André David (Music and Video) + Chrischa Venus Oswald (Poem and Performance)

Watch here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yD7Ox562w7M

Wombed - Chrischa Venus Oswald André David

Probably one of my oldest songs. From 2006.

I made it as part of some kind of challenge that Miranda July had launched back then and one of the tasks was to write the "saddest song".

I think it´s pretty sad...

Saddest Song (2006)

I was washing the dishes in the kitchen of the most magic and inspiring place, humming a melody that I had developed from another melody of an old canon that I had been singing before.

I recorded the song and the sound of the dishes with my phone and addes more sounds/tracks later at home.

This is what it is now though it could have been many other versions and it can be many other versions in any other minute.

Just here the track it is what it is for now....

This Is How

just recorded with my phone and uploaded
but read with love

~

There is still this
Poem sleeping within
Sleeping with me
I took it to bed

I didn´t take anyone
To bed but you
Could not envelop your waist
Almost, the bunch of flowers
Green, bigger than my hand, my arm

With this bouquet of
Flowers, this poem
I went to bed, to sleep
After I had given it
Away, the present

After it had listened to
Chaotic beauty, cries
Silence, twisted tunes, 
The mute conversation
Of and between bodies sensing

(ends and beginnings, rhythm)

After it had split into
Two, three, four, five
New bouquets, after 
It had imbued the paper dinner 
Mats, the greasy fries,
The brimful water glass of wine
The green light on our faces
With grace and a homely feel

After I had told my friends
What I had told the old lady
With the youngest eyes before:
That yes, at night, the buds
Close, but in the morning
They like us will unfold
Open, their lids, open open open

Little suns, yellow mouths, warmth

I went to bed with these
Flowers that I had bought
On the corner of the street
From the old young lady
Who forever pinches my soul
With her gaze that is a journey
Back in time and ahead

I went to bed with these
After tasting their green 
Sour bottom, after cradling
Them in my arms, babes
Thinking of that image I saw 
In the grotto of the Italian church

Mary, lilies, a colorful bird

A Mary with a dark complexion
A bird that I had dreamt
Not this one but 
Lilies that I had smelled
Much later in my kitchen

And her who I had chosen
For being the woman
Amongst them men
For being the fertile
Soil, the goddess
The earth, not the sky

I had chosen to root to fly
And to never settle the mind
But to love the ground for
It´s nourishing dreams
I´m thinking, eye to eye
With the flowers, the suns
With which I went to bed

And the poem they carried
Within while I carried them
A whole night, a whole dream,
A whole moon long
A whole silent song of sleep

And in the morning the poem
Had travelled to my fingertips
Grown, sprouted, morning glory
Writing itself from yellow to violet
Unfolded, open open open

This all, after I had taken it, them
You, the flowers, without words
With me, to bed, assured
That I would remember

What was there to
(Listen to, to)
Not forget

Bouquet / Poem

It happens that I intuitively start to sing lines when drying my hair, vacuuming or doing similar things where monotone sounds arise. For some reason these monotone sounds inspire me to sing along, often speaking out things that build up from within me.

In some way I think of them as a type of mantra or chant and like to extend these melodies and lines (that I every once in a while capture with my mobile phone) recording them with my computer and headphones.

After People(Run)

http://zhartbewegt.tumblr.com/post/183753455610/an-arch-of-skin-flesh-a-living-thing-my-arm

**

An arch of skin, flesh, a living thing
My arm bending, building, a window
Not to look out, just for the form
To frame things, to collect

What I can´t describe (yet)
With my warm body on a lazy layer
Of grey, epoxy, sealed concrete and
Tiny stones, spiking the surface

My fingers touching, stroking the grey
I`m thinking of you, I think of you
Through the peephole of my body
I see a poem, a piece of cloth, a toy

For the wind, a piece of rag, a flag
On top of the black rock, a sign for
Whom, I ask, how long do I have
To keep this bunch of words, still

