongue of the invader

but he does it better than the invader

perhaps not better - but making it his own

He is the Dacian who wrote Roman poetry

He is the splendid singing sinner summing so-called strangers into such serene siblings.

He aspires to be that.

Great things, miracles of art,

thinks the poet and the bard,

now a Lord upon the land,

with a flag upon his tent

one day to be cast down

for all flags to stride along

the idiots might hate him now

for letting the enemy inside

but the enemy is not one flag

as much as all of them

can be

when they are all that is left.

Alas…

Great things, he thinks and makes

As some throw oranges and peels

And others love and admiration

Such is the way of the artist

The time is such that the artist

must also be a politician

it is again a time of courts and kings

Great things, he thinks and makes

He knows one day

Above the flag shall be the one

who used to hold it

Above the flag shall be the name

of those who live for The Everything

and who have their own Something.

----------------------------------

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The Duke's Grand Departure. David Bowie.

            - David A. Marin

(I'm overly conscious about this essay. I feel like Bowie himself is going to read it. Therefore, it's in both my mother tongue and his mother tongue. I feel it's only right. Essay in Romanian and in English. Scroll to the end for the English version.)

(Sunt ultra-conștient când vine vorba de eseul ăsta. Simt că Bowie însuși o să îl citească. Ca urmare e atât în limba mea maternă cât și în limba lui maternă. Așa e bine. În română și în engleză.

Dați la final pentru versiunea în engleză. )

_________________________________________________________________________________

David Bowie a trebuit să moară ca să îi înțeleg cu adevărat ultimul album.

Nu trebuie eu să îl mai glorific, vreau doar să punctez faptul că Bowie a dat dovadă de artă într-o manifestare absolută – curgând în întregul artist, și artistul curgând în ea. Acum 18 luni, David Bowie a aflat că are cancer. Probabil atunci s-a și apucat să înceapă concretizarea albumului. Clipul de la “Blackstar” a apărut mai devreme, însă albumul în întregime a apărut de ziua lui, pe 8 ianuarie.

6-7 ianuarie, îl visez. Ducele Alb mi-a apărut oniric într-o manieră obscură, ciudată prin faptul că nu era deloc ciudat, era Bowie-ul pe care mass-media nu l-a văzut – purta un trenchcoat, părul îi era blond-grizulat și intrase în backstage-ul/depozitul de scule în care mă aflam întrebând de cineva. L-am rugat să îmi semneze o figurină de pluș Bowie, pe care mai semnase un artist – pe care a afirmat că îl cunoaște. Eram cu un prieten și o prietenă și ne jucam jocuri video – Bowie decide să se așeze și să vorbească cu noi, cu mine, foarte firesc, și, pe lângă întrebările-răspunsurile trademark Bowie, am început pur și simplu să discutăm una-alta, firesc, cât se poate de obscur de firesc, până am dat să ne jucăm tustrei pe consolă, sau pe ce pana mea ne jucam. Se trezește Ducele, bagă mâna în ecran și începe să scoată obiecte din virtual în realitate. Se rupe ceva spațiu-timp și mă trezesc cu el într-o zonă foarte americană de câmpie, pe lângă o autostradă, într-un orășel sudist. După care m-am trezit.

Pe 8 ianuarie, e ziua lui, și deși simțeam o vagă nevoie să îi mai scriu încă un articol de laudă, cum îi scrisesem cu ani în urmă, am uitat și am abandonat ideea…

…iar pe 10, unul dintre marii mei eroi moare. Imi deschid ochii de dimineata si vad mesaje de la prieteni. Nu pot sa procesez. Unul dintre artiștii care a avut un mare impact pe mine nu doar prin “produsul” său artistic, cât și prin imaginea sa, mitul său, personalitatea sa și valorile sale și obscuritatea sa – toate acestea intră în marea totalitate a operei sale…  Opera lui se concretizează în ultimul pas, devenind astfel moștenirea lui – Marele Duce Alb a așezat atât de bine partitura, încât pianul a continuat să cânte și după ce a plecat pianistul, iar plecarea pianistului devenind parte din actul artistic. Bowie își transformă moartea într-o operă de artă, precum a spus și producătorul lui, Tony Visconti, iar ultimul lui album, piesele, clipurile, textul, instrumentalul, cântatul, stilul, se îndepărtează poate de ambiguitatea lui obișnuită, devenind un hotărât “see you later”, dar, pe lângă valoarea de scrisoare de plecare, are și valoarea de testament. Ziggy Stardust mai și îndeamnă la ceva, și acceptă ceva.

