SOME
LYRICS from
"AFTER ALL, ISN'T TANGO THE DANCE OF THE DRUNK MAN?"
(2006) : This
River may Spring to Life again (Jean Marie
Mathoul ©) So
many things could happen by the river / Very strange things already happened by
the river / Everything suggest it to us / Wicker baskets are floating / Against
the current / Just like dead flowers / Asking forgiveness to our reflections /
So many things could happen by the river / Very terrible things already happened
by the river / A man lost his wife / And a widow lost her sense of humour / The
banks are her witness… / So many things could happen by the river…/
Babies were carried away / There an autumn collapsed behind the clouds / So many
particular thing happen every day by the river / But we are not the janitors of
the river / It is more than we can afford / We are not the beekeepers either /As
we are not the fishermen / Just call us the Nightingales… / Wind on water,
mist on water / But no real tides / Just a gentle breeze… / Wind on water,
mist on water/ But no real tides / Just a gentle breeze…
All
Stories are Love Stories are Sort Stories (Jean
Marie Mathoul ©) All stories are
love stories / even without diamonds or pearls /all love stories are short stories
/ in your eyes, I see me growing old / older & older / in your eyes, I see
me stretching / awaking / anyway, it was such a perfect day, spent outdoor / between
a tide & a ride / between some fun or a run… from
"I SWEAR I SAW GARLIC GROWING UNDER MY FATHER'S STEPS"
(2002) : I
Swear I Saw Garlic Growing under my Father's Steps (Jean
Marie Mathoul ©) Let's wander from
the subject/It's a bit stuffy here/Has anyone seen the body lying on the floor
?/Has anyone seen the wintertime guest/Bowing & scraping to the carrion ?/No
one can tell about that/There is the shadow of a stranger between us/My body is
a map/There is the shadow of a stranger between us/I am standing at the door/I
have no keys/Someone is locked inside/Someone turned off the lights/There is a
bee/And she tastes my honey/No more feast of friends/No more black & white
snapshots/No more feast of friens/No more... no more/I could have been your elder
son, your true Jesus, your naked Coltrane/But let's wander from the subject/Even
the hunchback has a headache/I swear I saw garlic growing under my father's steps/I
was a shadow lying on the lawns/And I swear I was here long before you even learned
to dive/We tried to swing the boat/But realized that we might drown/Both spread
God's tears... Here
we Sailed & Here we Drowned (Jean Marie
Mathoul ©) Still mapping, we explored
the left bank of the river/The present had to be sent by water/A distance of almost
a hundred miles/The currents underneath were like icy reptiles/"We live only
a hour down the river", she said/"A hundred miles then is not a bluff",
she added/We did not like the idea of someone/Telling us how to do our duty/Telling
us which water to cross/Which bones to share with dogs/Which eye to offer to the
blind.../Later in the day, we barred the way/Bearing griefs of all sorts/It was
September 7 before we brought our souls back/The road North was smooth & the
hills faded into the background/One must never ask a priest his name/Or where
he comes from/Just as yesterday we talked about our grand-fathers, the autdoor
miners.../Minor characters, that is what we are/You do not need to ask me.../You
do not need to feed me.../Minor characters, that is what we are... from
"THREE weeks WITH my DOG" (1999) :
(This
is for) Asako's Notebook (Gerard Malanga
©) This is for every photograph you will ever
seen/This is for the resurrection & the life/This is for the golden hour/This
is for the many fields of corn grown higher for the sudden rain, the Berkshire
backroads the Green River/The Country Store/This is for the face in the mirror/This
is for stepping backwards into the mirror. Our
Spy in the House of Love (Jean Marie
Mathoul ©) Our spy hides at night in his
native land/ We know little about him/Is he a male or is she a female ?/Do beasts
flow in his wake ?/I s he made of flesh or is she a mere silhouette lost in the
mist ?/No one can doubt where/His battle is fought/We don't pretend to capture
our spy/We don't even pretend to approach him/We walk to the foot of the stairs/Which
ascend from the hallowed ground/We do not beg pardon/No one can doubt where/Our
battle was fought/Our spy lives under our houses & smells the doubt on our skin/Fallen
leaves, needles/Dead limbs, dry beetles/Even plants protect us from the rain/No
one can doubt where/The battle was fought/Our spy is an answer to most of our
fears/Going underground is/Entering a world of make-believe/The pay isn't as good
as it used to/be But the work is steady/No one there can doubt where/The battle