Moving around like that flag
In the wind: Will I be strong enough
To keep it, in my arms, or at least
Somewhere, in my salty hair

So I can scrub them letters off, at home
On my blank sheets, putting them together
Without a manual, just with my hands, and
The memory of what I have seen

Looking through the arch of skin, looking
Over the sea, the infinite, thinking about
How long can you keep words that are
Flags, on top of a rock, in the wind, a sign

For whom, for what
For those who
Have a heart

Just like a book, just like
What I read on page 95:

It was about poems
It is about secrets
It is about poems

Poem

I`m currently working on a publication of poems and images, these are two of the poems spoken:

Uh the soft doors, freshly
Washed, wrinkly, lined
Landscapes, like brothers
Or sisters of my fingers, hands 
Rutted roads through fleshy
Land, la la la la la la, singing
As never cut by the silver 
Blades sleeping in drawers
An archive of future wounds
If you´re a pessimist or just
A clumsy realist, uh uh uh
It´s a good day, full bleed, and we
Are on the same page, you wavy
Discoveries, white hideouts, that
I will underline with my uh lalalala

*

A voluptuous tune
Out of the blue
Note between half
Closed eyes
Half closed books
Are we dealing
About a sequel
Desire is a ticket
It seems
More valid than
Passports announcing
There is a border
But none that can´t 
Be crossed
Sleepy sass
Sexy as
The leaf that falls
The peak the finger climbs
Ruddy buddy
A naked palace at night
Cheeky tongue
A veil of confusion torn 

This is a naughty song
This is a handy moan
And maybe merely murmur, baby

Poems: The Blue Book

Variation (2019) by Chrischa Venus Oswald

1.1

Now flowers grow
Where your tongue
Blossomed

My breast
My skin embossed
By teasing teeth and

Glazed with glossy
Spit, I, graced
Your chest

The warm light
From above
Breaks, runs

The sun turned stream
Nobody stops

S p r e a d i n g

Fluffy dandelion film
Falling onto
Body, moist air
Hair and fingers

Sly, sensing the rusty
Suaveness of a sturdy
Meadow: Where your
Eyes graze with

A soft
Hunger

1.2

Grace

My friend,
Is embodying
Your desire and
Speaking it

Amplified
Through another

Listening:
What wants
And what desires

Smelling it
In another vessel
Vase, to bouquet

All the scents and
Swallow every shade
Of hair and every

Angle of a face
And the many
Possibilities of

One
Woman

1.3

Grace

In a mirror, mirror
In the late light of
Music that repeats
Repeats

And muscles

Toning, tuning, turning
Bodies, buddies
Growing, growing closer

Until unplugged

Until they sprout anew
And flower, awe
In places, plainly
Unexpected

1.4

A last warm
Weight, a last
Warm shoulder, a
Last warm hand

Weighs

A shudder nesting
In her neck departing
A last warm tongue

Slipping, sliding
Whispering
Goodbye
Surprising friend

That ́s nothing
That ́s nothing
I ́ve ever read

Nor done

I run
Liquified by a heat
Of words

1.5

Deflowered

Finally a virgin

Variation (Poem)

Cinema (Poem)

I´m and artist and poet. And I love singing.
I´ve always been writing. Sometimes these passions merge.

Out of curiosity I started to occasionally record it with my phone or computer, to not forget, to experiment and yes, because I like to sing... 

These tunes just happen from time to time and I like to learn through doing them but don´t aim to be professional (at least so far...), it´s rather a necessary expression of a part deep within myself. These tunes are where I can really connect with my intuition, flow...

Some are unfinished experiments, but I decided to share them and I´m happy if you like the one or other song or experiment.

Or if you even like to help me improve... Meaning I also still have the hope to find someone who doesn´t like to sing so much but prefers to play instruments (I´m really bad at that... and I also think music is more fun and inspiring when made together)... ;)
Who knows what this is good for.

POEMS: If you´d be interested in me reading my poems in your venue, let me know! I love reading/performing them.

Maresia