Olen totta
ihmisistä riippumatta.
Tämä on vapautta.
Yksinäisyys on epäily,
onko se totta.
Juoksen kohti ja päin kulmia,
en pääse mihinkään,
ei elämässä ole karttapinniä.
Käännyn sängynkulmalta etelään,
eksyn tikkausten verkostoihin,
säännöllisen ruutukaavan käsittämättömyyteen;
voisin olla missä vain.
En ole. Likistelen tyynyäsi,
kun siinä vielä on tuoksusi.
Dante is being abusive here, and the narrator does recognize it, yet cannot resist anymore. By now he’s distressed by hell and the realization that he is also guilty of wrongdoing by association and by ignorance, feeling responsible for all the evils of the world.
Surely Dante’s being unfair, and his reasoning is unsound. He berates the pilgrim for wanting some solace, equating such a wish for wanting to take drugs. And he blames the pilgrim for wanting to make him a kind of drug peddler when in fact he has much more noble things in mind. Even if intellectual, poetic or religious pursuits are just as much illusions as chasing dragons in drug-fuelled haze, he states it is still more noble to dedicate your life to scriptures and arts.
It doesn’t sound very convincing, and the pilgrim is starting to question his stance, if not his authority. As much as the pilgrim loves Dante, he’s also suffered enough by now to be afraid of angering him further. In the end the narrator does manage to say that he’s already broken and cannot stand his abuse, and Dante does apologize. Yet for the first time cracks are showing in their relationship, some permanent difference in worldview. Dante’s faith in what he pursued is absolute, whereas the pilgrim comes from a modern world which is much more about questioning our values and morals, whatever they are.
Etsin turhaan ehtoonnurkat,
hamusin hämärän huulta,
kuutamolle kuiskuttelin,
metsään murheeni mekastin:
missä lienee lemmittyni,
minne muiskuni asetan,
kuinka kutsuu kättä kylki,
kenen kuohuissa kukoistan?
Kangas kopsui koiven alla,
mustikkamätäs mutisi:
“Tuli tänne täpläsilmä,
vaniljanivel vaelsit
olallasi oljen tuoksu,
katseessa kukat kanelin,
haaveheilan heijastumat,
värit viljavan vapauden.
Katso kaarna kauneimmaksi,
parhaaksi puhu petäjä,
ihastellen iltatuulta
tunne sormissa sipaisu;
koskettele kortteen vartta,
hipaise havuun helähdys,
löydä leppä leikkisämpi,
oksan huojunta hupaisa.
Kun on kaikki kiiltäväistä,
hehkut itsekin ilosta,
korpi tehty kukkivaksi,
armo astelee aholla.
Kysy sitten sienen päältä,
huikkaa heltoilta haperon,
alta rouskun arvuuttele,
missä armaasi asunto.”
Liu’uin lehdon laitamille,
kuljin koivikkokujilla,
imarretta ihmettelin,
tutkin tuhkelon tomua.
Yllä tähdet tepsuttivat,
ilta aamua odotti,
joka notkoon jolkotellen
valo virkeä vilahti.
Raikui rotko rakkaudesta,
kolisten kivi kihersi,
runon lausui ruusukvartsi,
liuske luikautti sonetin.
Rämeeltäkin raikas reitti
kulki kumpujen ohitse
kohti kaipuun kasvimaata,
luhtakerttusen lupausta.
Eipä mieltä möykytellyt
enää kylmyyden kysymys
eikä korvan kirvellystä
huone hiljainen lisännyt.
Silloin siirtyi illan siinto,
värähti kesän väsymys,
kiintyi ehtoon ensikatse,
osui onneni ovelle.
Valoon astuin vastatusten,
tassun tarjolle ojensin,
suloiset kuin aamusuukot
silmät sielua sukivat.
Kätellessä kääntyi kukka,
kirjopillike pimahti,
sinuun saavuin soiden kautta,
sinuun seestyen sekosin.
18/08/22
Etsit itseäsi kuin auringon rajaa.
Kuinka pitkälle reaktiot ulottuvat,
kuinka pitkälle valo,
sähkömagneettinen kenttä hyräilee,
avaruus taipuu suutelemaan itseään,
pyörimme näkymätöntä rataa eteenpäin,
ja jos kukaan ei sitä osaa laskea,
huudamme: vapaus!
mutta ääni ei kulje tyhjiössä.
20/08/22
Kaikki mikä on,
on yksiössä –
hän asettelee
posliinikissat
siististi riviin –
tänäkin yönä
miljardit tähdet.
20/08/22
Kun pimeässä
lähden luotasi,
katuvalot
ovat väärin.
