1. |
Mexico City '73
04:31
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I found them lying on the floor, always whispering
and cutting verses out of poetry to make anthologies
we were 17 in mexico city in ’73
killing the old gods and drowning in the mezcal scene
and i thought that i was an academic
til the two of them came in and cut my lecturer to ribbons
we barely existed as we drifted to the houses of those literary kids
drinking to post-war french fiction
and we will not grow old here
if you don’t go
back to spain
and spend the next two decades wandering, wandering, wandering
don’t let this city forget your name
well we started a movement, we’re gonna fucking make it
the kids that we spilled out the ink in our veins with
have gotten engaged and make minimum wages
well I dearly miss the endless conversations
in the night clubs where we’d tell ourselves we’d never see daylight
so we’ll drive up to the north part of sonora near the border
to find a lost poet that we aren’t sure ever existed anymore
staring blankly through the windshield at the desert
as if looking through a door
well I see the mixed race miztec children of conquistadors
reaching out to grasp the bloody manuscript of latin american literature
an etching made in darkness to the gunshots of another dictator
well I might die by the pen but I will not die by the sword
and I will not forget that first time
these two savage dropouts convinced me
that the city was ours
and that it was not a crime to write poems all day
and live fictions all night
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2. |
Paris is Greyed In
03:50
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and when the four walls of this apartment begin to break and splinter
domestic life withers
your left bank hipster bullshit is torn into tatters
a child has died here
you’re done getting drunk here
the ghost of your girlfriend still cries in the hall there
Paris is faded, the colors are greyed in
death makes you jaded
death makes you jaded
and there’s jazz to listen to
with people that talk like you
sprawl on the floor with your Bitches Brew and Kind of Blue
midnight walks to banks of the Seine
flanked by the empty wine bottles of strangers
where she jumped in the river
this is the longest winter
that finds you writing a treatise:
“how to lose one to illness and the other to depression”
this Parisian obsession is reckless
and the city has borders
but survivor guilt’s endless
there’s days you feel alright about it
can do the day to day bits
and say there’s nothing to be done about death by an illness
all the what ifs are meaningless
apartment’s emptiness is maddening
so you get all your friends together and you sit in a circle
and talk about who won the soccer games
then they’re gone and you’re alone again
the record ends
and you’ve got nothing left to tear your mind away from
what her final thoughts might have been
freezing cold, terrified, darkness enveloping
memories unrememberable and consciousness fleeting
that dying in a dream feeling
a human words are inadequate type of fear
like the worst pain you’ve felt is the width of a hair
and her boiling blood while she’s alone down there
is the length of the ocean from Buenos Aries to here
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3. |
1973年メキシコシティー
04:31
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床に寝転がっている彼らを見つけた、
(I found them lying on the floor)
詩の一部から新しい歌を作っていた
(Cutting verses out of poetry to make anthologies)
僕らは１７さいだった、
(We were 17)
７３年のメキシコシティーだ
(In Mexico City in '73)
彼らが教室に飛び込んで来るまで
自分は本物だと思っていた
(I thought that I was an academic)
When the two of them burst in and cut my lecture to ribbons)
文学仲間の家を点々として
あぶくのような日々を過ごした
(We barely existed as we drifted between the houses of those literary kids)
スペインへ帰らなければ
僕らは年を取らずに済む
(And we will not grow old here if you don't go back to Spain)
次の二十年も探し続ける
この街に名前を残そう
(Spend the next two decades wandering, wandering,
don't let this city forget your name)
全てを打ち明けあった彼らは
今じゃつまらない人生を送っているんだ
(The kids that we spilled out the ink in our veins with have gotten engaged and make minimum wages)
いつまでも語り合った数えきれない夜
恋しく思うんだ
(Well I dearly miss the endless conversations
in the nights when we'd tell ourselves we wouldn't see daylight)
さあ行こう北の国境を目指して
(So we'll drive up to the north part of the country near the border)
伝説の詩人を探して
(To find a lost poet that we aren't sure ever existed anymore)
なにもない砂漠の真ん中で
窓の外をぼんやり眺める
(While staring blankly through the windshield at the desert)
過去の世界の入り口で
(As if looking through a door)
血にまみれたメキシコの文学が
征服者の血をひくこどもの手に渡る
(I see the mixed race children of conquistadors reaching out to grasp the bloody manuscript of Mexican literature)
戦争の中で生まれた芸術と
ペンと剣術を持って死ぬことはある
(Well I might die by the pen and the sword and the art forged in the war)
僕は忘れない
(And I will not forget)
野生の探偵がこの街は
僕らのものだと言ったことを
(The first time these two savage detectives showed me the city was ours)
詩の世界に生き続けろう
(And that we could live in the world of our poems)
credits
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UT Kirin Austin, Texas
Bedroom indie rock project of one HR Huber-Rodriguez.
storiesbybitterblossom.wordpress.com
reviewsbybitterblossom.wordpress.com
berkeleybside.com/author/h-r/
... more
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