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Flowmatic Blood Moon
Flowmatic Blood Moon er Poetisk Podcasts første tosprogede produktion, og på mange måder frugten af en fælles indsats. Shadi Bazeghis digte forholder sig til traumer, spændinger og virkningerne af krig. De er storskalerede refleksioner over vores planets aktuelle tilstand, rodfæstet i en hverdagslig poetisk intimitet. Mansoor Hosseini, der som Shadi oprindelig er flygtning fra Iran, har skabt en musik som både er moderne og nostalgisk; lydlige landskaber der åbner et dramatisk rum for ordene, og forstærker deres intensitet.
Tekst/Stemme: Shadi Bazeghi
Musik: Mansoor Mani Hosseini
Montage/Lyddesign: Rudiger Meyer
*
Flowmatic Blood Moon is Poetisk Podcast’s first bilingual production and in many ways a collaborative effort. Shadi Bazeghi’s poems tackle trauma, tension, and the effects of war. Big-picture reflections on the current state of our planet rooted in a poetic intimacy of the everyday. Mansoor Hosseini, like Shadi originally a refugee from Iran, has created music that is both modern and nostalgic, creating landscapes that open a space for the words and amplify their intensity.
Text/Voice: Shadi Bazeghi
Music: Mansoor Mani Hosseini
Montage/Sound Design: Rudiger Meyer
– [01] all hail the american night
i said: all hail the american night
— [05] you have a way of repeating things
when you program
— [01] probably but i have expanded the code
PROGRAM ID . hello-world-as-deep-as-a-paper-plate
¬ ¬ ¬
[05] so i hand you water
and beer in a wineglass
with ruby-red lipstick on the rim
— what are we without a little elegance
when the masks crack and we
recognize each other
by our glitches
¬ ¬ ¬
i am so tired i say and you’re the only one who knows
it’s a vast understatement that i am cold
as hell that time is a continuation
of the economy’s repeating pattern
absolute power circles;
the US military that buys 269,000 barrels of oil every day
war capital that pays for our excess consumption
draining the planet
populations unable to see the forest for the consumables
who turn to warlords for words of comfort
and here
in my head?
¬ ¬ ¬
in my PTSD brain
DISPLAY
the dissonance and gravity of the syndromes memory flashes
and a heavy oblivion corroding the spirit
there is nothing besides a poetry
à la wilderness
¬ ¬ ¬
[10]
it reeks of smoke and pent-up night here
the dreams grow from your hair
i awake under the bed
with shared pain and blood in my face
you say it is the blood
moon of the century
¬ ¬ ¬
DISPLAY september nights the divergence of melancholies
in flowmatic september nights where longing
for the sun and purple
dandelions unfold
on stems of pain
¬ ¬ ¬
DISPLAY september nights hoarse flowmatic september nights
an interstellar object moves into Pegasus
at 44 km per second hey
hold on we are here we are not here
EXIT PERFORM you know DISPLAY
¬ ¬ ¬
september nights 7-digit september nights
in what language does rain fall
over unrecognizable bodies
Common Business Oriented Language?
¬ ¬ ¬
Venus moves into Scorpio and your passion
your ethnic passion reeks!
there are 117 earth days between each sunrise
¬ ¬ ¬
– berätta något för mig
– harfi be man bezan
– berätta något för mig som inte redan finns
– tell them you came and saw and looked into my eyes
¬ ¬ ¬
on the other side
of the pomme grenade
trees where we lie
100 years ago
or 100 years from now and talk
about writing it all down
about melancholy
as the only reflexive emotion by definition
the only one that can cultivate
our empathy
— for earth
¬ ¬ ¬
the earth that constantly must.must.must.
without hope or fear or doubt
absorb all blood
¬ ¬ ¬
in order for us to fertilize the camp and battlefields
¬ ¬ ¬
[10]
glitterblack velvetnight
crystallized morning dew negligé
on the mulberry tree
i paced around the garden the frost
under my stilettos your body
still reminding me of
solar noon
¬ ¬ ¬
i used to get cramps
in the ovaries
in the morning mist
used to feel a kinship
with Himalayan birds
black nightshade
in the morning mist
¬ ¬ ¬
i drank absinth that morning habibi
the birds drank chlorine water
they flew from table to table
eating abandoned
bread scrambled eggs fear
you said what woman
is so enamored of her own oppression
that she cannot see her heelprint
upon another woman’s face?
