Tuesday, 22 November 2011

The Moon and the Yew Tree (Sylvia Plath)

Soms moet je niet denken.
Alles eruit...in één keer, liefst.
Toen ik een week of wat geleden voor het eerst Nic Sebastian haar versie hoorde van 'The Moon and the Yew Tree' van Sylvia Plath, was ik direct verkocht.

The Moon and the Yew Tree
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place.
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to get to.

The moon is no door. It is a face in its own right,
White as a knuckle and terribly upset.
It drags the sea after it like a dark crime; it is quiet
With the O-gape of complete despair. I live here.
Twice on Sunday, the bells startle the sky --
Eight great tongues affirming the Resurrection
At the end, they soberly bong out their names.

The yew tree points up, it has a Gothic shape.
The eyes lift after it and find the moon.
The moon is my mother. She is not sweet like Mary.
Her blue garments unloose small bats and owls.
How I would like to believe in tenderness -
The face of the effigy, gentled by candles,
Bending, on me in particular, its mild eyes.

I have fallen a long way. Clouds are flowering
Blue and mystical over the face of the stars
Inside the church, the saints will all be blue,
Floating on their delicate feet over the cold pews,
Their hands and faces stiff with holiness.
The moon sees nothing of this. She is bald and wild.
And the message of the yew tree is blackness - blackness and silence.

Ik wilde beelden (nietszeggende, alleszeggende) in de mist. 't was dus kwestie van de juiste dag af te wachten.
Gisteren was zo'n dag. Een half uurtje filmen vanop de fiets.

Een track had ik al eerder klaar (met dank aan Mahler), sober maar niet echt opgewekt. Mistig.
In the footsteps of his ending
Het verwerken van het geheel gebeurde werkelijk in één geut. De beelden lieten zich, vanzelf bijna, begeleiden door de muziek. Knippen en plakken was vanzelfsprekend deze keer, vanuit de buik.
Enfin, 't is klaar.

The Moon and the Yew Tree

Woorden: Sylvia Plath
Stem: Nic Sebastian (voor Pizzicati of hosanna)
Concept, camera, montage & muziek: Swoon

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