Friday, 18 January 2013

Ingen skånes for vores drømme

NO ONE IS SAFE FROM OUR DREAMS


ENGLISH TRANSLATION IN ITALICS BELOW



Grundstensnedlæggelsen for Kvæsthusprojektet forleden blev afrundet af en monolog skrevet af Jokum Rohde. Nedenstående er et uddrag, stærke ord om, hvad kunsten er, og hvorfor vi - De Forbandede - ikke kan undvære den:


When the Kvæsthus Project was inaugurated at the waterfront in Copenhagen, the event concluded with a monologue written by the dramatist Jokum Rohde. The following is an excerpt; strong words about what art is and why we - The Damned - cannot do without it:




Peter RavnFool No. 1, 40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas, 2011.



 Narreskibet 

af Jokum Rohde


Gud, hvis han findes, har skabt teatret i vrede. Det er en ufærdig kunstart, hedensk, ond. Det er som en forbandelse der hviler over menneskeheden, og vi der deltager i dette mysterium, vi deler denne forbandelse og skal aldrig undslippe den.

Vi er ved at tabe kampen, mine damer og herrer. Vi troede på det, gjorde vi ikke? En stund? Men indrøm det kun, vi er ved at tabe kampen mod denne forbandelse, vi er ved at tabe kampen… til teatret. Disse skrøbelige bygninger af glas, disse velmente forsøg på at udfordre teatrets egen massive natur og gøre teatret tilgængeligt, smukt, behageligt og frem for alt, brugbart, de var forgæves. Hvad vi nu oplever er, at teatret hævner sig. Det er så enkelt, og, ja, grandiøst. Og vi er nødt til at acceptere at teatret er så meget stærkere end vi er. Teatret vil vinde, og vi skal dø.

Jeg har hørt sige, at der skulle gemme sig stærke erotiske elementer i teatret, men jeg er ikke enig. Hvad vi har at gøre med er tværtom en ekstrem vulgaritet, teatret er et udtryk for de laveste kræfter i os, utugt, mord, alles kamp mod alle, mørketilbedelse, og hele tiden den slubrende lyd af kvælning, hver gang vi skuespillere trækker vejret.

Danserne hopper ikke fordi de vil røre snoreloftet. De hopper fordi gulvet er glødende! Sangerne skriger af smerte, ikke af glæde! Og hvis vi skuer længe nok ind i dette mirage af forstillelse og smerte, så aner vi et mønster, en symmetri, en harmoni. Men det er massemordets overvældende harmoni, det er den blodindsmurte scenes uhyggelige fredfyldte smil, og vi er alle nødt til at bøje os i støvet for dette rædslens udsagn, ja, sat overfor denne kraftfulde udtalelse af magt, skønhed og drab er vi alle halve knuste sætninger fra en dårlig roman om forstaden.

For kaos hersker, og vi, mine damer og herrer, vi har tabt, lad os se det i øjnene nu, gør det for mig, for inden længe skal jeg dø, dræbt ved denne havn af dette teater i denne by! Hader jeg da teatret? Så jeg hellere at vi ikke spillede ”Utopia” i aften, at jeg således undslap min død, og i stedet kunne fordrive tiden med et spil kegler i Griffenfeldtsgade? Nej, når jeg har sagt alt dette til jer, er det fordi jeg elsker teatret.

Kun i teatret kan mit skib løbe ind med en kontrakt på et nyt samfund. Jeg har været i Utopia, jeg har set en anden verden, en bedre verden end vores. Hvilke andre steder skulle jeg kunne forkynde dette budskab om retfærdighed og forandring end her?

På Christiansborg? Til bestyrelsesmødet i et magtfuldt kompagni? På pladsen foran et stormagasin? Nej, kun her, ved en forladt havn en januardag… kun her kan noget bedre begynde!

