Yourai is a musician from Bratislava who creates mysterious vocal landscapes that can sound hiper melancholic, aggressive, or something completely different… his voice is the main instrument for his music, and what he can do with it is just impressive.
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:: heartbeats for my melodies found on the way in stopping time ::
YET UNKNOWN: YOURAI
:: vintage czech commemorative postcard. it says: “long live first world cosmonaut!” ::
yesterday it was valentina tereshkova’s birthday (cheers, santé, kippis, na zdravie, valentina!). i remember drawing her in the rocket when i was little. it was around that time when i first realised there is the infinity, around us, somewhere out there. i felt so small and big at the same time - paradox of being human, i guess…
:: gioacchino rossini: the barber of seville, state opera prague ::
(2005)
the stage was designed by ján zavarský, one of the leading figures of slovak modern stage design. he had this beautiful idea of an immense egg, here shown in two different variations. i appreciate little details too (cello, ladders, etc) it gives energy and life to the stage. lots of possibilities for the opera sigers to act. nice.
:: Wislawa Szymborska: Report from the Hospital ::
We used matches to draw lots; who would visit him.
And I lost. I got up from our table.
Visiting hours were just about to start.
When I said hello he didn’t say a word.
I tried to take his hand—he pulled it back
like a hungry dog that won’t give up his bone.
He seemed embarrassed about dying.
What do you say to someone like that?
Our eyes never met, like in a faked photograph.
He didn’t care if I stayed or left.
He didn’t ask about anyone from our table.
Not you, Barry. Or you, Larry. Or you, Harry.
My head started aching. Who’s dying on whom?
I went on about modern medicine and the three violets in a jar.
I talked about the sun and faded out.
It’s a good thing they have stairs to run down.
It’s a good thing they have gets to let you out.
It’s a good thing you’re all waiting at our table.
The hospital smell makes me sick.
:: e.e. cummings: i cary your heart ::
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
:: jan ondrus: makovica ::
1
Tvár, ktorá prejde
z tmy do svetla, zrýchli sa a beží
tryskom namieste, predbieha ma,
som mysľou pomalý na bežiacu tvár,
2
beriem tvár na seba, vychádzam ňou
z dverí, cloním sa tvárou,
napravím sa ňou dopredu, ale prúd
tváre ma strhne z cesty,
beh tváre je prudký v treštení,
výkon tváre veľký v zbesilosti,
3
a ja som na ňu sám,
vyhnaný do nej, trčím ňou zo seba,
vidím z tváre, hovorím z nej
a zostávam v nej v každej chvíli,
4
tvár, ktorá prejde
z tmy do svetla, poskočí, strmhlav
vyrazí, cvalom sa ženie,
tvár je prv a ja pozadu,
5
nemám smer bez tváre, nevediem
priamo pred seba bez nej,
bez tváre sa nedovolám, neobzriem
sa bez nej, neobrátim oslovením,
nevravia mi menom bez tváre,
idú skrz, prejdú krížom
cezo mňa a nedotknú sa,
6
a tvár má len mňa, dohoním ju,
deje sa na mne, ňou sa líšim,
ňou sa pridávam, ohlási ma
a prichádzam až po nej, nahotovo.
7
Pretože vrah a obeť
majú nôž, vynožili sa proti sebe,
nožom si rozumejú, vedia ním na seba
a skúmajú sa nožom v prednoží,
nakrátko, na dosah prinožení,
8
prejsť po noži je nájsť
chodník, ktorý vedie do zánožia,
prejsť po noži je vnožiť
nôž, striasť sa ho zabodnutím,
prejsť po noži je prekročiť
toho, kto nôž onoží v sebe,
9
žiť v beznoží je vyrovnať
krok s hodinami, naskočiť do hodín
za jazdy, žiť v hodinách ich rýchlosťou,
byť v hodinách ich mäkkou časťou, mäsom
a pokožkou, ktorá má výstuž hodín,
10
a tu zapľujem ako pri jachtaní
na ťažšom mieste,
áno, vrah a obeť sa donožia k sebe,
prenožia vzdialenosť, o nôž kratšiu,
áno, vo vražde, pretože v smrti,
sú si všetci rovní, sú znožení,
k jednému bodnutiu dospievajú,
jedným nožom sa poznávajú,
skríknu jeden výkrik,
11
ba vrah sa odnožil,
nanožil obeť a nožne ľahký
pridáva do kroku hodín a tie ho vezú,
chodia ľavou stranou, bočia doprava
a vrah na ich ceste obíde.
