Jump to content

Mika's letter for Beirut, 9 August 2020


Gabry74

Recommended Posts

Mika's letter for Beirut from Corriere Della Sera:

 

https://www.corriere.it/esteri/20_agosto_09/lettera-mika-la-sua-beirut-un-sistema-agonizzante-andato-pezzi-ma-ti-risolleverai-io-saro-li-7e97a844-d982-11ea-89ec-853d2bb5ced9.shtml

 

Edit: In English for billboard.com

https://www.billboard.com/articles/news/international/9431501/mika-beirut-lebanese-letter?utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter

 

in French for lorientlejour.com

https://www.lorientlejour.com/article/1228791/mon-liban-beyrouth.html

 

IL DOLORE
  •  
  •  

La lettera di Mika per la sua Beirut: «Un sistema agonizzante è andato in pezzi. Ma ti risolleverai, e io sarò lì»

La lettera di Mika per la sua Beirut: «Un sistema agonizzante è andato in pezzi. Ma ti risolleverai, e io sarò lì»
di Mika09 ago 2020

Il cantante nato in Libano scrive alla città colpita dall’esplosione al porto: «Mi sento così lontano e così vicino. Da mesi avevi imboccato la via della notte. Ma arriverà l’alba»

 

Mia cara Beirut,
è mattina presto da questa parte del mar Mediterraneo, e mi sento al tempo stesso così vicino e così lontano da te. Così vicino a te, devastata dall’apocalisse, non riesco a smettere di guardare attonito i visi martoriati dei miei fratelli e delle mie sorelle. Nei loro occhi intravedo il terrore, le lacrime. Mi vengono i brividi quando vedo quel ferito riverso sul lunotto posteriore di una vecchia auto, quella ragazza coperta di sangue tra le braccia del padre, quegli abitanti sconvolti che corrono per le strade cosparse di calcinacci, vetri rotti, mobili inceneriti…

Così lontano da te, in balia dell’apocalisse, non riesco a smettere di pensare al rumore assordante delle due esplosioni che continua a rimbombare nelle orecchie della gente. Le grida delle famiglie in lutto e delle vittime frastornate si confondono con le sirene spiegate delle ambulanze nel cuore della notte. Al telefono mi hanno raccontato anche del silenzio che regnava alle prime luci del giorno, dell’odore che si sprigionava dalle macerie fumanti.

fdd50a8de61de4f5fdd8f7a0a0e1d503.jpg
lg.php?bannerid=15959&campaignid=3329&zo
Joannie Penniman, madre di Mika, con le figlie Yasmine e Paloma, sorelle maggiori del cantante, sul lungomare di Beirut nel 1983 circa (Foto Archivio famiglia Penniman)

Di fronte a questo caos, ripenso a una frase del poeta libanese Khalil Gibran: «Per arrivare all’alba non c’è altra via che la notte». Da mesi avevi imboccato di nuovo la via della notte. C’erano le divisioni, l’eco dei conflitti alle frontiere, la corruzione, l’impotenza di chi ti governava, la crisi monetaria che ha gettato le famiglie nella miseria, e poi l’epidemia di Covid sempre più virulenta. La leggerezza libanese, antidoto alle tragedie della storia, lasciava spazio alla rabbia e alla paura. Giorno dopo giorno l’angoscia mi saliva dentro, come se le tue ferite si riaprissero, come se le radici che ho lasciato all’età di un anno e mezzo mi riagguantassero.

 

E poi all’improvviso, martedì alle 18:10, una funesta nube grigia è salita dal porto, falcidiando un popolo allo stremo delle forze. Uno spesso fumo arancione ha offuscato il cielo di Beirut. Ha preso il posto del lontano ricordo, tante volte rievocato da mia madre, della luce gialla che inondava il nostro appartamento al quarto piano affacciato sul mare. Come non leggere in quelle due esplosioni il simbolo di un sistema che va in pezzi. Come non sentirci il frastuono delle bombe che seminavano morte per le tue strade ancora segnate dalle stigmate della guerra. Il Primo ministro libanese Hassan Diab assicura che i responsabili dovranno «risponderne». Ma i responsabili di chi? di cosa? I responsabili di trent’anni d’agonia che hanno trasformato il Paese dei cedri nel Paese delle ceneri.

