S I M P L E K T I VA N A U G S B U R G - B A S E D

K O L L E K T I V

L O [ G I ] C O

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S I M P L E K T I V A n d r e w F e a r

H u g o F o n f o nA g u s t i n M o r e n oF r a n c e s o Z e v i oM a g n u s A b r a m i d i s

M u s i c b y J . S . B a c h

( R e c i t a t i o n )( M i m e a r t i s t , C o n c e p t )( C e l l o , P o e t r y , C o n c e p t )( C o n c e p t )( A r t )

En densas nubes de humo y brumaFlota libre el DesvaríoDel Filósofo, perdido

En su discurrir de Pluma.

Cuelga floja de sus labiosLa Pipa de tabaco fino;Impasibles ojos sabios

Ignoran manchas de Vino.

En la Izquierda, una tiza,Una idea, una premisa;De la conjetura audaz,A una conclusión falaz.

A la Derecha, un Pincel,

Marca trazos en el Lienzo.La Esculptura, en su comienzo,

Busca forma en el Cincel.

Deeply focused in Dilemma,Has befriended his old Quill.

Outlined lies, by means of skill,A Book of Erdös worthy Lemma.

Though at length, has come The Knot;

And a Script, appears now not.Frowning, mute, in Hesitation,Thoughts invoking Inspiration.

All the while, up in the Heights,

Pristine voices and Delights.The singing of Apolo's Choir,

Oblivious to all Prayer's Desire.

Disregarded thus his Plead,All his Vision in a Blur;

Not today, shall it occur,that the Gods will deign to heed.

Pouring forth from Ruby Goblet,

The aged Reserve, he longs to sip.Running smooth, a crimson droplet,

Towards red, awaiting lip.

Back again in arm-chair pondering,With the Distance, at his sight.

Weary from such toilsome Plight,For renewed Discovery, longing.

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En Dilemas enfocado,Con la Pluma ha hecho acuerdos.

A destreza ha bosquejado,Un Lema del Libro de Erdös.

Pero al fin, se ha atado un Nudo;

No aparece ya un Guión.Frunce el ceño, quieto, mudo,

Invocando Inspiración.

Mientras tanto, en las AlturasSe oyen voces, bellas, puras.El Coro de Apolo y su cantar,

Inmutable al invocar.

Ignorado en su pedir,encegada, su visión;Será otra la ocasión

de a Deidades acudir.

Desde el Cáliz, de Rubí,La Reserva de la Rioja

Fluye suave y corre roja,A su boca carmesí.

Vuelve a echarse en su Diván,

La Distancia en su mirar;Agotado en su fluir,

Añorando el descubrir.

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In thick clouds of smoke and haze,Hovers free, and dim, the Musing

Of the Thinker, lost in space,His Discourse of Quill perusing.

Dangling limp from lips a'ripe,

A finely-enamelled tobacco Pipe.Impassive, wise, those eyes! reflecting

The stains of Wine, that they are neglecting.

In his Left, from the assumption,The Chalk sketches a deduction.A conjecture, wild, audacious,Swiftly has become fallacious.

In his Right, a Brush of paint,In the Canvas leaving traces.

The Sculpture, in its early phases,Seeks its shape, however quaint.

An Idea has taken form!A new Image has been born!

The Philosopher, excited,With boiling Rapture ignited.

A true Gale now all a'rage,Tempest worthy of a Sage.

Confusing scene of downright Madness;Feverish Search in utter Darkness.

Illegible the Scribbles,

Under the effect of the Muse;Right and Left, now diffuse,As One, guided by Sibyls.

By the Artist, calculations,And the Analyst's Prelude.

Thus expressing meditations,That the Bard is to endure.

The Music in the Sheet,

And the Painting, in the Cloth.The Folklore, though obsolete,To the Viol, its pledge of Troth.

Ablaze, our Hedonist,

A Painter, yet a Theorist;A Poet, An Artist,

A Folklorist, though Algebrist.

Una idea ha germinado!Una imagen se ha formado!

Excitado, el PensadorSe incorpora con fervor.

Se desata un torbellinoDe intelecto Bizantino.Una escena de Locura;

Búsqueda febril y obscura.

Garabatos ilegiblesBajo efecto de las Musas;

Izquierda y Derecha, difusasSe han vuelto indistinguibles.

Calcula ahora el Artista;

Preludea el Analista,Expresando así el sentir

Que el Juglar ha de sufrir.

Sobre el Atril, la Partitura;En la Tela, la Pintura.

De otros tiempos el Folklore,Que entona la Viola d'Amore.

Encendido el Pensador,Hedonista hecho Pintor;

Un Poeta, un Artista,Algebrista y Foklorista.

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