12
Obeť je vnožená
do seba a onožená, len nôž je v nej silný,
ovládol obeť znútra, vyhral v nej
a obeť údom noža ukazuje na seba,
13
obeť sa podnoží, podvolí sa nožu
a v podnoží je sama sebou,
obeť je dokonaná nožom
a nôž je jej tretí rozmer,
obeť sa vyskytuje raz za života
sama sebe a vtedy sa prenoží,
14
obeť sa rozhoduje medzi vrahom
a nožom a volí nôž a na mieste
bodnutia ním dozrie, nôž
je plod, ktorý z obete oberajú.
15
Vrah na mäkko odnožený preliači sa
nad bodnutie v obeti, vnoží sa doň
pohľadom, ponoží doň olovnicu,
hodí dnu kameň a čaká z bodnutia
úder, ktorým kameň dopadne,
16
vrah ide za vnútrom, noží
naspodok, doluje na dne,
vrah prehĺbil obeť, roznožil
priestor v obeti a na ňom
sa obrátil a ušiel od noža,
vrah zostáva navrchu, v beznoží
a tak vedie krvou do kruhu,
17
bodnutie sa šíri, chytá sa,
preskočí z obete, je to naštiepenie sveta,
puklina s počiatkom v obeti a vrah
vidí do skazy, prešiel ňou
a zmeral ju nožom.
18
Tvár, ktorá prejde
z tmy do svetla, zrýchli sa v chode
a predbieha ma, beží tryskom,
je cval, je skok, je vír,
do ktorého som ponožený,
19
predostriem tvár, cúvnem za ňu,
vo výške tváre hľadajú ma,
za tvárou som voľný, mám za ňou
všetok priestor pre seba a nevpustím,
odstúpim, vytratím sa za tvár
a zvesím makovicu: je pusto a prázdno
za tvárou a slepo v zrkadle,
20
tak vchádzam do tváre, beriem ju na seba,
nosím ju kvôli pravde, ktorú zastrie,
pustím ju napred, predhodím ju
a prichádzam až po nej, nahotovo.
:: When night comes ::
When night comes,
I am so flushed with wine,
I undo my hair slowly:
a plum calyx is
stuck on a damaged branch.
I wake dazed when smoke
breaks my spring sleep.
The dream distant,
so very distant;
and it is quiet, so very quiet.
The moon spins and spins.
The kingfisher blinds are drawn;
and yet I rub the injured bud,
and yet I twist in my fingers this fragrance,
and yet I possess these moments of time!
:: Li Ching Chao :: (12th century)
the two trees
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with merry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
The shaking of its leafy head
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music wed,
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
There the Loves a circle go,
The flaming circle of our days,
Gyring, spiring to and fro
In those great ignorant leafy ways;
Remembering all that shaken hair
And how the wingèd sandals dart,
Thine eyes grow full of tender care:
Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.
Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile,
Lift up before us when they pass,
Or only gaze a little while;
For there a fatal image grows
That the stormy night receives,
Roots half hidden under snows,
Broken boughs and blackened leaves.
For all things turn to barrenness
In the dim glass the demons hold,
The glass of outer weariness,
Made when God slept in times of old.
There, through the broken branches, go
The ravens of unresting thought;
Flying, crying, to and fro,
Cruel claw and hungry throat,
Or else they stand and sniff the wind,
And shake their ragged wings; alas!
Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
Gaze no more in the bitter glass.
:: william butler yeats :: (1893)
