Bertrand Bezula

This is a collection of my lyrics, other writings, and sometimes recordings (which are lo-fi to the max, but it's the writing which counts right?)

Here's one I have just uploaded to Youtube.

It's about the power found in our ability to aestheticise the world around us.

Bend the Light

Untimely, not crime free, but this one's alright.
Unwinding, love binds him, and this one is here to
Bend the light

I'm stacking, un-stacking, this way it filters light.
Stone-foolin', centric-pulling: this way we we learn to
Bend the light

=

So you call yourself a critical friend do you now?
How could you stop the show?
Fickle dove! I'm falling for you.

So we fall around the edges of Pepys' blue lagoon,
He played London town

Like I will, taming the will,
Having my fill
Blowing the light into
Baubles that grow,
Explode into those
Manically beautiful colours,
Swarming as many as a note flurry, a
Note floritura

Santa Marie come show me.

=

[repeat verse]

=

So you call yourself critical friend to the end?
How could you stop the show?

Taming the will
Having my fill
Blowing the light into
Baubles that grow,
Explode into those
Manically beautiful colours I know

Santa Maria help me through the show

Hey little dove, bend the light

Bertrand Bezula

And here's a poem that is yet to make it into a song.

Churn

Amongst the hedgerows an incessant buzzing
Is bold and close just like it were nothing more
Than an old tape recorder, thrown, and now nestling,
Bothering air with crunch crunch melodies.

Unreal illumination flattens our curves
We sit, idle we sit, taking sweet time
On our quivering beaks like viscous, oozing nectar.
Racing thoughts arrive and prompt me to ask:

Why should the trees strive to exist
Why do the birds explode from their innards
At the sound...that...(let us not speak of that).
Bird-spitting branches—fluttering capillaries.

Mother Nature balances everything
And this is how it is—no trembling now—
This is how your death balances new life. Nature
Like all our artists faces terminals

Where her ability is unduly grounded:
There where caprice breeds personality,
Where everything ceases, because the just
Keep to what is theirs (so tyrants are just).

Ka-Ata-Killa brings singing memories
Folding, unfolding, with the block rhythm.
Kala-chu says the river, greeting her gladly.
She does not reuse, but soft, soft alia

She plants in a row with argentinous seeds,
The healing herb that shudders in between teeth
That are grown long: anomalies, automatic
In their taking, forgetting to shine out.

Bertrand Bezula

Here is another song, comments very welcome.

The lyrics may seem troubling, but in fact they are meant to capture something silly and salacious too. I didn’t know it at the time, but recently came across “Der Erlkoenig” by Goethe (and music by Schubert), which probably does a better job at being both playful and sinister. For any classicists out there, the image of the gore-filled roots does indeed borrow heavily from Vergil’s Aeneid III.

Sat the beast upon the well, Burst his head, down he fell.
Like the sea inside a shell His voice still tumbles down and it does echo.

On the knoll that’s just beside The flowers growing its face they hide
The same features each, all side by side, And me still wishing only to forget

The best we ever had, boy, The good that won’t turn bad. The rest comes without thanks, boy, And could easy burst your banks. All along.

Pulled a flower, long time I tugged TIl earth gave up the roots it hugged;
With bloody sap the tendrils plugged— Next to my feet they drip, my hands stay clean.

My eyes shine out like gold in murky streams And tumble out like teeth in dreams
I drink the waters from the well Taking deep draughts still wishing to forget

The best we ever had, boy, The good that won’t turn bad The rest takes without thanks, boy, And could easy burst your banks Alone with it.

Bertrand Bezula

Oh and the above song 'Dia Stuin' is on Youtube if you want to listen : )