¬ ¬ ¬
English Translation: Flowmatic, Shadi Angelina Bazeghi, Gyldendal, 2020, translated by Katrine Øgaard Jensen, p.32-36 and p.67-77
View all episodes
By Poetisk PodcastFlowmatic Blood Moon er Poetisk Podcasts første tosprogede produktion, og på mange måder frugten af en fælles indsats. Shadi Bazeghis digte forholder sig til traumer, spændinger og virkningerne af krig. De er storskalerede refleksioner over vores planets aktuelle tilstand, rodfæstet i en hverdagslig poetisk intimitet. Mansoor Hosseini, der som Shadi oprindelig er flygtning fra Iran, har skabt en musik som både er moderne og nostalgisk; lydlige landskaber der åbner et dramatisk rum for ordene, og forstærker deres intensitet.
Tekst/Stemme: Shadi Bazeghi
Musik: Mansoor Mani Hosseini
Montage/Lyddesign: Rudiger Meyer
*
Flowmatic Blood Moon is Poetisk Podcast’s first bilingual production and in many ways a collaborative effort. Shadi Bazeghi’s poems tackle trauma, tension, and the effects of war. Big-picture reflections on the current state of our planet rooted in a poetic intimacy of the everyday. Mansoor Hosseini, like Shadi originally a refugee from Iran, has created music that is both modern and nostalgic, creating landscapes that open a space for the words and amplify their intensity.
Text/Voice: Shadi Bazeghi
Music: Mansoor Mani Hosseini
Montage/Sound Design: Rudiger Meyer
– [01] all hail the american night
i said: all hail the american night
— [05] you have a way of repeating things
when you program
— [01] probably but i have expanded the code
PROGRAM ID . hello-world-as-deep-as-a-paper-plate
¬ ¬ ¬
[05] so i hand you water
and beer in a wineglass
with ruby-red lipstick on the rim
— what are we without a little elegance
when the masks crack and we
recognize each other
by our glitches
¬ ¬ ¬
i am so tired i say and you’re the only one who knows
it’s a vast understatement that i am cold
as hell that time is a continuation
of the economy’s repeating pattern
absolute power circles;
the US military that buys 269,000 barrels of oil every day
war capital that pays for our excess consumption
draining the planet
populations unable to see the forest for the consumables
who turn to warlords for words of comfort
and here
in my head?
¬ ¬ ¬
in my PTSD brain
DISPLAY
the dissonance and gravity of the syndromes memory flashes
and a heavy oblivion corroding the spirit
there is nothing besides a poetry
à la wilderness
¬ ¬ ¬
[10]
it reeks of smoke and pent-up night here
the dreams grow from your hair
i awake under the bed
with shared pain and blood in my face
you say it is the blood
moon of the century
¬ ¬ ¬
DISPLAY september nights the divergence of melancholies
in flowmatic september nights where longing
for the sun and purple
dandelions unfold
on stems of pain
¬ ¬ ¬
DISPLAY september nights hoarse flowmatic september nights
an interstellar object moves into Pegasus
at 44 km per second hey
hold on we are here we are not here
EXIT PERFORM you know DISPLAY
¬ ¬ ¬
september nights 7-digit september nights
in what language does rain fall
over unrecognizable bodies
Common Business Oriented Language?
¬ ¬ ¬
Venus moves into Scorpio and your passion
your ethnic passion reeks!
there are 117 earth days between each sunrise
¬ ¬ ¬
– berätta något för mig
– harfi be man bezan
– berätta något för mig som inte redan finns
– tell them you came and saw and looked into my eyes
¬ ¬ ¬
on the other side
of the pomme grenade
trees where we lie
100 years ago
or 100 years from now and talk
about writing it all down
about melancholy
as the only reflexive emotion by definition
the only one that can cultivate
our empathy
— for earth
¬ ¬ ¬
the earth that constantly must.must.must.
without hope or fear or doubt
absorb all blood
¬ ¬ ¬
in order for us to fertilize the camp and battlefields
¬ ¬ ¬
[10]
glitterblack velvetnight
crystallized morning dew negligé
on the mulberry tree
i paced around the garden the frost
under my stilettos your body
still reminding me of
solar noon
¬ ¬ ¬
i used to get cramps
in the ovaries
in the morning mist
used to feel a kinship
with Himalayan birds
black nightshade
in the morning mist
¬ ¬ ¬
i drank absinth that morning habibi
the birds drank chlorine water
they flew from table to table
eating abandoned
bread scrambled eggs fear
you said what woman
is so enamored of her own oppression
that she cannot see her heelprint
upon another woman’s face?
¬ ¬ ¬
English Translation: Flowmatic, Shadi Angelina Bazeghi, Gyldendal, 2020, translated by Katrine Øgaard Jensen, p.32-36 and p.67-77
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