21/08/22
Halusin kohdata helmikuun hangen,
upottautua hehkuvaan valkeuteen,
lämmön olemukseen,
nähdä taivaalla leijuvan jääpallon,
joka vyöryisi lempeästi kuin katseesi.
Etsin sormieni tärinää, jännitettä
välillä pilven ja multakummun,
huilun ja kultarummun,
aukeavan napin odotusta.
Lauloin kiihkeästi vailla sanoja tai ääntä,
vain ihoni väreili,
lepatin paikallani kuin hurjistunut lippu,
trooppinen myrsky keskellä talvea,
taivas iskeytyi joka huokoseen, haukoin tuulta,
säkeet putoilivat oksiltaan, sanojen merkitykset
ja sydämen läpätys kaulallasi kuiskauksia,
kahina kutsuna: tule,
vaikka et mitään kuulisi
tässä saapuvien pisaroiden hymnissä,
hanget ja huokaukset, sormien säteet,
kosketa.
Neljä viimeisintä runoa. Avaruus askarruttaa jälleen, kiehtoi jo lapsena. Linnuista ja avaruudesta voi keksiä loputtomiin metaforia. Kaksi keskimmäistä syntyivät, kun heräsin eilen klo 1:45 vain 3,5 tunnin yöunien jälkeen ja säkeitä alkoi tulla päähän. Ei siinä pystynyt nukkumaan, varsinkin kun mietin sanojen asettelua, kokeilin haikumaisempaa lähestymistä (posliinikissarunon jokaisella rivillä on 5 tavua), mietin mitkä välimerkit valitsen sekä yksittäisiä sanoja, jotka muuttavat monitulkintaisuutta tiettyyn suuntaan, eli pohdin mitä symboleita tekstissä voisi nähdä. Seuraava runo oli sitten enemmänkin vain ajatusrykäisy pimeässä, kun mieli alkoi seikkailla omilla poluillaan kohti jotain toteutumatonta.
It’s a pity that this kind of orchestral pop fell out of fashion. Sure, singers still perform with orchestras, but there is something missing. Often they sing covers of hits originally performed in a different genre, making the performance sound like a schmalzier, romanticised version. And nowadays new songs in this style sound the same, as if they were also covers.
Perhaps it’s easier to sound authentic when expressing sadness, but here Aznavour manages splendidly. The strings are booming and swirling, and the horn section blares as if inserting exclamation points between phrases. With these elements the song could easily sound tacky, but to my ear it’s still refreshing. Sadness and despair become a show, a performance, but underneath it all it feels like it is genuine, like the pompousness is just a way to make it more bearable. Wear your heart on your sleeve in such a dramatic fashion that it feels a bit fake, maybe that will ease the pain. And yet it makes it all the more evident. It’s a difficult trick to pull off. I have praised Aznavour’s acting skills before, how he infused the song with emotion in each performance, and here he sells the despair.
The title means “henceforth” or, more simply, “from now on”, and it’s a poetic text about things that won’t be happening anymore, now that the relationship is over. I never realized it before, but this could be a sequel to Brel’s Ne me quitte pas. Brel’s song is intimate and pleading, and the desperation leads to self-sacrifice, willingness to become the “shadow of your shadow, shadow of your hand, shadow of your dog,” if only the lover agreed to stay.
Here the message is different. There is no more pleading, simply all-encompassing sadness that doesn’t let on. In the second verse Aznavour sings “I, who wanted to be your shadow, will be the shadow of myself, my hand separated from your hand,” so that’s the connection to Brel.
In the chorus Aznavour faces what was lost, but the focus is on how the separation is eternal, as the music is at it’s most dramatic when he sings “nevermore” (Jamais plus). The images are simple but fitting in their intimacy. We won’t bite the same fruit, sleep in the same bed, perform the same gesture. And what seems most heartbreaking of all, we won’t feel the same fear of seeing our happiness flee from us. The break-up has been anticipated, but it doesn’t make it less sad. It even feels more tragic because if they’ve both felt the same fear, they’ve tried to hold on to the relationship even while seeing the dark clouds. And then failure and admittance that it was doomed.
Yet, maybe the arrangement suggests strength and defiance. At least compared to Brel’s song which is like all the remaining strength is channelled into the last plea, here the passion of the song shows resilience even while things are looking very dark. Life itself is not over, and while in this song there’s melancholy in the thought that the two people will move on and will be seen with someone else, it feels like a different feeling is around the corner.