Ascult “Blackstar” la finalul anului. Îmi zic, subconștient, că ambiguitatea și obscuritatea sunt chestii Bowie, și deci cam ăla-I tot șpilu’, și oricum, pana mea, Bowie, pentru că Bowie…

Something happened on the day he died

Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside

Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried

(I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar)

Lazarus.

Look up here, I’m in heaven

I’ve got scars that can’t be seen

I’ve got drama, can’t be stolen

Everybody knows me now

10 ianuarie.

Something happened on the day he died

Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside

Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried

(I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar)

Fredonez și cânt partea asta, izbucnită acum în capul meu, mai toată ziua.

Look up here, I’m in heaven

…

I’ve got scars that can’t be seen

…

I’ve got drama, can’t be stolen

…

Everybody knows me now

…

Everybody knows me now

…

Everybody knows me now

…

Look up here, I’m in heaven

…?

Look up here, I’m in heaven

…!...

Look up here, man, I’m in danger

…!...

Look up here, man

Look up here, man

Look up here, man

!!!

 Mă lovește, și încep să îmi dau seama de șpil. Bowie vorbește mai puțin de religie și filozofie aici cât îmi spune cât se poate de firesc, mai firesc decât oricând până acum, acum versurile și melodiile amalgamându-se în capul meu cu visul meu și cu propriile mele interpretari și viziuni prea personale pentru un articol cibernetic, și din tot amestecul ăsta, îmi dau seama. Blackstar-ul nu este Bowie, sau cel puțin, nu e doar el. Blackstar-ul sunt eu. Blackstar-ul este tânărul artist, cum Bowie a fost tânărul artist până în ultimul moment - și Bowie îi pune mâna pe umăr tânărului artist, și-i zice “Privește ceea ce am făcut, zâmbește, și acum hai, că-i rândul tău”.

Evident că acestea sunt interpretari devenite destul de generale acum, pentru că dacă moartea lui Bowie ar fi o melodie, ar fi un hit, ar fi top-of-the-charts. Și așa ar și vrea să fie, după părerea mea. Mai personală devine situația ascultând mai adânc în “’Tis a Pity She Was a Whore”, “Dollar Days”, restul melodiilor de pe album. Interpretările mele devin, mai ales pe “Tis a Pity She Was a Whore”, foarte persoanale, legate de complexe și gânduri și tot felul de asemenea lucruri – spiritual vorbind, a fost un ajutor adânc și poate subtil, dar foarte mare, ascultând aceste obscurități din mine fiind tangente cu obscuritățile din acest erou al meu și al altor milioane de artiști – îmi spune că “E ok, așa-i, e ok, lucrurile astea sunt cum sunt” și parcă iarăși aud vocea transformată din tânărul-rebel-obscur Bowie în tânărul-rebel-obscur-bătrân-înțelept,  părintește zicând: “Și cum ziceam, mergi și fă artă, că-i rândul tău”.

Parcă îl și aud, întipărit în conștiința colectivă a umanității:

“It’s been interesting, it’s been good, it’s been cool – stop being stupid, time to move on, you pick it up from here”.

Testamentul acesta, moștenirea lui, totalitatea operei sale – brusc, voalul de narcisism și opulență pe care îl asociam cu Bowie și care mă atrăgea atât de tare la el parcă nu mai e atât de mare, atât de strident în viziunea mea cât este altceva - și prin el se vede nu un gest falnic de plecare-eroică-în-apus, ci un zâmbet cald și falnic de plecare-eroică-în-apus, adresat tuturor celor care îl ascultă. Time to go. Time to die. Time to live on.  

