11 juin 2009
4
11
/06
/juin
/2009
18:22
Going out of my place, a beautiful sight for my eyes only : between an almost full moon and the ground, a plane seemingly the same size is passing by. A pair of birds on the wire and maroon trees complete this moon flight postcard.
Passengers did you
take enough luggage with you
you fly to the moon!
Later on in my station comes a bird of another kind. Bellowing uncertain words into his mobile phone with a drunken voice, he rolls anf glides till the closest exit singing and shouting one single word : zoubida. Morning lesson completed on waiting platform number 3 today, and time left to have a look around.
Yellow neon lights and dark grey pavement : a permanent instant belonging to no season. Forced idleness and waiting time in a dead zone, all result in an apparent time stasis. Here at ground minus zero we are waiting, losing our time, do the people outside age more than us?
subway traveller
you follow the blue turtle
time tricks you out wack
I spent my day in another world today, half dreaming half overrun, gone on many many errands ; emergency passed a point presents similarity to eternity : time gets out its usual frame, stasis again. Do astronauts experience such stasis on the moon, when they look at this blue sphere called Earth, trying to mentally contact their loved ones and remember this land they're coming from, while out of it? I do not know. But clearly sometimes I felt estranged today, a stranger in a way, lost in a no time zone, or on the moon like we use to say in french.
On a june blue moon
certainly another moon
the one you are on
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haibun
10 juin 2009
3
10
/06
/juin
/2009
21:04
This morning, less heat and for once, the wind talks. It blows with a gentle booming voice to my ears, and all near songbirds make a choir with a variety of flute sounds. Windsong symphony.
As I wait for the train, trying to maintain a link with the windsong, a woman arrives on the opposite platform, singing an A&B melody in front of the world with a really beautiful and loud voice. Deeply in internal music, she gets on her train and my eyes follow her face through the window, eyes shut and focused.
What the wind told me
I'll sing it all to the world
summer songbirds choir
Then in my train, and in the next one, and in the final one, I begin to see them all, closed eyes singers in the wind going their way through the maze and through their regular commuter trip, seemingly oblivious of the world around them, but who knows? The wind only...
why when the wind blows
only the wind knows for sure
cold summer breeze -
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9 juin 2009
2
09
/06
/juin
/2009
19:10
This morning when I leave home, no birds on the wires, no singing sounds, no water on the street, just a 6:30 weird heat.
No songbirds no songs
Dry pavement empty wires
First summer dry heat
In the train no one moves, sitting passenger heads tilting as one in the tight curves. Inside the station corridors silence is roaring, got breathless on top of all stairs, even the escalators.
Breathless and just soaked
the daily fish catch pop pop
subway summer day
Whatever ; shut behind my rory face I pay attention to nothing else than music. In some moments I can almost feel gust of winds through the windows. Race the breeze.
Same heat through my working day, two meetings in non climatised rooms and heater on till the Ice Saints, probably in icelandic calendar. Hot meeting, hot discussion, hot hot hot.
Lasting all the day
Hot hot hot hot hot so hot
Sunflower sun bath
Back on tracks, on my return trip, for the first time written in the three trains, even without music. Hot too.
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8 juin 2009
1
08
/06
/juin
/2009
19:29
Today I leave home earlier in order to take a train to far north on a no commuter train day. On the pavement in front of the condo entrance, all garbage bags show their content ; a bag ripper was there.
Waiting for my cab, standing on the kerb, a cat looks at me. At first, I thought him the ripper, but surely he could not rip all garbage bags in the street. Maybe he knows whodunit.
Garbage all over
Cat won't spill nor eat the beans
early summer strike
After a short trip I arrive to the railway station, receiving a warm welcome from the tramps, between urine smells and stone pillow beds. I slither my way between rafales of landing pigeons till the main gate to the wonderful world of Northfloatingland.
Home for wanderers
a wave for the stay-at-home
Northfloatingland park
I like to see the would be passengers ballet in the so called lost step hall, as they dance their way to the platform, thrown in a tramping crowd to their train by a last minute announcement., the debutantes audacious moves answering the daily user solid steeple chase. Not a match to Terry Gilliam's Fisher king dance scene (
link), but nevertheless...
