Oggi compio 35 anni, non che la cosa importi a qualcuno. Passerò la giornata a lavorare ad un film con il mio amico Jonah Hill (interpreto un assassino sociopatico). Ricordo che imparai delle cose sui sociopatici al liceo, nel corso di sociologia tenuto dal grande professor Roland. Riusciva a fare più addominali di qualsiasi studente; li sfidava in delle gare appesi alla porta della classe. Ci portò anche in gita in un carcere in cui i detenuti svolgono il lavoro carcerario; straordinario. Ricordo il viso di un uomo che ci fissava attraverso la piccola finestra della sua porta, oscillava mentre si stava masturbando.
Se guardo così indietro, mi rendo conto che sono veramente cresciuto; non riuscirei ancora a battere il professor Roland negli addominali, ma ho una professione adesso -- anche se strana, sono pagato per fingere di essere una persona come quelle, senza empatia per gli altri, almeno lo sono in questo film. E' bello aver capito che se sei aperto, la vita cambia eccome, e in meglio .Il giorno del mio trentunesimo compleanno scrissi una poesia. Ho fatto un po' di cose nel frattempo, ma questa poesia riesce ancora a dire come mi sento ai compleanni.
31
It was birthday thirty-one
I was in Suffolk, Virginia, directing
A short film called Herbert White.
We stayed at the Hilton Gardens,
The only hotel in town,
The rest are motels, rented monthly.
There are no restaurants, but plenty of strip malls,
Prefabricated houses and little swamps;
People sit in their cars in gas-station lots
And eat and smoke.
This is eating out in Suffolk.
The actor that fucks a goat in my film
Was home-schooled because his parents didn't
Want him to be subjected to drugs, guns and violence.
"And blacks," I think.
Indian River, the school is called.
Tyrone is his name, a handsome, dumb-faced kid.
There were baby goats; they ran around their pen on stiff, stumpy legs.
*
I've had good and bad birthdays.
And boy do they make me think
About when I was younger,
When I had no friends and my mom drove me to school
Because I lost my license drunk-driving, and we wouldn't talk,
We would listen to Blonde on Blonde
Every morning, and life was like moving through something
Thick and gray that had no purpose.
And now I see that everything has had as much purpose
As I give it, or at least it can all make its way
Into my poem and become something else,
And in that way all that shit, and all those bad birthdays,
And the good ones are markers in an anniversary line -
And they carry less and less of their original pain,
And become emptier, just markers really, building blocks,
To be turned into constructions and fucked with.
Se guardo così indietro, mi rendo conto che sono veramente cresciuto; non riuscirei ancora a battere il professor Roland negli addominali, ma ho una professione adesso -- anche se strana, sono pagato per fingere di essere una persona come quelle, senza empatia per gli altri, almeno lo sono in questo film. E' bello aver capito che se sei aperto, la vita cambia eccome, e in meglio .Il giorno del mio trentunesimo compleanno scrissi una poesia. Ho fatto un po' di cose nel frattempo, ma questa poesia riesce ancora a dire come mi sento ai compleanni.
31
It was birthday thirty-one
I was in Suffolk, Virginia, directing
A short film called Herbert White.
We stayed at the Hilton Gardens,
The only hotel in town,
The rest are motels, rented monthly.
There are no restaurants, but plenty of strip malls,
Prefabricated houses and little swamps;
People sit in their cars in gas-station lots
And eat and smoke.
This is eating out in Suffolk.
The actor that fucks a goat in my film
Was home-schooled because his parents didn't
Want him to be subjected to drugs, guns and violence.
"And blacks," I think.
Indian River, the school is called.
Tyrone is his name, a handsome, dumb-faced kid.
There were baby goats; they ran around their pen on stiff, stumpy legs.
*
I've had good and bad birthdays.
And boy do they make me think
About when I was younger,
When I had no friends and my mom drove me to school
Because I lost my license drunk-driving, and we wouldn't talk,
We would listen to Blonde on Blonde
Every morning, and life was like moving through something
Thick and gray that had no purpose.
And now I see that everything has had as much purpose
As I give it, or at least it can all make its way
Into my poem and become something else,
And in that way all that shit, and all those bad birthdays,
And the good ones are markers in an anniversary line -
And they carry less and less of their original pain,
And become emptier, just markers really, building blocks,
To be turned into constructions and fucked with.
Fonte: The Huffington Post
Autore: James Franco
Traduzione: Chiara Fasano per JAMES FRANCO ITALIA
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento