"QU'EST-CE POUR NOUS, MON COEUR..."

WE WERE SO MUCH WHITER THEN

Tom Cochrane , O.C., Honorary Colonel (Canadian Air Force), Honorary Ph.D. (Brandon University), Canadian Music Industry Humanitarian Award 2005, on his only good song, "White Heat":

"I guess it proves that naivete is one of the mothers of invention... I wrote most of the lyrics in a dusty corner of Guelph University's Porter Hall library after reading Henry Miller's White Heat/Time of The Assassins, an essay on Rimbaud. ... I would travel to Somalia during the crisis there some 15 years later with World Vision. This was a country in which Rimbaud had sold guns, and unfortunately that legacy still remains."



Cochrane makes excuses for his only good song, as if Somali Negroes would never have had any wars without Arthur Rimbaud selling the a few old rifles in Ethiopia. When Cochrane went to Somalia, its population was about half of what it is now (the same is true of Ethiopia and Eritrea -- the focus of "Live Aid"), and Canada was much Whiter than it is now. "White Hot" is just a youthful, barely-conscious-stream-of-consciousness response to The Kike Miller's take on Rimbaud's failed gun-running career. It's pathetic that Cochrane allowed his song end up being used mostly in anti-White agit-prop campaigns, to promote "White guilt". Is Cochrane also embarrassed that he didn't know how to pronounce "Somalia".

White Hot

Tom Cochrane & Ken Greene, 1980

Waiting by the shoreline
In Somalia for your reply
I need you to come see me
That's no lie
The guns are getting closer
The sweat pours like dew
That fell from the trees in Tripoli
In the spring

I'm white hot
I can't take it anymore
I'm white hot
By the Somalian shore
White hot, yes I'm burning to the core
I need rain

Cast out from the jungle
With no rations or canteen
For selling faulty riffles
To the thieves in Tanzania

Adventures and misfortune
Nothing wagered, nothing gained
I have wandered through the desert
Found the ocean not the rain

I can remember the nights by the strand in Tripoli
We were so much younger then
I had you and my poetry to protect me
We were so much cooler then
I need rain

I'm white hot
I can't take it anymore
I'm white hot
By the Somalian shore

I'm white hot
Yes I'm burning to the core
I need rain, I need rain, I need rain

I can remember the nights by the sea in Tripoli
We were so much bolder then
I had you and my poetry to protect me
We were both soldiers then
Bolder then, colder then
I need rain, I need rain, I need rain
White hot
White hot
White hot
White hot
Water




Qu'est-ce pour nous, mon cœur...

Arthur Rimbaud, 1886

Qu'est-ce pour nous, mon cœur, que les nappes de sang
Et de braise, et mille meurtres, et les longs cris
De rage, sanglots de tout enfer renversant
Tout ordre ; et L'Aquilon encor sur les débris ;

Et toute vengeance ? Rien !... - Mais si, toute encor,
Nous la voulons ! Industriels, princes, sénats,
Périssez ! puissance, justice, histoire, à bas !
Ça nous est dû. Le sang ! le sang ! la flamme d'or !

Tout à la guerre, à la vengeance, à la terreur,
Mon Esprit ! Tournons dans la morsure : Ah ! passez,
Républiques de ce monde ! Des empereurs,
Des régiments, des colons, des peuples, assez !

Qui remuerait les tourbillons de feu furieux,
Que nous et ceux que nous nous imaginons frères ?
À nous ! Romanesques amis : ça va nous plaire.
Jamais nous ne travaillerons, ô flots de feux !

Europe, Asie, Amérique, disparaissez.
Notre marche vengeresse a tout occupé,
Cités et campagnes ! - Nous serons écrasés !
Les volcans sauteront ! et l'Océan frappé...

Oh ! mes amis ! - Mon cœur, c'est sûr, ils sont des frères :
Noirs inconnus, si nous allions ! allons ! allons !
O malheur ! je me sens frémir, la vieille terre,
Sur moi de plus en plus à vous ! la terre fond,

Ce n'est rien ! j'y suis ! j'y suis toujours.



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卍心の智

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