You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain;
I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care.
As the peach-blossom flows down stream and is gone into the unknown,
I have a world apart that is not among men.
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams
William Butler Yeats
De Gaaper makes me feel like I am on a holiday. This morning, wonderful weather, at 8 am I had my breakfast on the terrace of the hotel. The air was lovely, fresh and my view was one of a empty square and a huge beautiful church. As soon as I can borrow someone’s digital camera I will make a picture of this church. Plain beautiful.
I am reading the novel “Jazz” by Jules Deelder. I just love jazz, like Deelder and to read and feel his passion for jazz is marvellous. The introduction of his story is as follows (I translated the text by myself so excuses if it’s a bit crappy) :
“Jazz is. Jazz lives. Happens. Moves. Jazz takes. Jazz gives. Jazz knows. Jazz speaks. Jazz does. Jazz lets. Jazz comes. Jazz goes. Unique. Music. Of flesh and blood. Jazz dares. Jazz wins. Is ground-breaking. Enlightens. Innovates. Rejuvenates. Jazz blazes. Jazz sparkles. Jazz burns. Jazz hammers. Jazz stands. Jazz falls. Is everywhere. Touches. Warms up. Grabs you by the throat. Jazz crackles. Pops. Unchains. Prevails. Jazz heals. Jazz purifies. Body. Mind. Jazz swings. Jazz fights. Is true. Is real. No idle yell. No empty gesture. Jazz works. Reinforces. Disarms. Shows. Jazz quenches. Jazz pays. Is water. Bread. Jazz laughs. Jazz cries. Jazz in. Jazz out. Uncovers. Provokes. Jazz boils. Jazz bubbles. Jazz soothes. Jazz bites. Jazz bleeds. Doesn’t give a fuck. Is black. Is white. Is red. Not grey. Jazz curses. Jazz must. Conciliates. Seeks. Jazz finds. Jazz points out. Jazz shocks. Jazz demands. Jazz high. Jazz low. Jazz before. Jazz after. Jazz smokes. Jazz hunts. Is its own master. Unifies. Settles. Impassions. Rages. Liberates. Justifies. Comprehends. Intoxicates. Jazz spreads. Jazz encloses. Inspires. Enriches. Gives hope. Charms. Glitters. Jazz flashes. Jazz dances. Heats. Whips up. Loves. Seduces. Jazz calls. Jazz feels. Jazz grows. Jazz blooms. Jazz radiates. Jazz fulfills. Enchants. Lusts after. Jazz inhales. Perspires. Jazz whispers. Screams. Exposes. Cuts. Jazz slips. Jazz injects. Jazz nails. Jazz obliges. Jazz flirts. Jazz glimmers. Jazz asks. Jazz hits. Redeems. Surprises. Celebrates. Clarifies. Is bitter. Sweet. Is hot. Is cool. Jazz raves. Gets going. Passes by. Far away. Nearby. Alert. Willing. On the road. Always. Jazz was. Jazz is. Jazz stays.”
Chet Baker (1929 – 1988)
I predict that only the true jazz lover has read every single word of that introduction with care and attention and understanding of its meanings. Are you one?
At night, my mind wanders
Far off, further along
In search of anything
Of you, what used to be
Has dissolved, vanished
Nowhere to be found
You might as well never existed
Stare at the wall
Become good friends in time
It is with the hidden enemy
And all will suffer
With the exception of you
Dismounting from his horse,
I offer my friend a cup of wine,
I ask what place he is heading to.
He says he has not achieved his aims,
And is retiring to the southern hills.
Now go, and ask me nothing more,
As white clouds will drift on for all time.
Question and Answer on the Mountain
You ask for what reason I stay on the green mountain,
I smile, but do not answer, my heart is at leisure.
Peach blossom is carried far off by flowing water,
I have heaven and earth in the human world.
De nacht speelt met me
hij viel in en bedekte
het land met duisternis
Ik voelde me wankelen
als staande op een schip
in de deinende golven van de zee
Het zout bereikte nog net niet mijn mond
Ik sloeg mijn ogen op en
ontmoette de donkere horizon
De wereld was verdwenen,
opgelost als in een moeras vol drijfzand
Mijn wereld ontmoette daar zijn evenbeeld,
een bloedmooi, oneindig zwart geheel,
gevuld met beelden uit mijn gedachten,
een immens doorlopende vlakte
waarin mijn dromen vrij waren en
zich uitstrekten tot hemelse hoogtes
Het dak dat hen zo dikwijls dwong
ineen te krimpen was spoorloos,
zo ook de ogen die hen neerkeken,
en de grond instampten
Het was de nacht die met me speelde