Sunday, January 29, 2017
A Crow in the Furrow of Sorrow
SERBAN VC ENACHE – TALKING CROWS –
2014
A FLOCK OF BLACK CROWS OVER THE PLAIN
Morning crow, sorrow!
UN VOL DE CORBEAUX NOIRS SUR LA PLAINE
Corbeau du matin, chagrin!
A small short story that tells one day in the life of three
black brother crows or maybe ravens or maybe blackbird, who knows, crows they
are called but they have other names that are funny in a way? Magnus, Korvern
and Septimius. And what’s more for us they go Cra! Cra! Cra! But in fact they
seem to be able to communicate and to speak and think and have ideas about
everything in the world, about humans and about dogs, and some other things of
the sort.
Strangely enough they have their own theory about the world
and how it does not go, even about its economy as if they had been fervent
students in some university. Definitely these three black crow remind me of
Shakespeare and his three weird sisters, though here we have three weird
brothers. And then their hatred for the local stray cat brings to my mind an old
film, Fritz the Cat, a long tailed cat who had great problems with black crows
in another city that may have been New York. So they become like some plotters
trainspotting in the air, some underground homeless and forlorn scavengers in
our society living on rejects, trash and garbage?
At times they find a juicy dead body they can eat as if it
were Christmas or Thanksgiving delicatessen or Easter Passover goodies or
Ramadan evening nourishment. I suppose they satisfy their visionary hunger with
the two globes of the eyes of the corpse, and yet they do not go further to some
other parts that are juicy and rich in a body, alive or not, like the liver,
the pancreas, if they can get to them, though they will never be able to break
the shell of the egg of the brain, the cranium, the skull.
It is true they don’t need to eat human brain to be clever
because they are naturally, and more than humans, because they know they have
to respect nature, to clean it up of its garbage, though they could be thousands
and they would not be able to come to the end of human trash, both the trash
they drop everywhere or the trash they pull around them in the shape of dogs or
cats, and even a third type which is humans themselves who are the governing
trashy kings of this planet they don’t even deserve.
It is somewhat funny and somewhat strange, bizarre,
surprising, and maybe too short since they sleep at night, well, so you say
man, because birds always sleep with one eye tight open and the other wide shut
since cats are nocturnal animals too, not to speak of bats and other night time
predators. But birds have a very great sense of hierarchy; I was watching just
this afternoon and yesterday the birds who come to my yard to take advantage of
the bird-feeders Lucretia garnishes with all kinds of goodies. There is a band
of blackbirds, males and females, five or six, maybe more and among them one
macho male. When the black birds are there all the other little birds of half a
dozen types have to literally fight to get to the food. The black birds are a
perfect band of SS officers keeping their spoils of war. And this afternoon
only the macho male was there and no one else could get close to the grains,
seeds, peanuts, or whatever. He was pacing the yard and the snow with the
authority of a Trump signing executive orders banning everyone from his own
little White House lawn and rose garden.
Who said nature was just, peaceful, equalitarian, gentle,
sweet? Ah! Ah! It is some kind of an inferno and humans are nearly just
slightly more civilized than that, well maybe, perhaps, for sure but not quite
sure.
So be careful the Men In Black are coming and you better be
ready to be extra-terrestrialized if you don’t like the color. I know one
President and one Prime Minister who have to be extra-terrestrialized as an
urgent emergency and sent to intensive care in some NHS hospital (though that
one could come to France and as a European citizen she could get some free
treatment in some luxurious Paris hospital like La Salpetriere built by Louis
XIV), or some community hospital for the homeless in New York (for the other
member of the pair that should be married urgently too before being moved to
these medical reclusive retreats). But I will not tell names. I am not a rat, a
cat maybe, a crow why not, but Serban made me smile with his birdlike human realism,
and there sure are a lot of human beings in the street or in the bureaucratic offices
we have forgotten to bury last time the hearse went by down in the street.
Dr. Jacques COULARDEAU
# posted by Dr. Jacques COULARDEAU @ 1:38 PM 
