plagued children

‘it’d be good to film camus' the plague
andrey tarkovsky

‘but what does it mean, the plague?
it’s life, that’s all’
albert camus

‘they make noise among themselves
what does this dark cloud want with us?
let’s see to it that it does not bring us a plague!’
friedrich nietzsche
plagued children
a short, restful stretch in
andrey tarkovsky’s life
mostly in the country
with his spouse larissa
and name-sake son
on the land of lenin in the tomb
the poet’s home one with nature
on a scaffold
sculpting impressions
getting the fence fixed
a walk with bergman
on the volcanic shore of faroe
poor as strawberries shooting moustache
scripting hamlet
in mirror
a self-portrait fitting no frame
just finished, took forever
on account of the local power-stirrers
a film about one’s family mother
a bright bright day
a child with a jug full of milk
arseny leaves maria with two small children
andrey and marina, paradise’s lost
enclosed by two wars in a village
out of breath ahead of time
tarkovsky passes in 1986
like a faceless hero he performs in mirror
a gory hole at the bottom of a cancerous lung
must have been the left lung
inter-cultural ties debts rape love
across-generational assault distance love
deep past future swell veins of feelings at work
let’s be honest
our contemporary, a russian artist
in the global theatre of cruelty and sustainability
moving images unreeling
soma-sickening shackle-structures debt-frontiers
since childhood constricted into a state of prayer
anywhere you reach’s a barbed wire
people sitting on the fence
plastered scab formations
oozing out even in deserts
a pharmacological oasis
lifestyles superannuated at all costs
in safety children learn to be polite
up and down a plastic slide
in a leopard-laminated cage
skyline networks of omnivorous humanshit
discolored waxed
in a supermarket kit
a candle lit
tarkovsky passes away
editing a farewell work
more dramatic than its precursors
familiar slowing eternity
several characters outwardly evolve
all gather together in a lounge area
in a small circle watching
official news about the end of the world
impatient like the entertainer’s tie
for the plague to end
bombs land
jets fly over brisbane and melbourne in summer
tarkovsky flees to europe
in the early eighties
created six films under soviet control
the bridge’s burning down like an old wick
kremlin punishes him for that scandal
the fatherland’s grip firmly on andrey junior
years pass
tarkovsky’s spirit grinding teeth
hostile to retailored business criteria
making two more films
a menacing tone and accuracy of his dreams
curses sayings is at the height of the diaries
in the face of collective efforts
two andreys allowed to see one another
at the father’s deathbed in paris
like nietzsche and camus
tarkovsky’s open to many
becomes a favourite
touches a few

nor left nor west nor gay nor pest
how can one chew kale sip hops nap rest when

zarathustra sets a table for the sacrifice
edited by tarkovsky undergoing chemotherapy
broken aesthetics professor erland josephson
plants a mature dead tree near a sea
a speechless child arranges pebbles covering its roots
zigzagging thoughts on a bicycle
otto the letter-man delivers
one of the prophet’s lessons
a parabola almost too late
in the end
josephson breaks with past life, peacefully
sets on fire family’s country residence
the child watering the tree
fire-consuming desire for a play and flowers after war
a science love experienced by no-one else before
the philosopher’s locked away
reported by a next of kin
narrowed down to a data symbol
away from the common people
in a medical state
in nostalghia
tarkovsky’s first full-length film away
a nomadic poet andrey
tears down the state frontiers inside
naturally, he’s bound to die
josephson appears as his outcast-teacher
not from this place, as they say
an exemption form laid out
an eyesore at an academic event
self-immolating wisdom in flesh
socrates of end-times
a bit like a child but more like a fool
a sacred human in many traditions
чудак as russians say
like dostoevsky’s idiot
from the same root as чудо
a marvel, ageing serving no commercial end
it’s near impossible
they’re pigeonholed centrelinked tiptoeing marvels
toss golden coins pills prescriptions
look down
there’s only that much you can see
bolted to a spectator’s seat
daughter of a criminal master
visited a colourful place
on the outside of city
laws policed fears and health
little is known about an education
forming ways to a moist heart of the zone
a zone of humanness
tarkovsky&strugatsky brothers tweet
a room of possibilities
where innermost desires are fulfilled
crystallizing like a secret
a pearl elusive in the everyday
under the wing of one’s soul and urinal
like in an ideal community
world peace for a moment?
no rent! lollies!
drops off lily-pads

fucking might!!!
heiress won’t speak smile walk
things move and break at her wish
as if it didn’t matter at all
a gift to a sepia world
backwards in time
in a lucas-freed universe
on the orbit of solaris
hazy children abruptly satisfy
the earth’s bad conscience
and leaps of faith
in a saga andrey rublev
a knife tip of frantic rulers
spares no eyes of children
ivan’s childhood
tarkovsky’s twenty eight
his first full-bodied film
he can make fifty more
ivan’s twelve, a delicate age
the heart’s in a state of dreaming
it’s not a soft taste
like lips meeting
a girl and a boy
his concentration-camped vengeance
in a feather spiraling down
to the depths of a stone-laid well
to a spy ivan in a dream

in catacombs
urgent piss-needs of i-states
war experiments
shifting axis of humanness
mother’s shot dead by soldiers
next to the well in her back
blood’s no longer oozing in the funnel-dream
living recollections of past feelings visions
warmth cobwebs fascists laughing over
and over random damage
a bucket drained
the child’s soul’s void
crying for attention
living out habits produced in a state of war
certainty of ivan’s death in youth is a truth
moving the world with jean-paul sartre

celebrities spectators off their seats
ladies and gentlemen
it’s “socialist surrealism”!
at the carcass theater
if only camus could see it
‘a dead human has no substance
unless one has seen them dead
a hundred million corpses broadcast through history
are no more than a puff of smoke
in your imagination’
years languages collapse
tarkovsky’s holding golden lioness
‘our film is against war
that disrupts natural processes in life
kills physically and spiritually
film about a shot childhood
already including
all our future

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