p.d.s. 39 – poeti
Repede, despre tot: sunt pe la jumate cu Life a lui Keith Richards si printre hohote de ras m-am gandit c-ar trebui sa mai scriu cate ceva pe-aici. Pe langa Life mai citesc Detectivii salbatici a lui Bolano (numai cartoaie, dupa cum se vede – Life are cinci sute si ceva de pagini, Detectivii… vreo 900) si Opere I, II, III, Cosasu. Toate, de-a valma. Nici nu va puteti imagina ce bine se leaga: matusi, poezie, pasiuni, umor, duiosie, salbaticie, rock & roll. Pe langa ele, poezie (desi si ele cam sunt). Multa. Mi se trage de la Detectivi, de la Serge Fauchereau, de la Matei Calinescu si de la Alexandru. 😛 Era sa uit – Luiza, vin la salonul despre Irezistibil, deschid si eu unul, da mai dureaza un pic. Intre timp zic repede ca Marius Chivu e in mare eroare iar Paul Cernat si mai si. A, si vedeti ca Sorin Ghergut are – in sfarsiiiit! – o noua carte: Orice, aparuta la editura Pandora M. Habar n-am pe unde se gaseste, nu e nici pe situl editurii din cate vad (am gresit editura?). Da poate s-o gasi pe undeva, macar asta.
Acum cateva zile, scotocind dupa ceva, mi-am reamintit de (adica am dat peste) fragmentul asta dintr-o carte pe care n-am citit-o niciodata cap-coada (nici nu e din aia care se citeste asa) si am concluzionat ca ar merge – fragmentul – foarte, foarte bine la p.d.s. Sa vedem:
„The thing that gave me hope for the future of poetry was this Rolling Stones concert at Madison Square Garden that I saw. Jagger was real tired and fucked-up. It was a Tuesday, he had done two concerts and was really on the brink of collapse – but the kind of collapse that transcends into magic.
Jagger was so tired that he needed the energy of the audience. He was not a rock & roller that Tuesday night. He was closer to a poet than he ever has been, because he was so tired, he could hardly sing. I love the music of the Rolling Stones, but what was foremost was not the music but the performance, his rhythm, his movement, his talk – he was so tired, he was saying things like, ‘Very warm here / warm warm warm / it’s very hot here / hot, hot / New York, New York, New York / band, bang, bang.’
I mean, none of that stuff was genius – it was his presence and his power to hold the audience in his palm. I mean there was electricity. If the Rolling Stones had walked off that night and left Mick Jagger alone, he could’ve been as great as any poet that night. He could’ve spoken some of his best lyrics and had the audience just as magnetized.
And that excited me so much I almost blew apart, because I saw the complete future of poetry. I really saw it, I really felt it, I got so excited I could hardly stand being in my skin and that gave me faith to keep on going.”
(Patti Smith, din Please Kill Me – The Uncensored Oral History of Punk, Legs McNeil si Gillian McCain)