David Bowie moare iar ultimul detaliu din portretul lui e terminat. Magic trick. Mitul este lansat în nemurire.

Bravo, Mare Duce Alb. Mulțumesc. Ne mai vedem, ne mai auzim.

...

Tony Visconti scrie:

<  "He always did what he wanted to do, And he wanted to do it his way and he wanted to do it the best way. His death was not different from his life — a work of Art. He made Blackstar for us, his parting gift.

"I knew for a year this was the way it would be. I wasn't, however, prepared for it. He was an extraordinary man, full of love and life. He will always be with us. For now, it is appropriate to cry."   > 

...A, da, și pentru că promovarea de sine și ostentativitatea-de-bun-gust e o treabă Bowie - daca vreți, veniți la următorul meu concert să îl omagiem impreună. Cânt un cântec, două. Așa e... cum trebuie. Și nu e ca și cum nu faceam cover-uri Bowie înainte...Sunt, totuși, destul de sigur că cel mai mare tribut către David Bowie este a îți face propria ta artă, a crea. ...Blackstar...

________________________________________________________________________________

David Bowie  had to die in order for me to truly understand his last album.

I don’t need to glorify him some more – I just want to point out the fact that Bowie showed art in its absolute manifestation – pouring into the artist, and the artist pouring in it. 18 months ago, David Bowie found out he had cancer. That’s probably about when he started studio work on the album. The “Blackstar” video was released earlier, but the album in its entirety was released on his birthday, on the 8^th of January.

6-7^th January. I dream of Bowie. The Duke showed up in my sleep in an obscure fashion, weirdness determined by the fact that he didn’t seem weird at all – it wasn’t the mass-media Bowie. He was wearing a trenchcoat, his hair was blonde-to-grey and he was entering the backstage/warehouse-looking like space in which I was, with a guy and a girl, friends of mine, but I can’t quite remember who they were. He was asking about someone. He comes in, I ask him to sign my Bowie figurine who was already signed by a previous artist which he knew. Bowie decided to stay, he sat down and we started talking, he was giving me advice, and talking with me as if this was supposed to happen for a long time. After the trademark Bowie questions-answers, we kept casually conversing, and then we all started playing video games on the system that we were playing on before he came in. The Duke rises, puts his hand in the screen and grabs virtual objects, bringing them into reality. Then there’s a glitch – something breaks in the space-time continuum. We’re by an American South highway, in a little country town.

I wake up.

On the 8^th of January, it’s Bowie’s birthday, and although I felt this vague need to write him yet another article of praise, I forgot and abandoned the idea…

…and on the 10^th, one of my great heroes dies. I open my eyes in the morning and there’s messages from friends. I can’t take it in. One of the artists who had such an amazing impact on me not only through his artistic “product”, but through his image as well, through his myth, through his personality and through his value and obscurity – all of these things enter the great sum that is his amazing work. His opus. And his opus is now complete – all the pieces are in place, his work now becomes his inheritance. His legacy. The Great Thin White Duke wrote the score so good that he piano kept on playing after the pianist was gone, and the pianist’s leave became part of the artistic act. Bowie transforms his death into a work of art, in the words of his producer Tony Visconti, and his last album, the songs, the instrumental, the playing, the text, the delivery, the videos maybe takes a step away from his usual ambiguity, turning into a clear and bright “see you later”, but, other than a goodbye letter, it is also a testament. It’s his will. The alien is asking us to do something, he is telling us something, encouraging something, and accepting something.

I listen to “Blackstar” at the end of the year. I tell myself, subconsciously, that the ambiguity and the obscurity are very Bowie things, and that’s basically the deal, and anyway, it’s Bowie, because Bowie…

 Something happened on the day he died

Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside

Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried

(I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar)

Lazarus.

