This week's been one of post-production, largely:
hours and days on end spent analyzing intricacies of sound while graphs move in slow motion,
lining up clips just so then trying them again in a different way,
holding conversations with myself and occasionally watering the garden.
This morning I woke up early to talk to my plants and I saw this flower full of dew and bug bits,
talking to me through the leaves.
Considering the flower as an emissary of the outside world—
or considering that I was holding conversations with flowers—
I decided it best to abandon my lab for a bit and go meet other people.
First I went to European Books and Media,
a store I'd seen before on Shattuck, but had yet to visit.
They have a great selection of French books.
I'd been looking for a book of poems by Benjamin Péret.
I'd found some translations before,
but I'm always fascinated to read the originals and try to brush up my French skills.
Translation is a beautiful art, drawing lines between different forms of communication.
It lifts the veil of language somewhat, allowing a transitory glimpse at the true beauty of human hearts.
I discovered, nearby, a building for the Alliance Français de Berkeley,
a self-described non-profit corporation for the promotion of French culture.
A woman named Bettina met me at the door and was kind enough to give me a tour of their space.
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They give small private classes,
have a rad collection of films and books to borrow for a pretty reasonable membership fee.
I'm definitely planning to save up and treat myself to some French classes in the near future.
They also have a free potluck/lecture series every third Tuesday from 5-6pm.
They accept people of all skill levels for classes.
My skills are pretty poor, but they were quite friendly about it.
I felt refreshed after my adventure today, heady with plans to learn new things, attend new events, meet new people. Drunk on language, if you will, which brings me to my poem for the week, probably my favorite of French poems. It's called Enivrez-Vous, by Charles Baudelaire. It translates to Get Drunk. I've read several translations, some better than others, and I've added my own translation below, something for which I'm doubtfully qualified, except perhaps for this poem alone, celebrating the drunkard's bravado qualifications be damned.
Enjoy!
Get Drunk!
Everybody should always be drunk
that's all there is to it--
That great riddle!
You don't need to feel
Time's heavy load
hanging over your head,
mashing you into the dirt!
Get perma-drunk!
But how?
On wine, on poetry or on virtue, it's up to you
But get drunk!
And if one day,
on the steps of a palace,
in the grass of a ditch,
in the lonely bedroom morning,
you wake up
not drunk
ask the wind,
the waves,
the stars,
the birds,
the clocks,
the things that run,
the things that groan,
the things that move
the things that roll,
the things that sing,
the things that speak,
ask them what time it is
and the wind,
the waves,
the stars,
the birds,
the clocks
will answer you
“It's happy hour!
Don't be a slave to the clock
Get Drunk
Stay Drunk
With wine, poetry or virtue
It's up to you”
LOVEyou
ToTheMoonAndBack
CT
ThisSideOfTheMoonn
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