Wednesday 7 December 2011

murray ostril: a tribute

"...They called Coney Island the playground of the world. There was no place like it, in the whole world, like Coney Island when I was a youngster. No place in the world like it, and it was so fabulous. Now it's shrunk down to almost nothing...you see. And I still remember in my mind how things used to be, and...you know, I feel very bad. People from all over the world came here...from all over the world...there was a playground, they called it the playground of the world...over here. Anyways, you see, I...you know...I even got, when I was very small, I even got lost in Coney Island, but they found me...on the...on the beach. And we used to sleep on the beach here, sleep overnight..they don't do that anymore. Things changed...you see.
They don't sleep anymore on the beach".

(From 'Sleep - pt. 1. Murray Ostril: "...They don't sleep anymore on the beach..."' Godspeed You! Black Emperor) 

 Mentre dal pontile osservo la mia ombra riflessa sull’oceano, sento che ogni viaggio è sempre un viaggio dentro se stessi. So bene quanto questa frase rischi di suonare retorica. Eppure, mentre mi tolgo il cappello di lana e lascio che il vento mi scompigli i capelli, sento che niente, durante un viaggio, possa offrirmi una sensazione intensa quanto quella che sto provando in questo esatto istante. Essere qui, ora. Sentire questo momento. Fino a dove possiamo spingerci? Quanto in profondità riusciamo a scendere, fino a poter sfiorare i nostri limiti, fino a scorgere il nucleo, nero, delle nostre debolezze, dell’ineluttabile paura di essere soli. Essere qui, sentire questo momento. Tra la gente che vive la propria quotidianità. Sentire che nessun museo, capolavoro d’arte, possa dare quanto può lo sguardo fugace di un estraneo, il sorriso di un passante.

As I stare from the pier at the shade of myself reflecting over the ocean, I can feel that every journey is a journey inside oneself. I’m aware of the risk of this sentence sounding rhetorical. And yet, as I take my woollen hat off, and let the wind flow through my hair, I feel there’s nothing, during a journey, which can convey as an intense feeling as what I’m sensing in this very moment. To be here. To be here now. To be feeling this very moment. How far can we go? How deep? Till we nearly reach out our own limits, and see the black core of our weaknesses, our inevitable fear of being alone. To be here and feel this very moment. Among people living their everyday lives. And feel that no museum, work of art, can ever give as much as the look of somebody passing by, the smile of a stranger can.   





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