Audio in poezija

[vojko]

Poznate kako pesem na audio tematiko?

Glede na to , da smo slovenci nariod pesnikov(in audiofilov), odpiram temo Audio in poezija.

Ob poplavi celega kupa festivalov poezije(Vino in poezija, Vilenica,...), bi se kar prilegel festival vina in avdia v kaki gričevnati vinorodni pokrajini obsijani z soncem. Namesto zdolgočasenih in komercialnin avdio sejmov po hotelskih sobah.

Garantirano bi imel svetoven odziv, in tudi komercialno bi bil veliko uspešnejši. Evo trgovci-zastonj ideja. Predlagam Grožnjan. Garantirano bi v treh letih postal eden najrazvpitejših audio prireditev.

Za izziv pesem enega najpomembnejših škotskih pesnikov mlade generacije, Dona Patersna:http://www.donpaterson.com/

Don Paterson
An Elliptical Stylus
My uncle was beaming: ‘Aye, yer elliptical stylus -
fairly brings out a’ the wee details.’
Balanced at a fraction of an ounce
the fat cartridge sank down like a feather;
music billowed out into three dimensions
as if we could have walked between the players.

My Dad, who could appreciate the difference,
went to Largs to buy an elliptical stylus
for our ancient, beat-up Phillips turntable.
We had the guy in stitches: ‘You can’t…
er… you’ll have to upgrade you equipment.’
Still smirking, he sent us from the shop
with a box of needles, thick as carpet tacks,
the only sort made to fit our model.

(Supposing I’d been his son: lets eavesdrop
on ‘Fidelities’, the poem I’m writing now:
The day my father died, he showed me how
he’d prime the deck for optimum performance:
it’s a lesson that I recall – how he’d refine
the arm’s weight, to leave the stylus balanced
somewhere between ellipsis and precision,
as I gently lower the sharp nib to the line
and wait for it to pick up the vibration
till it moves across the page, like a cardiograph…)

We drove back slowly, as if we had a puncture;
My Dad trying not to blink, and the man’s laugh
stuck in my head, which is where the story sticks,
and any attempt to cauterize this fable
with something axiomatic on the nature
of articulacy and inheritance
since he can well afford to make his own
excuses, you, your own interpretation.
But if you still insist on resonance –
I’d swing for him, and every other cunt
happy to let my father know his station,
which probably includes yourself. To be blunt.

(Iz zbirke Nil Nil, založil by Faber & Faber)