Erika Dagnino, Stefano Pastor
Cycles' Poem
(by Erika Dagnino)
Erika Dagnino and Stefano Pastor
Cycles
for interior voice, musical instruments and objects
Slam Productions - SLAMCD 514 - 2007
A small, old, black, hard,
solid rubber ball. (Pause).
I shall feel it, in my hand,
until my dying day. (Pause.)
I might have kept it.
S. Beckett, Krapp’s Last Tape
till in the end
the day came
in the end came
close of a long day
when she said
to herself
whom else
time she stopped
time she stopped
S. Beckett, Rockaby
I
The
dark of the ball rebounds: palm, floor, palm, floor. Bound, bound . . .
Ball, floor . . . Could it be the wall?
(...)
It
returns. Perhaps someone has thrown it AAA___________again or the ball has
crashed into a wall by itself crumbling it as if . . . It returns. It
rolls along the bright line.
It
returns: palm, floor, palm, floor. Bound . . . , bound . . . Ball, floor .
. .
(...)
II
(...)
From time to time it pushes itself. Suddenly chains and wood jolting in the air. The links show vermilion traces. It goes to check the pallor of the bud. Imagined from that point of view with no rest. Near breaths. From the nostrils in the nostrils. The dust at the waist.
(...)
III
While your ear was leaning you began to listen to the rigid rustle then you turned while quite a faint barely audible rain (...)
