Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Edie Sedgwick. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta Edie Sedgwick. Mostrar todas las entradas

domingo, 9 de enero de 2011

Poema de Patti Smith sobre Edie Sedgwick

"Esta muerta." Bobby llamó desde California para decirme que Edie Sedgwick había muerto. (...) Bobby parecía sinceramente afligido por su prematura muerte. "Componle un poema", dijo, y prometí hacerlo.
Patti Smith (Just Kids)

I don't know how she did it. Fire.
She was shaking all over. It took her hours to put her make-up on.
But she did it. Even the false eye-lashes.
She ordered gin with triple limes. Then a limosine. 
Everyone knew she was the real heroine of Blonde on Blonde.

oh it isn't fair
oh it isn't fair
how her ermine hair
turned men around
she was white on white
so blonde on blonde
and her long long legs
how I used to beg
to dance with her
but I never had
a chance with her

oh it isn't fair
how her ermine hair
used to swing so nice
used to cut the air
how all the men
used to dance with her
I never got a chance with her
though I really asked her
down deep
where you do
really dream
in the mind
reading love
I'd get
inside
her move
and we'd
turn around
and she'd
turn around
and turn the head
of everyone in town
her shaking shaking
glittering bones
second blonde child
after brian jones

oh it isn't fair
how I dreamed of her
and she slept
and she slept
forever
and I'll never dance
with her no never
she broke down
like a baby
like a baby girl
like a lady
with ermine hair

oh it isn't fair
and I'd like to see
her rise again
her white white bones
with baby brian jones
baby brian jones
like blushing
baby dolls

Patti Smith
Seventh Heaven (1972)

miércoles, 23 de junio de 2010

edie who?

Parece un ser del alumbrado público
etérea
entre la luz humo
se desvanece en la acera
y reaparece en el próximo poste
con su minivestido de plata
y un caballo rojo en la boca
con su leotardo sin luna
y llena de agujas la piel

una mujer como ella
tiene que haber muerto al final de una guerra
cuando las sopas enlatadas guindaban de las paredes
y se les permitía ser estúpidamente caras y hermosas como Marilyn Monroe

cualquier día de esos con frío en Manhattan
sola como un canto rodado de Dylan
se le vaciaban los ojos
mientras un botones del Chelsea Hotel preguntaba
Edie who?