was fought/Our spy is an answer to all of our questions/Our spy steals into ourselves... from
"FROM DAWN TO DUST & BACKWARDS" (1997)
: Brighter
Than our Morning Sun (Jean Marie Mathoul
©) Someone is your TV guide & I'm just
sittng there/A shoulder, a shelf & a weeping child/Some toys, a doll, perhaps
a photograph/Someone is ringing at the door/There must be a shrine somewhere/Sand
& dust on the ground/A winter, a summer/ A place where nobody stands there/A silence
on the tape, certainly a gap/Steel strings don't sound the same/A table, a chair,
a few words/Three people in an empty room/Three people on the stairs/No one can't
fall the same/There was a plot here/Is there anything emptier/Than the body you
were promised/I learned nothing/Someone is your TV guide & I'm just sittng there/A
shoulder, a shelf & a weeping child/Some toys, a doll, perhaps a photograh/ Who's
living upstairs ? Celebration
(Eugène Savitzkaya ©) Tes
lèvres fines & souples comme les branches du saule, a-t-il osé dire & il le croyait
& elle l'a cru tu es douce ainsi que l'ardoise sèche & polie, a-t-il osé dire
& il le croyait & elle l'a cru tu es forte comme l'anguille qui ne meurt pas décapitée,
a-t-il osé dire & il le croyait & elle l'a cru ta voix est le vent qui retourne
les feuilles & disperse les cendre, a-t-il osé prétendre & il le croyait & elle
l'a cru je te connais comme si je t'avais faite, a-t-il osé prétendre & il le
croyait & elle l'a cru je t'aime plus que tout, a-t-il osé dire & il le croyait
& elle l'a cru je voudrais me baigner dans ton sang, a-t-il osé proféré & il le
voulait & elle l'a cru je t'ai cherchée partout, même en dormant mes yeux scrutaient
le vide, a-t-il osé prétendre & il le croyait & elle l'a cru je t'aime plus que
tout, a-t-il osé dire. from
"ME, MY YOUTH & A BASS DRUM" (1996)
: Red
Man Ray (Paul Buck ©) Already
resigned to clasping authors, inclined/The mysteries of legs entwined with/Declarations
to the chin/Not much more beautiful than this/Between her knees the chin/ That
don't mean tissue was passing/Evening and pliers strung from the little girl/She
accepts, has selected this tasting/Launched again into belladonna/From which assignation
had the miracle/Of sheer alarm attacked/Those of insipid bloodlust/The hurt had
names like Cynthia/& Throats contracted, hands worked at holding/Easels to tempt
lunch/Astride faces/Ravishing, embracing the globes that Feel on the uninhabited
reams/The measure of peaches/The reactivated buttocks into/The photo, a laughing
mannequin/Imitating someone contrary to this posed neck/The cold indecency of
these reams/For disparaging is clothed buttocks/This sense is the mortality of/The
poor scissors, weeping /Into the lace lingerie.
Why
Paul doesn't Sing (Paul Buck ©)
Only a few can endorse such colour lines/An imitation
of the immediate/And frames mask everything/Exactness is difficult to determine
frontiers/While death and you look through the window in the door/To feel you
could contort shadows on the staccato/To escape what would happen if a face modulated
the supple body/Still trying to understand music as an undisputed rebound/Wearing
the velvet hat of the tactile/This way my voice would adjust to hijacked menace/If
I was to turn around/To feel the arousal of death/I would imagine the floor, stare
at the finish/And for those who suffer from pretty perhaps/The end will reveal
too much, related agony/ Unless merely to remind me of the intense rhythm/Scaring
areas of discreet voluptuousness/I calmly open I can let hollows crumble into
dust/She continued to probe her inner torment/And ask without seeing to link mystery
with removal/And that is why Paul doesn't sing. from
"EASTER, NOVEMBER & A YEAR" (1994)
:
May
the Circle Remain Unbroken (Paul
Buck ©) Where she would
take him/Lead him the same way, brutally/The illness of degeneration/
Knowing how to unwind him/Walking as an impudent/Who hasn't
seen her laugh/The box, I want the box/Once the wood had been
knocked/From the infected hand/It rolled and tumbled open/Running
sores flowed from sweet wine/A slice of cold glass/The agony
will always be fear/It's real, the box, I want the box/Once
she was fond of painting/Set out for great madness/Escaping
as a sigh from the horizon/ A silent bird watching a figure/Walking
beneath the warm palms/Where leather felt like dark velvet/I
ate less, the box, I want the box/She circles the box biting
into everything/Jostling others who run up the steps/She stands
before him bleeding/Don't you dare, try denial/Above all fear,
and then the hand/It was there, and steaming hot/Stop, I must
think, empty the box/Behind a box of memories/And imposing
exhaustion/Restraint came as a sore loser/Pressed beneath
a very hot lust/That glowed in the alley/Within the box that
turned/The box, I want the box.
