Monday 28 February 2011

Five Hongkongese days

Five days in the fourth most densely populated city in the world. That was quite something.

Old, interesting parts, tangled history, and a strong foot in the door of modernity.

Here is Hong Kong.

Just For Fun

On rigole pas chez Raju.

Adam et Eve ?

Le "may" ici s'adresse bien entendu au plus timides d'entre nous. Un rien pervers, voire traumatique pour les poissons. Ils ont dû en voir des vertes et des pas mûres.

The Funny Side of Hong Kong

Because we all can do with a laugh now and then, or even a smile.

When culture is different but sort of the same...

Here is my funny side of Hong Kong.

Sunday 27 February 2011

Venezia

 
Là-bas, j'étais à ma place.
Je m'y sentais bien.
Deux jours de déjà-vu, de déjà-vécu.
Comme si j'y avais habité,
que trente années m'en séparaient
et que je redécouvrais la ville.

Je l'ai belle et bien redécouverte pour la première fois.

Là-bas, ça sentait l'eau et le repos.
Ça sentait le basilic et la sieste.

Ça sentait le destin à plein nez.

J'y ai senti les lignes naître, les histoires se tramer.
Mes histoires autant que mon histoire.

Je reconnaissais les rues sans les avoir
jamais vues, jamais foulées, jamais senties.

Déambulant dans ses venelles,
la ville s'offrait à moi, et moi à elle.

Il y a quelque chose de formidable à vivre sur une lagune,
sur des pilotis qui ont tout de la fortune.

Du bout des doigts j'ai touché ses pierres, ses murs,
ses églises, ses maisons, ses palazzi,
effleuré ses lierres, ses marbres, ses bastings,
ses campi et campielli, ses fissures,
foulé ses ponti.

                         J'ai observé ses habitants
et j'ai senti sourdre la vie de l'acqua alta,

J'ai vu les aurores du monde se lever
et ses crépuscules mourir dans sa lagune.

Parfois on sent la ville trembler,
comme si derrière ses murs d'eau
une bocca di leone grondait,
un murmure, un complot –
Alors que la ville semble somnoler dans la torpeur.

L'espoir a bâti cette cité.
Il la maintient à la surface des flots.
Sur des madriers de chêne il s'attelle
soudain à fonder la mienne.

Cent et mille pieux plantés dans les chairs alluvionnes,
chaque arbre mort pour ériger la nécessité humaine –
Mais un spectacle et une prouesse sans pareil –
La cité au rang d'art –
La Sérénissime –
Dort et ne dort pas.


Il faut quelque chose de plus pour être vénitien,

quelque chose d'adamant comme ses pilotis pétrifiés
de louvoyant, de méandreux, de souple.


Ici la beauté des églises, là l'arrogance des masques.
Moins haute qu'altière, elle sait rester humble sous le regard de Dieu
et payer son tribut à la mer.



Deux jours d'un pressentiment indéfinissable.

Comme si la Venise du dessous était miroitée par celle du dessus,
comme si elle invitait à se mesurer à elle, à percer ses secrets
comme si chacune de ses églises abritait une relique capable de changer la face du monde
comme si dans chacune des fresques dans chacune de ses églises couvait un symbole à décrypter
comme si chaque carreau de mosaïque sur chacune de ses fresques dissimulait un mécanisme de porte
comme si chaque porte dérobé ouvrait sur un escalier s'enfonçant dans les profondeurs, de l'autre côté du miroir de l'eau,
comme si chacune des profondeurs vénitiennes recélait une réponse
comme si la ville entière était contenue dans chacun des atomes de ses pierres,
comme si la vie prenait sa source, là-bas.
 

Tuesday 22 February 2011

Lost and Found

 
I found out the other day while making my way to work by bus, that no two people are alike and that 'us' is at best overrated, at worse is dull. Yet 'us' remains celebrated. Worldwide. Every day, every hour, on every side, for the common good, for the common benefit, because we all should, and do (and see fit to), love our neighbour.

I found out the other night that cats walking backwards can be caught in full flight without sending them gravewards.

I found out the other man that snarling at people, and grinning, are common activities among the living just because my flyers were open.

I found out the other window that the supply of darkness is endless, coming with the certainty of evidence and the unreasonable attraction to glow.

I found out the other life that no one can endure eating too much manure, unless he doesn't want a wife.

I found out the other millisecond that one can believe in Man as long as he can take a hearty bite of the reality cake.

I found out the other Conrad that a nice, big, fat wad of cash may help catch the long-awaited rivets, but unexpected wavelets on rivulets may mean more than just a catspaw – problematic jaws might result in unwittingly, more than unwillingly, hanging together.

I found out the other conference that yes, 'us' only exist insofar as 'us' hang together, and dress in the same grandiloquent manner.

I found out the other cosmos that in the absolute necessity of silence – in fact our left-out, superseded osmosis – from which we yack away at the speed of light – by hacking at a keyboard and glaring at a computer, communicating without talking, feeling without sharing – we bandy hollowed-out words and miss the sentence.

I find out the other thought that in our widest spectrum of expectations we might stumble on the Panacea, or a vial of Immortality serum – subsequently mimicking a Cro-magnon who, having found a lighter, drops his flints and breaks into a dance.

I found out the other date that we are, everyone, all together, altogether, alone, eagerly waiting for the day we will say – and think – and be – “us”.

Friday 18 February 2011

You Willing

 
I will put my hands away, if you want me to.
I will tear my love away, if you ask me to.

I will walk away from God,
                                          I will exile myself in a desert,
                                                                                      if this is your wish.
I will.

                                  I will also stop looking at you,
if you want me to.

If you want
I can make a fool of myself.
I can degrade myself
If you want.

As if you were the only reality, the only way out, the only good thing in this world, the only person to die for, to pray to, to love. To listen to. To admire. To follow.


If you want me to sleep with another girl,
                                                              a friend perhaps,
                                                                                        I will. Just because you want me to,
Not because I love her.
Because I don't.

If you love the idea of me wooing her,
If you fancy the idea of me talking dirty to her,
I will .

If
 you
    want
        me
           to
            dance
                or
                  kiss
                     her
                        behind
                            her
                               ear
                                  or
                                    say
                                        the
                                           words
                                               I've
                                                   never
                                                      said
                                                         to
                                                            you
                                                                or
                                                                  write
                                                                      her
                                                                         the
                                                                            poem
                                                                                I
                                                                                dreamt
                                                                                    you'd
                                                                                      read
                                                                                         in
                                                                                           me,
                                                                                               I
                                                                                                will.

I guess I'll never do the same to you.


Even though at times I might think, at the darkest hour at night, that I hate you more than I hate anything in the world, I know, back where my guts twist and churn at the very thought of you, that I am wrong. I know that this is love. However deranged, however sick, however mad or absurd people may call it. I just wish they could feel as much love as I feel for you.


If you want me to marry someone else,


if you want me to unthink of you,
if you demand that I stop remembering you,
if you command me to forget your shining smile,
to scratch from my memory the etching of your perfume
or to rub off your brushing hair embedded in the pit of my stomach,

All I can say is: “I'll try”.

But I cannot promise any of these.

And the hours passing so slowly                                                 when you're not here
                                                   and
                                                          I must                              stop loving you
                                                                     let you                                        be
                                                                                 go.                       live.    love.                         forgive.
 

Wednesday 2 February 2011

Malaysia - Week 1

First week in Malaysia. First week in this country which fascinated Joseph Conrad up to the point of writing one of his best novels, and probably one of the best of the last century.

As you know, I have come of my own free will – some have tried to persuade me not to, others have warned me – most of you have encouraged me. I have already written this: to leave is no mean business. I have waited for this moment for so long, and waiting these past few weeks was really painful at times. How many times have I imagined myself in such or such situation, in this country I re-discover. I found out that living here is another story. I have to struggle. Struggle against a good ole cold from out of the French blue, which the air-con chill and the sizzling outside heat nurtures patiently. Struggle hard against sleep which comes only if I coax it for a long time. Struggle hard just to get that darn interview. I cannot unveil anything concerning my “work” for now, as I am officially unofficial, as nothing has been done concerning my application and I don't want to jeopardise anything, nor promise anything. But rest assured that I will give you ample information in good time. Let it be known that I am already toiling and grinning under the yoke for which I came – aka the Paul Bocuse Institute – even if nothing is official – I cannot stay put, like having two feet in the same tong. First, I don't know if you have ever tried, but this really makes walking uncomfortable – even dangerous – and second I cannot picture myself wearing anything else than flip-flops in this weather – outside working that is. God I like the sound of this footwear, which sound has onomatopoeitically given their name: flip-flops.

Flip-flop, flip-flop, flip-flop. Sole banging against the heel when the foot leaves the ground.

So it is Saturday now, a week to the day after this uneventful landing, this uneventful flight more generally, in the Malaysian capital city. Picked up on Sunday by my friend Yeow Wei at the college residence where he had nicely booked a suite – and I insist on the term 'suite'. Since then, I am more guided than mollycoddled, helped rather than assisted. Afer all, I'm a big boy. All in all it is not easy to share one's life (I “work” in the same university and I live at his place) for an undetermined period of time. A subtle mix of autonomy and being taken care of. Anyway, back to our flip-flops.

So I flip-flopped in a patch of primeval forest right behind the flat, some kind of park, except that in this park the monkeys, parrots, rubber trees, snakes and God knows what that is slithery, hairy and slimy are in their natural habitat you are disturbing them. You really feel the impression of taking a path, literally. Monkeys only get out of the way because they know that the sole of your flip-flops is not edible – hence unworthy of their attention. I cannot resist the temptation of sharing once more this picture which I took last February – the first time I came here (sounds like a long time ago) – of a monkey on the rope bridge on top of the park.

Amongst other nocturnal flip-floppations, I walked around the block. I have discovered restaurants opened 24/7, markets that end at 11 at night just to start all over again at 5 in the morning, a human activity which is comparable to that of nature. It's bustling, it's swarming, moving. It buzzes about independently from the weather. Just have a look at the size of the trees: the branches are the size of an oak. The banyans root their network of aerial branches deep in the ground, which reappear above the ground a few meters away. Yesterday's shoot has reached adult size in a few months' time. Everything grows at an incredible speed – yet I haven't seen a single drop of rain until now. I know full well that rain will come, our regular “shower” will be drowned into insignificance, will just look like water from the can. But a storm is brewing. Those who keep a lazy eye on the blog know that the last storm dates just a few days' back.

I wrote “days”, but they tend to stretch on end – perhaps the time zone is to blame, or jetlag, or the fact that my nights are as short as a day without eating is long. I have been here a week and I already have the impression of having been here for ages, to know it and yet to discover a new aspect every time I move to the other side of the road, to inhabit this place while still being a stranger to its language (yeah, I know, I inhabit a language, but you'll sure approve it's better than to inhabit the space between two toes). I know that I have to let time take its course.

So to pass it, it being time, I chat with my new colleagues, who really are nice people, who are as warm as the weather, as generous as the stalls in their markets, as smiling as their sun. I discover so many new things that every time I went to bed a wiser man – well, “went to bed” is a big word nowadays. I wish I could take some flip-flop time with them, in a less formal surrounding.

Yesterday evening, on Friday, a Baroque concert was conjointly organised by the Mexican Embassy and the university. Many Ambassadors were present : of course the Mexican Ambassador, the Spanish one, the ones from Peru and Japan, the director of the Cervantes Institute and so on and so forth. Will you believe that there was no – not even one - Ferrero Rocher ©! Not to say that there was no one to spoil us: there were more ambassadors per square feet than musicians (not that they were bad, far from it: they did a rather fine performance of Couperin on the harpsichord, and an audacious flute adaptation of Bach), yet not a single one of these tasty titbits in sight...ergo, not a a real evening at the Ambassador's. Yet the evening was a good one: really nice dinner with a Hollywood actor (Edward Olmos: he used to play Lieutenant Castillo in Miami Vice and Detective Gaff in Blade Runner), the musicians, the president and CEO of the university (which helped organise the event and which has set up a brand new program with the production firm of Olmos). Without any Ambassador this time.

So here's what my first week looked like, in brief. I didn't mention eating too many yummy things for lunch for less than two euros, the evenings and nights listening to the sounds of the city and of the forest behind my friend Yeow Wei's flat, the muezzin chanting at five in the morning, calling the faithful to prayers, the sound of flip-flops which is so different from the other sounds – because I was between waking and sleeping – at four in the morning, going to eat a roti telur because neither of us could sleep. I didn't say “rôti”! A roti is a sort of naan (indian loaf of bread) but the flour is different – atta flour is used, I don't know yet what atta is – telur means 'egg' in Malay. Editor's note: roti is indian, roti canai is Malay. Same bread, but different name – same with many things here! I'll keep the roti (canai) Channa for next week!

I forgot to mention that I think a lot about some of you guys, and that only the time difference and my next mobile phone bill (never in my life have I paid such a price for a text message!) prevent me from giving you news individually, as I wish I could...

The fact remains that those who wish to see me, or simply see this part of the world, will have to be patient for a little longer...I should normally” become an “official” lecturer on Monday afternoon, with a status and more importantly one or more definite positions.

From Malaysia, with love. Warm wishes in these dark and cold times in France. See you soon via the blog. Do not hesitate to send news via email, carrier pigeon, Skype (not smoke signals please, the line between France and here is a bit busy)...anyway, any medium new technologies may offer.

Selamat tinggal!


Translator's note: it's 1:40 am. If you can see mistakes, then you're either far more awake than I am now, or it's morning to you, or it's the next day...I'll correct tomorrow, can't be arsed right now.
 

Malaisie - Semaine 7

Pas de Semaine 7 pour le moment...désolé !

No Week 7 for the moment...apologies.

Lichen

The blind woman next to me fidgeting in her seat visibly uneasy brushed my arm as if in need of help with her train ticket but she tricked ...