{"id":54753,"date":"2025-02-03T05:00:46","date_gmt":"2025-02-03T04:00:46","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/?p=54753"},"modified":"2025-02-15T10:09:44","modified_gmt":"2025-02-15T09:09:44","slug":"deserting-hatred","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/eden-saga.com\/en\/deserting-hatred.html","title":{"rendered":"Deserting Hatred"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/p>\n

\nAll those who give up the rising, sandy, uneasy and sun-exposed path* are deserters. Those who exchange their immortal soul for perishable gold, hard gold, are deserters. Those who give up their destiny of heroes to blend in the mass of zeros, they are also deserters, and of the worst kind. But he who follows is not a deserter, oh no!
\n<\/span>*Jean de La Fontaine, The Coach and the Fly<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Deserter<\/h4>\n

song by Boris Vian 1870
\n<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"Mr. President
\nI write you a letter
\nThat you may read
\nIf you have time<\/p>\n

I have just received
\nMy military papers
\nTo go to war
\nBefore Wednesday evening<\/p>\n

Mr. President
\nI don\u2019t want to do it
\nI\u2019m not on earth
\nTo kill poor people<\/p>\n

It\u2019s not to upset you
\nI must tell you
\nMy decision is made
\nI\u2019m going to desert<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"Since I was born
\nI saw my father die
\nI saw my brothers go
\nAnd cry my children<\/p>\n

My mother has suffered so much
\nThat she is in her grave
\nAnd makes fun of the bombs
\nAnd mocks the verses<\/p>\n

When I was a prisoner
\nMy wife was stolen
\nMy soul was stolen
\nAnd all my dear past<\/p>\n

Tomorrow morning
\nI will close my door
\nIn the face of dead years
\nI will go on the roads<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"I will beg for my life
\nOn the roads of France
\nFrom Brittany to Provence
\nAnd I will tell the people<\/p>\n

Refuse to obey
\nRefuse to do it
\nDon\u2019t go to war
\nRefuse to leave<\/p>\n

If blood must be donated
\nGo give your own
\nYou are good apostle
\nMr President<\/p>\n

If you sue me
\nNotify your police officers
\nThat I will not have weapons
\nAnd they can shoot<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nListen<\/h4>\n
by\u00a0 Boris Vian<\/a>\u00a0<\/div>\n
by Mouloudji<\/a>
\nby Serge Reggiani<\/a><\/div>\n
by Joan Baez<\/a><\/div>\n
version of Renaud<\/a><\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"\"In 1914-18, the number of people shot for example exceeds 600 out of 2600 death sentences.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Be Careful!<\/h4>\n

Make no mistake. Pacifists who refuse to fight are not deserters. The real deserters are the ranks that stay behind and send the young people to be slaughtered in the front line. Deserting the war, refusing lethal discipline is acting like a hero. That\u2019s why we are shot.<\/p>\n

\nIn peacetime, there are dozens of ways to be a hero. We see it every day. Denouncing the ignominies, abuses, injustices, that is worthy and useful to others. Issuing alerts, highlighting inconsistencies, and spreading the law of the heart make perpetrators and victims grow.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\nTwelve “No”<\/h4>\n

I\u2019m not a hero, my mistakes stick to me<\/a>Daniel Balavoine<\/span>
\nI\u2019m not a zero, I don\u2019t have a number on my back
\nI\u2019m not a syrup, I drink cider at the aperitif
\nI am not a toro, I was born under the sign of Gemini
\nI\u2019m not a Pierrot, Colombine left too early
\nI\u2019m not a tarot, I\u2019m a Mat well crazy as it should be
\nI am not a leek, my carrots are cooked in the oven
\nI\u2019m not a brother, my brother is not my pole
\nI\u2019m not a blackie, I don\u2019t have the right skin color
\nI\u2019m not a hobo, I have no way to go
\nI\u2019m not a crook, I am not heard on the radio
\nI\u2019m not a cuckoo I\u2019m sorry to be crazy too<\/p>\n

xs, Tribute to Daniel Balavoine, this hero<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Listen<\/h4>\n

by Daniel Balavoine<\/a>
\nby Johnny Halliday<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Sleeper of the Valley<\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

It\u2019s a green hole where a river sings
\nMadly clinging to the herbs of rags
\nOf silver; where the sun, from the proud mountain,
\nLuit: it is a small valley that foam of rays.<\/p>\n

A young soldier, open mouth, bare head,
\nAnd the neck bathed in fresh blue watercress,
\nSleeps; he is lying in the grass, under the cloud,
\nPale in her green bed where the light rains.<\/p>\n

Feet in the gladioli, he sleeps. Smiling as
\nIf a sick child smiled, he took a nap:
\nNature, rock him warmly: he is cold.<\/p>\n

Perfumes do not make his nostrils shiver;
\nHe sleeps in the sun, his hand on his chest
\nQuiet. He has two red holes on the right side.<\/p>\n

Arthur Rimbaud, October 1870<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ballad of the Hangmen<\/h4>\n

Human brothers who live after us
\nHave hearts against us hardened,
\nFor, if pity have of us poor,
\nGod will have sooner of you thanks.
\nYou see us here attach five, six
\nWhen flesh, which we too have fed,
\nIt is pi\u00e7aIt has long been eaten and rotten,
\nAnd we bones, become ash and powder.
\nOur evil is not anyone cares:
\nBut pray to God that he will absolve us all!<\/p>\n

If brothers cry you, do not
\nTo have scorn, whatever you did
\nBy law. However, you know
\nThat all men have not lost their common sense;
\nExcuse us, since we are in a trance,
\nTo the son of the Virgin Mary,
\nMay his grace not be for us quenched,
\nSaving us from the infernal lightning.
\nWe are dead, soul does not mock us
\nBut pray to God that he will absolve us all!<\/p>\n