The
Bag (Paul Buck ©) She
moved close to him across the circle/It don't mean there's a girl in tow he said/The
party, the invitation she said/I hate to have to say bring somebody/It's pretty
hectic as things are/Stay away from her and yet/I know he wants us to be/Even
dry as dust again/Over again and burn it to the ground/Help, get hold of this/His
hands gripped her tighter/Didn't they, didn't they/ They thought they'd be fine/Can
always say/I'm fed up/But he said, you know he said/You sweat/How would you like
the bag/You gonna avoid every man who ever sighed/She stood on the steps and watched/I
knew some of them had carried the bag. from
"THIRD & LAST IMITATION OF CHRIST" (1992) : Walking
Uphill Sideways (Paul Buck
©) Just because the room was beneath/And talk
about thirst mildewed/You go beyond the limits/Her sigh a mask undressed/A violence
that went to truth/And poured In the delicate stomach of my nervousness /You took
a step forward put our your hand/Allow me to matter like a real lament/Alone with
restless eyes/Longing to be sincere/Left among the branches of a pine/Against
my determination/My heart has never been/More than a prayer in a shrine/In the
delicate stomach of my nervousness/You took a step forward put out your hand/Allow
me to matter like a real lament/Without dreaming of a love/The curtain strains/Veils
that swarm with meaning/Don't want that body decay/An adventure in the darkness/Between
two fingers/In the delicate stomach of my nervousness/You took a step forward
put out your hand/Allow me to matter like a real lament/Another drop then a third/Leave
all this /Downhill would be so much simpler. When
Love Lies Bleeding (Paul Buck
©) When love lies bleeding/Dealing with jealousy/Stretched
waist down through/Another night in this house/A knife gathers in paradise/Scenes
of sun on their backs/Shallow water salt as chain poured in where laughter packed/Within
nerves that begin to turn/Slap the room against a door/When love lies bleeding/Dealing
with jealousy/Thrown back across her face/As if stomachs leak some more/Inside
the spectrum of prejudice/Shave this love away too small/When love lies bleeding/Dealing
with jealousy. from
"B-SIDES ARE FOR LOVERS" (1985) : He
Stands Alone; He Waits ! (Paul Buck
©) She was going she said / and climbed into the
car / it was really late / his desire withered / he stands alone / he waits /
some photos still existed / torn from outside the cinema / a compass vibrated
/ in the depths of the box / he stands alone / he waits / after she died / he
never spoke / he stands alone he waits / i do not reply / do not hear the laughter
/ he stands alone / he waits. Mail-Art/The
Last Sequences
(Paul Buck ©) Much
later i heard pictures that terrified me / nostalgia too / her playfulness dazzled
me / i had forgotten about nervousness / we took an idea like pleasure / i surrendered
my aversion / my mouth worked at the temptation / she flowed between my hands
/ time passed / unhappiness was not to be spoiled / she often left the room /
the more intense the more my heart moves / that’s what i told her / i must
further our pleasures / she might have discerned hatred / appreciate my courage
and crave for me / she brought me whisky / i held her / my impulse was to whiten
disappointment / she had to interrupt my game / you mustn’t suppose i’m
not deep / so great we were doomed / fantasy was ready to dispossess her / she
had invited me there / she became uncertain and less demanding / gave me incisions
through jugs of revulsion / my mood changed / i was waiting for her passion carelessly
/ it was misplaced in her bag / this time she opened up all the heartbreak / her
bandage was to be changed / so how did i survive / i dreaded the forbidden nights
/ she made me remove my torn clothes / rain splashed at the leaking windows /
we were soaked / we crossed to the pleasure gardens / went towards the bed pulled
out a drawer / what are you reading / i read what she had to say / Everything
and nothing walked through the haze / desire was abandoned with the bedside pills
/ her lies were choking beneath our love / i aimed my hatred onto a roof / i let
her slip / before smashing mirrors around the room / she collapsed into a running
bath / a daily taste grew on my cheeks / tears climbing over walls / it’s
for your health / spent with the dollars / her smile frothed in dementia / pushed
through a breast crudely / don’t hate me / we could be two lovers / without
any possessive pleasure / we meet on the stairs / where persuasion is normally
placid / sweat breaks from my body / so weak i can hardly move / fingers tighten
around the cramped floor / in her purse she finds my feelings / she licked the
flap / handed it back / sealing it.
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