Gérard Kurkdjian
Of Armenian origin and passionate about Eastern traditions, Gérard Kurkdjian has spent twenty-five years pursuing a career as a musician, artistic director, and producer. He has been the artistic director of numerous world music festivals, including the Yerevan World Music Festival in Armenia and, in Morocco, the Fez Festival of World Sacred Music, of which he was one of the co-founders and the artistic director from its inception in 1994 until 2009. Passionate about world music and spirituality, musician and narrator, Gérard Kurkdjian is also the initiator of many creations where poems and texts from the great mystical paths intertwine with the musical traditions of the West and the East: Caravans of Moons – The Supreme Night – The Funeral Oration of Henrietta of England – The Firebird – The Flowers of Evil – Shruti – The Songs of Isis – Water of Life.
His interest in a global and anthropological approach to world cultures has led him to organise numerous conferences with renowned writers, academics and philosophers. His latest publication is entitled “The Great Book of Sacred Music of the World”.
The texts offered here are taken from the musical creation conceived by Gérard Kurkdjian: Eau de Vie, with Gérard Kurkdjian – (Reciter / Percussion), Éric Sempé (Guitar) and David Amar (Saxophone / Flute / Vocals).
Raga Miyan Ki Malhar
Genese
Rivers are our brothers
Speech given in 1854 by Seattle (1786-1866), chief of the Duwamish and Suquamish tribes, to the american governor Isaac Stevens.
Music: Witchi tai to (Jim Pepper)
Every inch of this land is sacred to my people.
Every shiny pine needle, every sandy shore, every wisp of mist in the dark woods, every clearing and every buzz of insect is sacred to the memory and experience of my people.
The sap that runs through the trees carries the memories of the red man.
We are part of the earth, and the earth is part of us. The fragrant flowers are our sisters; the deer, the horse, the great eagle, they are our brothers. The rocky ridges, the juices in the meadows, the warmth of the pony, and man, all belong to the same family.
The sparkling water that flows in the streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors. ……each spectral reflection in the clear water of the lakes speaks of events and memories from the life of my people. The murmur of the water is the voice of my father’s father.
Rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst. Rivers carry our canoes and feed our children. If we sell you our land, from now on you must remember, and teach your children, that the rivers are our brothers and yours, and from now on you must show the rivers the tenderness you would show a brother.
A lake
Extract from Walden - HD Thoreau
Music : My Light is Gone (Eric Sempé)
A lake is the most beautiful and expressive feature of the landscape. It is the eye of the earth;
by gazing into it, the man who contemplates it measures the depth of his own nature.
The fluvial trees near the shore are the tapering eyelashes that fringe it;
the wooded hills and cliffs that surround it the eyebrow that overhangs it.
On such a September or October day, Walden is a perfect mirror of the forest, set with stones as precious to me as if they were rarer or of great price.
Nothing so beautiful, so pure and at the same time so vast as a lake can be found on the face of the earth.
Water from heaven.
It needs no fences. People come and go without defiling it. It is a mirror that no stone can break, whose bright silver will never fade, whose shade is constantly repaired by Nature; no storm, no dust can obscure its ever-clear face.
Every piece of water betrays the spirit that permeates the air. It constantly receives new life and movement from above. By nature, it is the intermediary between earth and heaven.
On land, only the trees sway, but the water itself is wrinkled by the wind. The flakes or streams of light reveal to me the places where the breeze crosses the lake briskly. It’s quite astonishing that we can lower our eyes to its surface.
One day, at last, we may look up at the surface of the air to see where an even more subtle spirit is sweeping it.
Water from heaven.
