intermission
The Urban Spectacle
Nouh is feeding his pigeons
At the end of the market day the streets of the shuk are covered with chunks of fruit and organic garbage – the daily mess after the last sales have been made and the crowd is gone. Nouh has sifted through what can be used tomorrow again and stored away remaining merchandise. The men in the shuk have cleared the trash and heaped it up so that the dumpster can suck it in easily and remove the chaos. Then a stream of water will wash away Nouh’s work day.
Now, he is taking a break from the shadows of the shuk and goes outside to feed his pigeons with some remnants of the market day.
Nouh breathes the scent from the sea and welcomes his pigeons, the ancient and streetwise messengers of day and night.
The Urban Spectacle
Samson fallen asleep
After all those thousands of years Samson has finally got it: He can give in to Delilah’s friendly arts and skills. She will unfailingly restore his wonderful strength if he asks her to do so. She will pleasantly lull him to sleep on a comfortable divan and deal with his minor weaknesses discreetly.
And never again will she cut away seven locks from his head, but – in the blue hours of the day – she may gently massage his scalp, his neck or his feet with a well-scented oily extract. And never again will Samson have to fear his own rage. He can fall asleep innocently.
Thank you, Delilah!
The Urban Spectacle
The Urban Spectacle
Yael
Take a seat, Yael, rest now.
Rest. Listen to the leaves
Here on Rothschild Boulevard.
Leave the grey stairs of Albuquerque behind,
Forget the cool Baltic sky
And the yellow paintings of a treacherous woman.
Breathe, Yael, and climb the steps
To the high perch.
What kind of break do you need?
Pull out the nail, Yael, which you once hammered
Into your stories. Sit
And speak to somebody
Who is near.
The Urban Spectacle
Walking through urban space is such a dreamy, surreal experience. Nothing is tangible like fields are, or forests and rivers, as in the countryside or in the wilderness. In the city, there is nothing like the path you find yourself through the unbuilt space of nature, may it be cultivated, untouched, impenetrable. In urban surroundings there is nothing like the crystal reality of outside space which is a void and which you cannot enliven. Nobody can, that is certain. Whatever image you throw against the creations of nature, it will fall back on you. The world will stay voiceless and real.
Whereas in a city, you walk straight into a seemingly flat world of never-ending sensations. Nothing is real, dadi da – dada dada da. Here, in the sphere of human habitations, apart from nature, people are continually creating their own space. They do so by communicating with the urban objects around them, even though these are firm, usually immovable, and mostly from wood, stone, steel or any other kind of hardened material. Walking through a city, you can throw out your thoughts like a net into the urban landscape – casting your spell even on a heaven-assailing highrise – and you will always haul in a miraculous catch of corporal, emotive space, just for yourself to breathe in. It appears to come from the objects which people co-habitate together with you and where they create their urban livin’ rooms in an otherwise empty nature. And even if you happen to get back freezing loneliness, it’s human and it has a voice.