A: Farewell

Without strength. I'm sorry.

An extract from the PuritansThe 1998 play, which had its moments of glory, will summarise what I would like to say to my team today in other words, if I could find the energy.

By the way, for months, if not years now, I have been putting off putting the archives of my old shows, which are so important to me, into shape and online. This will certainly be my next task, once the fate of the Parques accomplished and outdated.

Harvey, an imaginary psychoanalyst-guru, was speaking through my mouth, with mocking casualness, to poor Betty flanked by her partners, but above all, through the intermediary of their listening, to the spectators of the Lavoir Moderne who must not have known to what extent this harangue, as melancholic as it was emphatic, was intended for them. The background music was La Maritza, sung as it should be by Sylvie Vartan, and which you only need to have in mind to know how the words are chanted in the distance, without following her, on the shadow of her melody.

See you tomorrow, hopefully in better shape. Good night. Phew!

A: Farewell

Don't make an armour of your arms

Follow me

Don't look back

Follow me

In the land of cruel love

The realm of devastated hearts

Ignore all regrets

Forget the origin of your life

Throw your clothes on the carpet

Follow me

Where you go it's not cold,

Hold out your arms and come to me

Follow me

In the land of broken hearts

So that you can cry there

Crying there, crying there

Without ever regretting anything

That being born

Don't make an armour of your arms

Don't look back

Follow me

Follow me

Follow me

 

LES PURITAINS © David Noir