Look up here, I’m in heaven

I’ve got scars that can’t be seen

I’ve got drama, can’t be stolen

Everybody knows me now

10th of January.

Something happened on the day he died

Spirit rose a metre and stepped aside

Somebody else took his place, and bravely cried

(I’m a blackstar, I’m a blackstar)

I hum and sing this part, now erupted in my head, pretty much all day long.

Look up here, I’m in heaven

…

I’ve got scars that can’t be seen

…

I’ve got drama, can’t be stolen

…

Everybody knows me now

…

Everybody knows me now

…

Everybody knows me now

…

Look up here, I’m in heaven

…?

Look up here, I’m in heaven

…!...

Look up here, man, I’m in danger

…!...

Look up here, man

Look up here, man

Look up here, man

!!!

It hits me. I start realizing what he’s going on about. Bowie talks less about religion and philosophy, he is talking as frank as he ever got, now the lyrics and the melody are merging in my head and heart with the dream I had, with my own personal interpretations and visions that are way too personal for an cybernetic article – and out of this mix, I realize. David Bowie isn’t the Blackstar, or he isn’t the only Blackstar. I am the Blackstar. The Blackstar is the young artist, like Bowie was the young artist till his very last moment – and now David Bowie is putting his hand on the shoulder of the young artist, and he’s telling him “Look upon what I made, smile, and come on, go, it’s your turn now!”.

Of course these interpretations have become pretty general now, if Bowie’s death would be a song, it would be a hit, on top of the charts, and this is the way I think he would want it to be.  The situation gets more personal when I listen deep into “’Tis a Pity She Was a Whore” and “Dollar Days”, the rest of the tracks on the album. My interpretations get, especially on “Tis a Pity She Was A Whore”, very personal, tied to my own complexes and thoughts and such things – spiritually talking, it’s been a deep and subtle, but great help listening to these obscurities in me, tangent with the obscurities in this hero of mine and in the millions of artists that are inspired by him – he says: “it’s ok, this is the way it is, it’s alright, this is the way things are”. And then I hear the transformed voice of the young-rebellious-obscure Bowie turned into the young-rebellious-obscure-wise-elder, fatherly saying: “And, like I was telling you before, go and make art, because it’s your turn now.”

I can almost hear him, deeply imprinted in the collective conscience of mankind:

“It’s been interesting, it’s been good, it’s been cool – stop being stupid, time to move on, you pick it up from here”.

This will, this inheritance, this work – brusquely, the veil of narcissism and opulence that we associate with Bowie and that attracted me so much to him seems smaller and less grandiose in my vision than another thing, looming high – and that is the last gesture, the gesture of departure, and I say this because this gesture is not only a flamboyant, towering heroic ride into the sunset, but a warm, towering, flamboyant smile as he rides heroically into the sunset, and he’s smiling to us all. Time to go. Time to die. Time to live on.  

David Bowie dies and the last detail of his portrait is finished. It’s been a magic trick. The myth is now launched into immortality.

Bravo, Great Duke. Thank you. See you around, we’ll hear from each-other.

Tony Visconti writes:

"He always did what he wanted to do.

And he wanted to do it his way and he wanted to do it the best way. His death was not different from his life — a work of Art. He made Blackstar for us, his parting gift.

I knew for a year this was the way it would be. I wasn't, however, prepared for it. He was an extraordinary man, full of love and life. He will always be with us. For now, it is appropriate to cry."   

Also, since self-promoting and being tastefully ostentatious is a Bowie thing to do - if you want, come to my next gig and we'll pay tribute to him together. I'll play a couple songs. It's only right. And it's not like I wasn't doing Bowie covers before... Although perhaps making art of your own is one of the greatest ways to pay tribute to the great David Bowie. ...Blackstar...

Tot materialul de pe acest blog este protejat de legea dreptului de autor. Sunt interzise preluarea parţială sau integrală şi difuzarea lui fără acordul autorului.

 All material on this blog is protected by copyright laws. Use of any kind without the author's approval is illegal.