{"id":3139,"date":"2022-12-19T08:00:00","date_gmt":"2022-12-19T07:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/?p=3139"},"modified":"2022-12-18T15:03:22","modified_gmt":"2022-12-18T14:03:22","slug":"bring-the-boy-back-home","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wp.unil.ch\/musemagazine\/2022\/12\/bring-the-boy-back-home\/","title":{"rendered":"Bring the Boy Back Home"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Image: <\/strong>\u00a9 Elo\u00efse Wenger<\/span><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Author:<\/strong> Elo\u00efse Wenger<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s on the bench seat of a coach that I emerge
Panting and looking around a green and red train
When suddenly I hear the grim sound of a dirge.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I raise my eyes and meet the shape of Kurt Cobain
He turns his head and from my mouth escapes a scream
For a huge hole over his ear displays his brain.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Shocked, he stares at me with his eyes blue as a stream.
Then jokingly he shrugs saying: \u02bbCome as you are!\u02bc
Horror! It can\u2019t be true! It can\u2019t be but a dream!
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u02bbWell look at you!\u02bc He tells me, taking his guitar.
At this moment, I witness the blood on my chest,
That vanishes \u2018til there remains only a scar.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At this sight I cannot help but to feel oppressed.
I try to ask my fellow what all this meant,
But he doesn\u2019t answer, seemingly not impressed.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On this pause the train leaves and we start our descent.

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

II.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s difficult to say how long we\u2019ve been travelling.
The sky\u2019s neither any colour nor truly dark
And he refuses to say where we are going.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But before losing any hope for a landmark,
The quiet wagon slows down and halts at a station
On a sign is written Crystal Palace Park.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Through my window I spot with mortification
On the platform half lying down on the cold ground
An old woman in a state of desperation.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She doesn\u2019t move for it looks like her legs are bound
And as she keeps weeping like a beast you slaughter,
I see iron devouring her legs like a hound.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But now I recognize the face of the monster.
At least my father used to call this witch like this.
Next to me Kurt shouts with a smile: \u02bbHi, Mrs. Thatcher!\u02bc
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The train starts up, leaving her shade to the abyss.

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

III.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u02bbIt\u2019s strange to see we can pity someone like her\u02bc
I stay silent but he keeps talking to me:
\u02bbAre you afraid of the meaning of \u201cforever\u201d?\u02bc
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Existential questions are not my cup of tea.
But I can\u2019t think about it for too long
As we stop again at a station called Horley.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After a while, I hear the echo of a song
I turn my head and notice on a bench a dude,
Whose success was a long time ago seen as strong.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But who has now for only listener solitude.
From his mouth I hear: \u02bbImagine there\u2019s no heaven..\u02bc
He is whispering it with such an attitude.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This man who was the voice of peace is now broken.
With his tired hands he cries covering his head
And from his nose his pair of glasses have fallen.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why is this man there? This question fills me with dread.
I want to ask him so many things. I speak: \u02bbHey, sir..\u02bc
But I feel the wheels beneath me moving ahead.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My wound starts bleeding again as my senses blur.

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

IV.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I wake up again, my eyes are still bright red.
My fellow musician is looking for my gaze.
However, I prefer to ignore him instead.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The tears inside my mad being continue to raise
When suddenly I notice we have stopped again
Like petrified, I can\u2019t pronounce a single phrase.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I choose to look after having counted to ten.
Haywards Heath… I think I know where we are going.
My thoughts are broken by the vision of two men.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One is holding a skull to which he is talking.
The other one, louder, is praying for mercy
His eyes are filled with terror as he is crying.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He yells: \u02bbMy God, my God, look not so fierce on me!\u02bc
But it\u2019s only when he shouts \u02bbCome not, Lucifer!\u02bc
That the entire atmosphere becomes gloomy.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A second, maybe a year, then a great clamour.

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

V.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The noise is followed by the grinding of some gears.
Too late to fly, the train turns into a rocket.
Landscapes are running, whistles are drilling my ears.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If it goes on like that, I will need a bucket
Though my companion is not suffering like me,
Dreaming at the window, one hand in his pocket.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But the train eventually stops, setting me free.
The doors open and I violently rush outside
Where I now contemplate the beauty of a sea.

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Appeased by the slow movement of the rising tide,
Small tears of joy drop and turn my vision to a blur.
After a while I notice Kurt has reached my side.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We stay still until I\u2019ve wiped away the last tear.
\u02bbAre you happy with our final destination?\u02bc
I nod seeing standing before us my dear Pier.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u02bbBrighton..\u02bc this word flies from my mouth like salvation.
\u02bbThe place I was born in\u02bc, \u02bbAnd where peace will find you.\u02bc
His sentence is followed by new agitation.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u02bbThere is so much my friend you still need to go through\u02bc
Whistles fill my head again; the ground starts shaking.
\u02bbSee you Daniel!\u02bc\u2026 \u02bbDaniel! Doctor! He made it through!\u02bc
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I feel the hand of my mum and hear her crying.


<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tribute to Daniel McLean<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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