Mika, nato da poche settimane, insieme alle sorelle e alla madre, nel 1983 (Foto Archivio famiglia Penniman)

Dicono che la catastrofe sia un tragico epilogo. L’ultima di una serie di disgrazie. Dopo la notte arriverà l’alba. Conosco la tua resilienza, la tua forza, lo spirito di solidarietà nutrito dall’amalgama di culture che contraddistingue questa terra a metà strada tra il mondo arabo e l’Europa. Domani ti risolleverai come hai sempre fatto. La musica tornerà a risuonare dalle finestre, i corpi danzeranno tra i tavoli all’aperto, i profumi si spanderanno dalle cucine. E io sarò lì.

9 agosto 2020, 07:22 - Aggiornata il 9 agosto 2020, 07:22

© RIPRODUZIONE RISERVATA

 

  • Thanks 3
Link to comment
Share on other sites

I added the links for the English and French versions in the first post. Here is the text:

 

:uk:

 

Mika Shares Letter to the Lebanese People 'Devastated by the Apocalypse'

8/8/2020 by Billboard Staff

 

The British singer, who has Lebanese roots, shared in the country’s grief over the deadly Beirut blast.

A massive warehouse explosion in Beirut last Tuesday (Aug. 4) killed at least 157 people and injured thousands more, devastating the city’s port area. As investigators continue to comb through the rubble, protesters have vented their anger against the Lebanese government, accusing leaders of years of negligence in the storing of 2,750 tons of ammonium nitrate linked to the blast.

British glam-pop star Mika (real name Michael Holbrook Penniman Jr.), who was born in Beirut and whose mother was of Lebanese descent, wrote a letter to the Lebanese people to share in their grief and anger over the incident. Billboard was sent an English-language transcript:

 

My dear Lebanon, My dear Beirut,

It’s still early in the morning on the other side of the Mediterranean and I feel so close and yet so far away from you. So close to you, as you lie devastated by the apocalypse, I can’t stop staring, transfixed, at the battered expressions of my brothers and sisters. In their eyes, I sense their fright, their tears. I shudder as I see a wounded person carried out through the rear window of an old car, a young girl covered in blood in her father’s arms, shell-shocked inhabitants running through streets littered with rubble, broken glass and shattered buildings… So far away from you, haunted by the desolation, I hear in my head the deafening noise of the two explosions that haunted the residents of Beirut. The screams of the grieving families and stunned victims merge in the middle of the night with the screeching sirens of ambulances. I’ve also been told of the silence in the early hours of this morning, of the smell of the smoking ruins.

Faced with this chaos, I recall a line from the Lebanese poet Kahlil Gibran: “one can only reach dawn by taking the path of night.” For some months now, you have once again been sinking into the path of night. There are divisions, echoes of conflicts at your borders, corruption, the powerlessness of your leaders, the monetary crisis which has plunged your families into misery and then the surge of the coronavirus epidemic. The carefree Lebanese nature, the answer to dramas in the past, was replaced by anger and fear. I became more anxious each passing day, as if my wounds, the roots which I’d left behind at the age of only one and a half were finally catching up with me.

And then, suddenly, at 6:10pm on Tuesday, a tragic grey cloud rose up from your port, mowing down your exhausted people. The thick orange smoke drowned the skies of Beirut and replaced the distant memory, so often recounted by my mother, of the yellow light which bathed our fourth-floor, sea-facing apartment on the Corniche. I cannot but think of these two explosions as a symbol of a system which is shattering. The crash of bombs, wreaking death in streets still marked by the scars of war, cannot be unheard. The Lebanese Prime Minister, Hassan Diab, promises that the persons responsible will “be held accountable.” But those responsible for whom? For what? Those responsible for 30 years of agony which have turned the land of cedars into the land of ashes. It’s said that a catastrophe is a tragic outcome, the end of a series of misfortunes.

 

After darkness comes the dawn. I know your resilience, your strength and your solidarity, nurtured by your mix of cultures, by this special place you occupy, halfway between the Arab world and Europe. Tomorrow, you will rise up as you have always done before. Music will pour once again from your windows. People will dance on your terraces and perfumes will waft from your kitchens. I will be there.

