I've seen him on the Arenberg stage on Tuesday, performing his spoken word show "the Long March", and I was (once again) completely blown away. From the moment he comes on stage, wearing his standard uniform (black trousers and a black t-shirt, although not wearing Vans this time), until he leaves the stage three hours later: the man just doesn't stop talking. His mouth doesn't even stop for the smallest sip of water, he is a verbal muscle machine on a roll... Early Black Flag memories, provocative rants on American politics and global economy, flashes of auto-critique, funny travel stories and an insight into his ever-positive (and highly contagious) attitude in life: he kneads it into an entertaining show which somehow combines his humour ('uma', referring to one of his travel stories) with an amount of energy which could easily help a few countries through the winter months. Based in the Northern hemisphere, du-uh.
As today is National Poetry Day (not the international one, mind you, that would be March 21), I decided to add two particular pieces by Rollins. First of all, a quote: The only difference between me and others is that they think they can change something with cute little poems, nice cards or embracing trees and being nice to little lapdogs. From a man who is as active as he is (check the internet), I can take this.
Secondly, a cute little poem. By Mister Rollins, of course.
ADVENTURES IN THE GREAT OUTDOORS
You climb, and climb.
Hand over hand.
You reach the top.
You stand on the shaky edge of your heart.
You look in her eyes.
You hold your breath and jump.
You Leap into her arms.
Her arms fall at her sides.
You fall past her window.
You hit the ground.
You are shattered.
All broken up, like someone taking a bottle, and dropping it onto the ground.
All busted up.
Sharp jagged broken pieces of yourself lying on the ground.
You put the pieces back together again.
They never go back quite the same.
The outside is seamless and smooth.
But inside, broken glass, mind and soul with little cracks in the sides,
and loose splinters at the bottom.
They stay to remind you.
At times the soul glass splinters will give you a jab to remind you of your leap.
After a time when you start climbing again you will forget about the soul glass splinters.
She can break your fall, or let you fall and break.
And every time you jump
You just know she’s going to catch you.
You climb, and climb.
Hand over hand.
You reach the top.
You stand on the shaky edge of your heart.
You look in her eyes.
You hold your breath and jump.
You Leap into her arms.
Her arms fall at her sides.
You fall past her window.
You hit the ground.
You are shattered.
All broken up, like someone taking a bottle, and dropping it onto the ground.
All busted up.
Sharp jagged broken pieces of yourself lying on the ground.
You put the pieces back together again.
They never go back quite the same.
The outside is seamless and smooth.
But inside, broken glass, mind and soul with little cracks in the sides,
and loose splinters at the bottom.
They stay to remind you.
At times the soul glass splinters will give you a jab to remind you of your leap.
After a time when you start climbing again you will forget about the soul glass splinters.
She can break your fall, or let you fall and break.
And every time you jump
You just know she’s going to catch you.
Ah, it feels good to 'know' people making you feel less afraid to turn 51...
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