After years spent in another wonderful floating place, the Saint-Lazare underground spaghetti plate, I do appreciate the simple balance and the shift in color brought by passers-by to those rather dull and anonymous places, where only movement brings identity, the almost musical patterns created by waves of similarly walking passers-by answering the standing traveller and fixed object tonality.
Passers-by movements
Some just standing and waiting
Flowers in the wind
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7 juin 2009
7
07
/06
/juin
/2009
13:27
A better weather today, with a sky between blue and grey, some wind sometimes, and the sun that shines intermittently with summerlike heating rays. Felt the first belly burns on the way to the market, no clue regarding what I ate this time. Burns seem to come by periods almost regardless of the efforts I make to avoid, the best I can, my now known enemies on top of which are the cruel Croissants Brothers : Butter and Plain.
national breakfast
We sure can come to terms - ouch
sunday morning burns
I come back to the car, holding in my arms a tenth of bags, like a giant green plastic corn ear. We're driving to a park to picnic with some friends. Under the sun we play football, and despite of my cap I feel dizzy and hot after a while.
Then we find a quiet place close to a Marne cutoff that looks like a simple pond. Crazy jackpot today with a second episode during the picnic. Gosh I hate having monster hiccups in front of my family and friends. I must look like Jabba.
A wide mouthed frog!
should it fall into the pond
long disgusting noise
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6 juin 2009
6
06
/06
/juin
/2009
08:08
Woke up this morning in my bed. Kids came at 7:30 to see if I had returned from Germany. Busy week-end maybe, with many people to see, and for the moment at least, it rains. Not cats and dogs really, only a light rain for a very soft day.
a soft day in June
across a hole in the hedge
a small black bird beek
my beard first today
the hedge has to wait its turn
Spring end soft rains
I could walk for hours under this rain, thinking of nothing ; just a single singing man.
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5 juin 2009
5
05
/06
/juin
/2009
21:58
Just arrived home after having gone through an amazingly good and totally unexpected experience. Even the flight and the 2G Roissy terminal seemed fine. Funny to know we'll all remember it associated to the name of a city we did not see
On the flight, from the window the moon appears, white and cloudy, above a thick cloud blanket striped by other planes. Nothing moves, nothing changed and yet...All these planes together on the same space, going on all directions simultaneously, a connexion between different tracks. My ears half def and half Rory, words flowing on the paper without stopping.
Then in the cab, from the road, a red sunset sun reflects on glass and metal buildings, and colours in vivid purples and reds thin and long evening clouds just over the horizon. Crows flying high over a car laying on his left side. Summer arrives.
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5 juin 2009
5
05
/06
/juin
/2009
06:22
Yesterday we went to a dinner inside a former horse barn. The place, The lights, the colors, and even the music give a sort of romantic atmosphere a little weird at the beginning for a company dinner. A live music show with a pianist and a singer goes on while we eat and chat. At one point, singer previously dressed in black comes back all dressed in a heaven can wait white style. Wow.
live music concert
please give me your attention
drinking white collars
No way she can get it. We all pay more attention to our immediate neighboors and the sound balance has not taken into account the buzzing effect of our voices. Harmony of some sort between bad execution of music standards and bad international english conversations.
the singer turned white
did the music change also
yes more red wine please
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4 juin 2009
4
04
/06
/juin
/2009
05:23
Met many people yesterday in a company show. Funny that with time networking come easily. Lodged in a hotel in Hanover east suburb, woke up at 4 and could not go back to sleep. Plenty of time to review what I wanted to do with this blog.
No need to compile existing haikus, plenty of such good blogs available (see only some at the link box). I have to find a rythm to publish if I want this blog to grow.
So here is what it will become : a haibun diary of some sort that I will try to fill in daily.
From my huge hotel bed :
wading through the sheets
spread, calm and fine at last - ah
summer dawn white light
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