Marseille
"Meet me in Marseille" I shout down the phone
"I'll fly from Paris, we'll bus it to Avignon"
"Meet me in Marseille -
now there's a good title for a song!"
The Marseille air curls around me
like a welcoming lover
curls it's layers of language
culture deep into me
skin, blood, head, heart
under some kind of bewitchment
this sultry, brooding melting-pot
of a meeting place
with it's perfumes of incense
myrrh from Africa
frankincense from Arabia
invading, making me giddy, melancholy
this infamous old sea-port
with it's breezes in from Barcelona
boats full of oranges from Valencia
a little further south, it's Algiers, and I'm back
into a morass of memory
no more Pythagoras, his sacred numbers
adoring followers, wandering penniless
no more the dusty market-sellers
caravans bold and tawdry, trundling in
magnetic compass point - home
no more the raggidy urchins breathless
open-mouthed Carravaggio boys
TV has them now in it's thrall
rebocs, rap, baseball cap
no more the splendid dying Gauls
wearing only a golden torque
expiring on their precious soil
withering under the savage thrust
of Caesar's murderous glance
no more the Magdalene
escaping the wrath of the holy land
cast out in a tiny boat, drifting in
to Marseille's shore threadbare
in fragile bare-foot radiance
to tread a penitent path
to exist holy in a lonely cave
honouring the bloodline
of a martyr resonating still
like cannons in the ether
no more the camel trains
travellers 'n tricksters
flooding in to this fickle city
faithful to no one
except a thunderous
ever-changing living moment
"Aah, it's just a place
of cut-throats and bandits"
you say, nonchalant
no concept of the impact
reeling in on me
this foreign country
not of my tongue
mysterious steps leading us up
to a restaurant on a hill -
so casual, yet so very particular
I'm learning you France
learning you like a lover bit by bit
building slowly - a Bach fugue
unfolding pleasure
sacred landscape to be explored
this night is heaven
yet what's this weight I feel
surely the burden of all history
gone before
this ancient holy city -
I usually manage to skirt around
religion's tight entanglements
yet here I am, embedded
enmeshed in this very catholic place
feeling memories I've never lived
emotions I've never owned before
your amber lights glimmer slow
sensual, air so thick with atmosphere
I scarcely breathe so not to break the spell -
will you unfold, bend for me
tell me your secrets before I leave ?
On the bus to Avignon you inform me
"I've arranged a gig
you're singing tomorrow night -
small village, concert
just outside Avignon
next day is spent in a combi-van
pillaging the still village streets
haranguing locals
through loud-speakers
"Come to the concert tonight"
but the spruiking's all in gallic tongue
and colloquial
I don't understand a thing
the concert, open air, small arena -
fit for french gods
whomever they may be -
is packed with people.
The MC announces in franglais
"La chanteuse, Pamela
all ze way from Australie
to sing pour vous"
I finish my set
with 'Diamonds and Rust'
someone shouts
"We love you"
I shout back
'et moi aussi, au revoir'
and I, feel glad, to exist
on this small spinning friendly planet
tonight, enveloped in love
the village, the people, and you
Pamela Sidney 2002
"Meet me in Marseille" I shout down the phone
"I'll fly from Paris, we'll bus it to Avignon"
"Meet me in Marseille -
now there's a good title for a song!"
The Marseille air curls around me
like a welcoming lover
curls it's layers of language
culture deep into me
skin, blood, head, heart
under some kind of bewitchment
this sultry, brooding melting-pot
of a meeting place
with it's perfumes of incense
myrrh from Africa
frankincense from Arabia
invading, making me giddy, melancholy
this infamous old sea-port
with it's breezes in from Barcelona
boats full of oranges from Valencia
a little further south, it's Algiers, and I'm back
into a morass of memory
no more Pythagoras, his sacred numbers
adoring followers, wandering penniless
no more the dusty market-sellers
caravans bold and tawdry, trundling in
magnetic compass point - home
no more the raggidy urchins breathless
open-mouthed Carravaggio boys
TV has them now in it's thrall
rebocs, rap, baseball cap
no more the splendid dying Gauls
wearing only a golden torque
expiring on their precious soil
withering under the savage thrust
of Caesar's murderous glance
no more the Magdalene
escaping the wrath of the holy land
cast out in a tiny boat, drifting in
to Marseille's shore threadbare
in fragile bare-foot radiance
to tread a penitent path
to exist holy in a lonely cave
honouring the bloodline
of a martyr resonating still
like cannons in the ether
no more the camel trains
travellers 'n tricksters
flooding in to this fickle city
faithful to no one
except a thunderous
ever-changing living moment
"Aah, it's just a place
of cut-throats and bandits"
you say, nonchalant
no concept of the impact
reeling in on me
this foreign country
not of my tongue
mysterious steps leading us up
to a restaurant on a hill -
so casual, yet so very particular
I'm learning you France
learning you like a lover bit by bit
building slowly - a Bach fugue
unfolding pleasure
sacred landscape to be explored
this night is heaven
yet what's this weight I feel
surely the burden of all history
gone before
this ancient holy city -
I usually manage to skirt around
religion's tight entanglements
yet here I am, embedded
enmeshed in this very catholic place
feeling memories I've never lived
emotions I've never owned before
your amber lights glimmer slow
sensual, air so thick with atmosphere
I scarcely breathe so not to break the spell -
will you unfold, bend for me
tell me your secrets before I leave ?
On the bus to Avignon you inform me
"I've arranged a gig
you're singing tomorrow night -
small village, concert
just outside Avignon
next day is spent in a combi-van
pillaging the still village streets
haranguing locals
through loud-speakers
"Come to the concert tonight"
but the spruiking's all in gallic tongue
and colloquial
I don't understand a thing
the concert, open air, small arena -
fit for french gods
whomever they may be -
is packed with people.
The MC announces in franglais
"La chanteuse, Pamela
all ze way from Australie
to sing pour vous"
I finish my set
with 'Diamonds and Rust'
someone shouts
"We love you"
I shout back
'et moi aussi, au revoir'
and I, feel glad, to exist
on this small spinning friendly planet
tonight, enveloped in love
the village, the people, and you
Pamela Sidney 2002