Mika

 

:france:

Mon Liban, Beyrouth,

OLJ / Par Mika, le 09 août 2020 à 12h52

 

Il est tôt ce matin de l’autre côté de la mer Méditerranée, et je me sens à la fois si près et si loin de toi. Si près de toi, dévasté par l’apocalypse, je ne cesse de regarder sidéré les visages martyrs de mes frères et soeurs. Dans leurs yeux, je devine l’effroi, les larmes. Des frissons surgissent quand je vois ce blessé évacué sur la lunette arrière d’une vieille voiture, cette jeune fille en sang dans les bras de son père, ces habitants sonnés qui courent dans les rues jonchées de gravats, de vitres brisées, de meubles pulvérisés... Si loin de toi, hanté par l’apocalypse, je ne cesse d’imaginer le bruit assourdissant des deux déflagrations qui ne quittent plus les Beyrouthins. Les cris des familles endeuillées et des victimes hébétées se mélangent aux sirènes hurlantes des ambulances au coeur de la nuit. On m’a aussi raconté au téléphone ce silence au petit matin, l’odeur qui se dégageait des ruines fumantes.

Face à ce chaos, je repense à cette phrase du poète libanais Gibran Khalil Gibran : « Nul ne peut atteindre l’aube sans passer par le chemin de la nuit ». Depuis des mois, tu t’enfonçais à nouveau sur le chemin de la nuit. Il y a les divisions, l’écho des conflits à tes frontières, la corruption, l’impuissance de tes dirigeants, la crise monétaire qui a plongé tes familles dans la misère et puis l’épidémie de coronavirus toujours plus virulente. L’insouciance libanaise, ce remède aux drames de l’histoire laissait place à la colère et la peur. L’angoisse montait chaque jour un peu plus en moi, comme si tes blessures, mes racines que j’ai quittées à l’âge d’un an et demi me rattrapaient.

Et puis soudain mardi à 18H10, un tragique nuage gris est monté de ton port, fauchant ton peuple à bout de force. L’épaisse fumée orangée a noyé le ciel de Beyrouth. Elle a remplacé le lointain souvenir tant de fois raconté par ma mère, de cette lumière jaune qui baignait notre appartement du 4e étage sur la corniche face à la mer. Comment ne pas voir dans ces deux explosions le symbole d’un système qui éclate. Comment ne pas entendre le fracas des bombes qui semaient la mort dans tes rues encore marquées par les stigmates de la guerre. Le premier ministre libanais Hassane Diab promet que les responsables devront « rendre des comptes ». Mais les responsables de qui ? De quoi ? Les responsables de 30 ans d’agonie qui ont fait du pays du cèdre, le pays des cendres.

On dit de la catastrophe qu’elle est un dénouement tragique. La fin d’un enchaînement de malheurs. Après l’obscurité viendra l’aube. Je connais ta résilience, ta force, ta solidarité qui se nourrissent du mélange des cultures, de cette place si particulière à mi chemin entre le monde arabe et l’Europe. Demain, tu te relèveras comme tu l’as toujours fait. La musique résonnera à nouveau depuis tes fenêtres, les corps danseront sur tes terrasses, les parfums s’échapperont de tes cuisines. Je serai là.

Par Mika, artiste.

  • Like 3
  • Thanks 3
Link to comment
Share on other sites

This letter is a masterpiece! Just like Mika's. Full of love and rage, just like he does in his songs. He manages to get the strongest messages across with common sense wisdom.  It's so strong and so well written, that when I read it, I had the impression I could hear his music behind the lyrics.

  • Like 5
Link to comment
Share on other sites

2 hours ago, miknikel said:

This letter is a masterpiece! Just like Mika's. Full of love and rage, just like he does in his songs. He manages to get the strongest messages across with common sense wisdom.  It's so strong and so well written, that when I read it, I had the impression I could hear his music behind the lyrics.

I agree with you. ❤

  • Like 2
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Portuguese - BR version

 

Meu querido Líbano, minha querida Beirute,

 

Ainda é de manhã cedo, do outro lado do Mediterrâneo, e me sinto tão perto, mas tão longe de você. Tão perto de você, enquanto você jaz devastada pelo apocalipse, não consigo parar de olhar, paralisado, para as expressões maltratadas de meus irmãos e irmãs. Em seus olhos, sinto seu medo, suas lágrimas. Estremeço ao ver uma pessoa ferida carregada pela janela traseira de um carro velho, uma jovem coberta de sangue nos braços do pai, habitantes em estado de choque correndo pelas ruas cheias de entulho, vidros quebrados e prédios destruídos... Tão longe de você, assombrada pela desolação, ouço em minha cabeça o barulho ensurdecedor das duas explosões que assombraram os moradores de Beirute. Os gritos das famílias enlutadas e das vítimas atordoadas se fundem no meio da noite com as sirenes estridentes das ambulâncias. