"Until some fool comes shouting"

.. Perhaps the old chic was less barren,
More something to be looked forward to, than this
Morning in the orchards under an unclouded sky,
This painful freshness of each thing being exactly itself.








Perhaps all that is wanted is time.
People cover us, they are older
And have lived before. They want no part of us,
Only to be dying, and over with it.
Out of step with all this passing along with them

But living with it deep into the midst of things.
It is civilization that counts, after all, they seem
To be saying, and we are as much a part of it as anybody else
Only we think less about it, even not at all, until some
Fool comes shouting into the forest at nightfall


















John Ashbery
Self-Portrait in a Convex Room
  Voyage in the Blue, stanzas 10-12
ibid.


Johann Sebastian Bach
Sarabande in G
  French Suite Nr. 5, BWV 816
Wilhelm Kempff
op. cit.


i-iii  ciné