The rain has washed us clean,
\nAnd the sun dried up and blackened:
\nPies, crows have eyes
\nAnd pulled out the beard and the ears.
\nNever no time we sit;
\nThen this, then that, as the wind changes,
\nTo his pleasure without ceasing charie us,
\nMore birds-beaked than cuttings.
\nBe not of our brotherhood;
\nBut pray to God that he will absolve us all!<\/p>\n

Prince Jesus, who above all else has mastered,
\nKeep Hell from having us lordship:
\nWe have nothing to do with him, nothing to solve.
\nMen, here is no mockery;
\nBut pray God that he will absolve us all.<\/p>\n

Fran\u00e7ois Villon,1489<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

You will not get through<\/h4>\n

\nYou won\u2019t get through you who ran the girls
\nYoung man whose heart I saw beating naked
\nWhen I tore your shirt and you didn\u2019t
\nYou won\u2019t get through old shackle player
\nThat a shell cut through the side in two
\nFor once he had a great game
\nAnd you the tattooed old Legionnaire
\nYou will survive for a long time without face, without eyes<\/p>\n

\nWe go God knows where it is from the bad dream
\nWe\u2019ll slide along the line of fire
\nSomewhere it\u2019s starting to be out of the game
\nThe men there are waiting for the next
\nRoll away rolls the train of last lights
\nThe sleepy soldiers that your dance shakes
\nLet their forehead bend and bend their neck
\nIt smells like tobacco, wool and sweat<\/p>\n

\nHow to look at you without seeing your destiny
\nEngaged to the earth and promised pains
\nThe night lamp makes you of the color of tears
\nYou move your legs
\nAlready the stone thinks where your name is
\nAlready you are only a name of gold on our places
\nAlready the memory of your loves is fading
\nAlready you are no more than to have perished<\/p>\n

Louis Aragon<\/em>
\nfollowing his experience as a military doctor in 1918<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Listen<\/h4>\n

by L\u00e9o Ferr\u00e9<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Is this How Men Live?<\/h4>\n

By Louis Aragon, 1955<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It\u2019s all about the decor
\nChange bed change body
\nWhat good is it because it is still
\nMe who betrays myself
\nMe who drags and scatters
\nAnd my shadow undresses
\nIn the arms of similar girls
\nWhere I thought I\u2019d find a country<\/p>\n

Is this how men live
\nAnd their kisses far away follow them.<\/p>\n

Light heart changing heart heavy heart
\nThe time to dream is short
\nWhat should be done with my nights
\nWhat should I do with my days
\nI had no love nor abode
\nNowhere I live or die
\nI passed as the rumor
\nI fell asleep like noise<\/p>\n

Is this how men live
\nAnd their kisses far away follow them<\/p>\n

\nIt was an unreasonable time
\nWe had put the dead to table
\nWe made castles of sand
\nWe thought the wolves were dogs
\nEverything changed pole and shoulder
\nWas the play funny or not
\nMe if I mistook my role
\nIt was not to understand anything<\/p>\n

Is this how men live
\nAnd their kisses far away follow them<\/p>\n

In the district Hohenzollern
\nBetween the Saar and the barracks
\nLike the flowers of alfalfa
\nLola\u2019s breasts were blooming
\nShe had a heart of swallow
\nOn the couch in the brothel
\nI came to lie down near her
\nIn the hiccups of the pianola<\/p>\n

Is this how men live
\nAnd their kisses far away follow them<\/p>\n

The sky was grey with clouds
\nHe stole wild geese
\nWho cried death on the way
\nAbove the houses of the docks
\nI saw them through the window
\nTheir sad song entered my being
\nAnd I thought I recognized
\nRainer Maria Rilke<\/p>\n

Is this how men live
\nAnd their kisses far away follow them<\/p>\n

She was brown, she was white
\nHer hair fell on her hips
\nAnd the week and Sunday
\nShe opened her arms to all
\nShe had eyes of desire
\nShe worked with valour
\nFor a gunner from Mainz
\nWho never came back<\/p>\n

Is this how men live
\nAnd their kisses far away follow them<\/p>\n

There are other soldiers in town
\nAnd at night the civilians come up
\nPut some mascara back on your eyelashes
\nLola that you will soon go
\nAnother glass of liquor
\nIt was in April at five o’clock
\nIn the morning, that in your heart
\nA dragon plunged his knife<\/p>\n

Is this how men live
\nAnd their kisses far away follow them
\nLike achieved suns<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\n

Listen<\/h4>\n<\/div>\n
by L\u00e9o Ferr\u00e9<\/a><\/p>\n
\n
by Philippe L\u00e9otard<\/a><\/div>\n
by Bernard Lavilliers<\/a><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/p>\n

To Desert Hatred<\/h4>\n

To desert hatred, banish indifference, give birth to love, sing deliverance, so that one day which is not far away death will be a change of place. A passage. A milestone to be crossed. A new Eden to conquer.<\/p>\n

\nThe fear of death is not honorable. It is a sign of misunderstanding. If we are only matter, like the Archons, rotting is forever. Nothing of us can remain when we are lying in the coffin. I want to be buried standing. And without the earth, since I\u2019m leaving it.<\/p>\n

\nWhen the time comes, not to run away, but to grow up again, I must go. It must be so. But in the way I choose. Standing in my kitchen, bare feet on the tile, eyes turned to what awaits us, head protected from thoughts, ideas, reasons to live a little longer, I will light the fire.<\/p>\n

\nNo lighter. no need to match. It will be enough to increase the heat in my body a little. Go up again. It will be enough to block my inspir. Yes, no more breathing!<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Soul Library<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n