Paper Thin

Shied from is intensity
Along with confrontation.
Mindless light agreements
Accepted right on cue.

Make it easy, make it quick,
Signs of passion, give the flick.
Frowned upon if you think this wrong,
Opinions 'far too strong'.

How weak can people get
That they no longer speak their mind,
Ideas they might have had are lost
Ardour you'll rarely find.

If we are here on Earth for long,
How shall small talk suffice?
Indifference and disinterest reign
This life cannot entice.

The Day

Second day into this holiday and recapturing the old, spontaneous routine of uni past.

Awoke with more glug than usual for this early bird, but after a frantic dash into the freshly wet morning to feed my whining Rusty, I found within me some motivation to honour the holiday promise of a run each morning, which admittedly had me charged with adrenaline and fizzy spirit to get on with the Tuesday. As if it were meant to be, the sun shone for the entire jog, albeit in my eyes at times, and soon I was back home and contemplating an entire day to do with what I wished.

Coffee, shower, coffee, early lunch, time to make use of my Student Film Buff Discount Card! There happened to be a dangerously high number of incredibly good-looking films showing, but settled on the midday session of 'Afternoons With Margeuritte' (La tete en friche). What a beautiful, sentimental, genuinely funny film starring Gerard Depardieu as the loving, simple, uncultured Germain who meets 95yo Margueritte on a park bench and rediscovers the joys of reading and learning, late into his fifties after a lifetime of being shunned as an idiot. Always love French films for their honest, human cinematography; no shinyplasticsuperbabes, no supersonicultraexplosions. Just real people, vividly natural colour palette, expressive, realistic acting. J'adore! Was also lovely to sit in the cinema surrounded by elderly citizens who seemed to like that a young'un had come to see a film about old people.

Since it was still early in the afternoon, and with time to kill, I hopped on a train to a certain Prahran Library on a certain Greville St. Squeezing through the swarm of easter-egg-painting children at the entrance, I headed to the back where I hoped to find some quirky magazines not stocked at the local where I work. Disappointed that this hipster suburb had less variety than back home (read proud of our superior range), I settled on an issue of Vanity Fair featuring a candid Gaga interview. Suitably candid, the film reviews section was the next to catch my eye.

They were reviewing some of the sexy films from my morning research! My mind was made up, and I figured today was designed to be a film-viewing one, and onto the train I again hopped, this time to Carlton to see 'Howl', the part obscenity trial, part interview style, part surreal animation of Allen Ginsberg and his poem of the same name that arguably made famous the Beat Generation. James Franco as Ginsberg was impressive, having studied his vocal intonations, flamboyant hand flourishes, posture and reading style, to portray an eccentric, passionate, highly pervable young gay writer of the 50s! Having heard of and wiki'd the shit out of the Beat movement on rainy days past, this film touched on so much more, and featured Franco's rendition of 'the Six Gallery reading', and what a poem. I love it when art prompts you to look up a back catalogue and work your way through, be it authors, directors, genres, choreographers. So much of what was said and felt and done 60 years ago is still eerily pertinent. Except that sometimes it feels like the current generation relives the past like a phase, trend or passing obsession, donning the garb but not living the life. But that's for another time..

So as I come to the end of this entry, I come to the end of this day, which unexpectedly turned into a refreshingly unplanned, entirely solitary, highly stimulating day that I am so glad to have experienced. Two really great, thought provoking, visually stunning films, each for different reasons, lots of great coffwah and much needed trekking.

Voila, merci a l'univers!

La Danseuse

Aidan Martin 2012

Je veux que mes éléves portent en classe leurs justaucorps.
Je veux que mes éléves rentrent chez lui pour pratiquer.
Je veux entrer la salle de trouver mes éléves en train de s'échauffer.
Je veux que mes éléves demandent beaucoup de questions.
Je veux que mes éléves sont en nage à la fin de la classe.

Mes éléves veulent danser dans une école 'amusante', pas 'serieuse'.
Je me demande pourquoi elles pensent que l'école serieuse ne soit pas amusante.
Les années d'entrainement rigoreuse en danse étaient les plus amusantes dans ma vie.

Nous trouvions notre plaisir d'arriver au bon moment du routine,
apres avoir fait faire à l'exercise de timing pendant une demi-heure.
Nous aimions rentrer chez nous, bien épuisé, les muscles douloureux,
avec la connaissance d'être danseuses.
Une personne rare, une mystere physique, mentale et créative.

Mes éléves dansent, mais elles ne seront jamais danseuses.

I want my students to wear their leotards to class.
I want my students to go home and practice.
I want to walk in and find my students stretching.
I want my students to ask lots of questions.
I want my students to be dripping with sweat at the end of class.

My students want to dance at a 'fun' school, not a 'serious' one.
I ask myself, since when was a serious school not a fun one?
The years of rigorous training were the most fun-filled of my life.

We found pleasure in getting the timing right,
Having drilled it for half an hour.
We like to get home exhausted, muscles aching,
with the knowledge that we were dancers.
A rare being, a physical, mental and creative mystery.

My students dance, but they will never be dancers.

La Vieillesse

Elle nageait doucement et aspirait la propre air, qui n'avait pas été touché par les polluants chimiques des grandes villes. La vieillesse, tout rouge vif et furieux, brillait beaucoup plus clairement sans la présence du brouillard. L'atmosphere la calmait, et bientôt un gros nombre d'etoiles ont régné le ciel. Elle a décidé de rester dans le lac, car elle n'avait pas d'obligations lá-haut, à la ferme. C'était sa retraite, son endroit pour se détendre, loin des responsabilités de sa propre vie.

Pendant son enfance, la ferme avait été une grande source de plaisir. Elle aidait son grand-pére à donner à manger les moutons, se roulait l'engin et faisait du ski nautique au lac. Chaque minute s'est rempli avec les rigolades et son petit corps était épuisé au fin du vacance.

Cependant dans sa jeunesse, quand même elle aidait autour de la ferme, elle est venue surtout pour loger et savourer l'hospitalité de ses grand-parents lorsque elle avait besoin de soulager sa tension. L'ironie, c'était que chez elle, engouffré par l'inquietude, elle n'appreciait pas les appels de lui, mais aussi tôt qu'elle est passé quelques jours avec eux, leurs caractères ne l'enérvaient plus. Tout était bien, et ses rêves representaient la petite brise du soir....

She swam slowly and breathed in the fresh air, untouched by the chemical fumes of the city.
The sunset, bright red and furious, shone more clearly without the presence of smog. The atmosphere calmed her, and pretty soon the numerous stars ruled the sky. She decided to stay in the lake, for she had no obligations here on the farm. This was her retreat, her place of relaxation, far from the responsibilities of everyday life.

During her childhood, the farm had been a sorce of great pleasure. She helped her grandfather feed the sheep, drove the ute and water-skiied. Every minute was filled with excitement and her little body was exhausted by the end of the holidays.

However in her adolescence, though she still helped around the farm, she came mostly to stay and savour the hospitality of her grandparents when she needed to relieve tension. Ironically, when at home and engulfed in stress, she dreaded their phonecalls. But as soon as she was up at the farm, spending whole days with them, their characters no longer annoyed her. Everything was well and she dreamt of light evening breeze.....

Image par Erin Fischer - 2008

Cher météo, ce que tu envies, c'est quoi??

Ah, Melbourne. Tu portes le mode d'une vioque, tu bois le vin bas d'une jeune, tu gardes des métiers nombreuses avec l'efficacité d'un homme à la fleur de l'âge, et tu l'as tout reussis pendant ton enfance. Ton identité n'est pas tres bien decidé, pourtant cet embrouillamini peut-etre te définit.

Ce que nous te connaissons, en ayant les relations amoreux et haineux les deux, c'est ta météo. Nous repetons la phrase "La ville de tous les saisons quotidienne", mais en fait ce n'est pas vrai. La verité, ce soit que tu detestes l'idée de telles limitations. "Pourquoi ne pourrais-je pas faire pleuvoir au coeur de l'étè? Le lundi soir au 'Bar Publique' en nord, les pichets coutaient seulement $4.50! J'en ai bu trois, comment suggerez-vous de me bien contenir l'aprés jour?? Je résiste moins que Sydney ces jours-ci, vous vous en rendez compte, mais n'en parlez pas!"

Ainsi, en vrai 'jeune', Melbourne ne fréquentera pas la plage cette semaine. Diagnostic; gueule de bois. Solution; un tas d'eau......

Ah, Melbourne. You dress like a granny, drink like a youth, hold down several jobs with the efficiency of a man in his prime, and have done all this whilst still in your infancy. Your identity is somewhat undecided, but this muddle is perhaps what defines you.

What we do know, and have a love-hate relationship with, is your weather. We repeat the phrase "The city with four seasons in one day", but in fact this is false. The truth is that you detest such limitations. "Why not rain in the middle of Summer? Monday nights at Public Bar, Nth Melbourne, the jugs are only $4.50! I drank three, so how do you expect me to contain myself the day after?? I don't hold my drinks as well as Sydney these days, you know, but don't let that get around!"

Alas, in true youthfulness, Melbourne will not be at the beach this week.
Diagnosis: hangover. Solution: Lots of water.....