Ja, I hørte rigtigt: Denne havn er ingens havn. Her er ingen mennesker. Ingen værfter. Ingen klippere, skonnerter, fiskere, kaptajner, matroser, ingen handel, ingen pakhuse, ingen toldbod, ingen flåde, ingen flotille, ingen master, ingen pramme, husbåde, ingen supertankere længere! Kun her kan noget nyt begynde for vor by! Kun her.

For her er skibet der løber ind om natten, uden sejl og med halvtreds kanoner til køkkenpigen Polly. Her er skibet der fragter Nosferatu´s tusinde pestbærende rotter med sig der vil myldre gennem gader og bygninger. Her er skibet der bærer en kontrakt på et nyt samfund som jeg, matrosen Klaus Herzog, i aften vil forsøge at videregive til jer alle!

Her er narreskibet, mine damer og herrer, og ingen skånes for vores drømme om en ny by i en ny verden!



The Ship of Fools


by Jokum Rohde


God, if he exists, created the theatre in anger. It is an unfinished art, pagan, evil. It's like a curse hanging over humanity, and we, who take part in this mystery; we share this curse and shall never escape it.

We are losing the war, ladies and gentlemen. We believed in it, didn't we? For a little while? But just admit it, we are losing the battle against this curse; we are losing the battle... to the theatre. These fragile buildings made of glass, these well-intentioned efforts to challenge the theatre's own massive nature and make the theatre welcoming, beautiful, comfortable and above all, useful, they were to no avail. What we are seeing now is that the theatre is taking its revenge. It is so simple, and, yes, grandiose. And we have to accept that the theatre is so much stronger than we are. The theatre will win, and we shall die.

I have heard it said that there are strong erotic elements hidden in the theatre, but I do not agree. What we are dealing with is on the contrary an extreme vulgarity, the theatre expresses the lowest forces within us, fornication, murder, everyone is fighting everybody, the worship of the darkness, and constantly, all the time, the soft slurping sound of choking every time we actors draw a breath.

The dancers are not leaping because they want to reach for the rigging loft. They leap because the floor is at fire! The singers scream of pain, not of joy! And if we look long enough into this mirage of pretence and pain, we will sense a pattern, a symmetry, a harmony. But it is the overwhelming harmony of mass murder, it is the eerily serene smile of the blood soaked stage, and we all have to bow down in the dust for this statement of horror, yes, measured against this powerful declaration of power, beauty and murder we are all half-crushed phrases from a bad novel about the suburbs.

Chaos reigns and we, ladies and gentlemen, we have lost; let us face it now, do it for me, because I shall die before long; killed at this harbour of this theatre in this town! Do I then hate the theatre? Would I rather that we did not play "Utopia" tonight, that I thus escaped my death and could pass the time playing a game of skittles instead in Griffenfeldtsgade? No, I have told you all of this, because I love the theatre.

Only in the theatre can my ship run in with a contract for a new society. I have been to Utopia; I have seen another world, a better world than ours. Where else could I dispatch this message of justice and change than here?

At Christiansborg? The board meeting of a powerful company? In the square in front of a department store? No, only here, at an abandoned harbour on a day in January... only here can something better take its beginning!

Yes, you heard right: This harbour is nobody's harbour. There are no people here. No yards. No clippers, schooners, fishermen, captains, sailors, no trade, no warehouses, no custom houses, no navy, no flotilla, no masts, no barges, houseboats, no super tankers anymore! Only here can a new beginning take place for our city! Only here.

For here is the ship that runs in during the night; without sails and with fifty canons to Polly, the kitchen maid. Here is the ship that carries thousands of Nosferatu's plague-bearing rats, which will swarm through the streets and buildings. Here is the ship that carries a contract for a new society that I, the sailor Klaus Herzog, tonight will endeavour to pass on to you all!

Here is the ship of fools, ladies and gentlemen, and no one is safe from our dreams of a new city in a new world!


En stor tak til Jokum Rohde for stærke ord! The words and artwork are courtesy of their artists and must not be reproduced without their permission.



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