On Saturday March 16th, I was the bearer of a message.
Titi Robin, a musician, a friend from the Angevin region, a man of heart and common sense, was giving a concert at the Chabada in Angers. This time, he exchanged his oud and his buzuk for an electric guitar. He took us travelling though his latest album “Rebel Diwana”.
The concert was opened by The Sweet Criminals (Yves Bartaud and Fred de Charco). An excellent cross of blues to folk to young rock, both cool and moving… If ever they come by your place…
Titi Robin and his poetry were accompanied by other local artists, and others who had come from far away; Arthur Alard on drums, Nicholas Vella at the keyboard, Natallino Neto on base guitar, with the magical sounds of Murad Ali Khan’s sarangi and Shuheb Hasan’s magnificent voice…
Once performed my messenger duties, we drank in the poetry of this concert and millions of musical thoughts to Zehra and to those who are in still jail so that the cold and grey walls of Turkish prisons might resonate with beauty and life.
Dear Titi Robin,
I thank you for the support you showed me. I cannot say how much the slighest energy coming from this life can be meaningful in those places of confinement where we are torn away from it. I could receive and feel your energy and your music through the small chinks opened up in those walls. Your support brought and all my friends much strength. Thank you very much.
Longing for you have I worn out shackles
You, to be able to relate you,
To good children, to heroes.
To one without honor, to heartless
How many a dead of winter, over and over,
Would the wolf, would the bird, would the dungeon slumber.
Outside, a world thunderously flowing…
I alone did not sleep,
How many a spring, my love, my darkest night,
Longing for you have I worn out shackles.
Let me fasten blood roses to your hair,
One on that side,
One on this side…
You, if I could bellow you,
To bottomless pits,
To the shooting star,
To one reaching a matchstick,
A matchstick that has fallen
On the ocean’s most uninhabited wave.
They’ve lost their talismanic spark, of first passions,
Lost their spark, those kisses,
They have no part, from the abruptly falling night,
A glass, a cigarette, to one adrift in thought,
You, if I could relate you…
Your absence, it is Hell’s other name
I feel cold, don’t close your eyes…
Translation : poeticgenre.files.wordpress.com