It’s not the only time Aznavour expresses this contradictory feeling: the fact that there will be others is simultaneously sad and hopeful. There is no reason to deny that the break-up is sad, and Aznavour often elevates it to describe impermanence as the human condition, full of gentle or dramatic wistfulness, and yet he embraces the idea that he will rise again. Even if there are failures in the future, the drama will continue, new moments of happiness will come. When they go away, we will grieve again, then look up, see another sunrise. Maybe that is what I find especially attractive about these songs, the acceptance of sadness as a part of life, and the ability to go on. There is a time to dwell in what was lost, but as surely as the strings howl and the singer belts “nevermore”, there will be strength to dwell in new moments of happiness.
Tarttui kulmiin kuumehoure,
silmät sirrilleen silitti,
kevätflunssan kastekoura
piskot poskille tiristi.
Lämpö nousi norkkujalla,
alla otsansa kohosi,
paisui aivo autereinen,
pumpuli pujahti päähän.
Huojui oksa onnahdellen,
tonttu akkunan takana,
taikka räksä rääkkynokka
sairaan silmissä väpätti.
Neulasnippu neitosiksi
tanssimaan tuli tuhisten,
musiikiksi muuttui tuuli,
kaarna laulunsa kahisi.
Lakanoilla lötkölanne
tapaili säveltä taiston,
tuska tuikki tumpeloista,
runonlaulaja rykytti.
Roikkui rotta olkapäällä,
leivo luomilla läpytti,
raskaat siivet silmillänsä,
pyrstö sierainta sipaisi.
Teki peipon pötkyläinen
poskionteloon pesänsä,
poikasensa pärskytellen
nykivät ulos nokasta.
Lampun luona lätkyttivät
vilkkaan lempivät lepakot,
varjo voihki valvojalle,
sydäntä vilu väristi.
Hiki hyrskyi huokosista,
virtasi vihan vesistö,
kurkku karvas käärmeenpäästä,
häntä vatsassa vaelsi.
Maistunut ei muikkupaistos,
mädältä mehukin haisi,
soraa, sontaa sieraimissa,
keuhkoputkessa kataja.
Vaan on ollut lohtu läsnä,
lempi lääkkeenä lähellä,
sormet rintaa sipsutellen,
käsi kuumetta kokeillut,
kermakeitto kurpitsainen,
raukalle ravinto tuotu,
iloksensa inkivääri
sekä rohdoksi ripaistu.
Illan tullen tutjuleuka
vaivasta vähän vapisi,
vielä vaipui vierellensä
kumppani kevätesikko.
Mikäs siinä supsutella,
sääret yhdessä sipistä,
mieli aamuun miukuvainen,
uinui kuntohon kehokin.
We’re getting into truly upsetting territory in many ways, and the feelings involved are complex and a bit contradictory. The topics in themselves are unsettling, slavery and how other animals are also mistreated in the name of what some people call just or a natural right.
But then there’s also a growing recognition that the narrator is not an innocent bystander, and that in fact being a bystander makes him guilty as well. It’s easy to pass moral judgment, and yet the guilt remains. How often we are aware of atrocities committed all over the world, yet we keep doing nothing. One can always say that it’s not our responsibility, appealing to lack of a singular moral authority. But then actually witnessing the things that happen it becomes very hard not to feel responsible for the suffering of others. Who can just stand idly by while others are enslaved and slaughtered?
Also, the punishments themselves are becoming so cruel that there’s a growing recognition that this is not right either, no matter what these people did, and the narrator is starting to hate himself for going through this. There’s an ever growing feeling that the narrator is the one who is both the punisher and the one being punished. I rarely state it as directly as here, with the final line about the brander and the face burnt; usually it’s merely implied with the feelings of guilt and the comparisons made to the narrator’s own indiscretions. Often they aren’t even named, but I’m hinting that such things exist.
The first page of the canto in its current form describes a dream of happy times and love. I wrote it as a kind of relief, and it only came into existence in the last round of rewriting when I scrapped the original beginning. In the original I jumped straight into the more theoretical ethical problems and how Dante describes them later in the canto, and I do believe this works better.
As to why it became a dream of love: I may have thought it as a relief, but if I remember correctly, my partner of many years left me the previous week when I was due to rewrite this canto. The scene describes nothing that has actually happened, but there’s a wistful feeling of love lost, gratitude and regret. Impermanence. The sadness I was feeling at the time isn’t fully expressed in the canto, nor would it have been pertinent, but I’m sure the recent break-up affected how the lines turned out. I kept working on the book with a regular schedule, and of course it was already the fourth or fifth version, so usually it didn’t require extensive rewrites. Only now, without a relationship to keep me grounded, I wrote more fiercely, day and night, diving deep into this world which was very upsetting to live in.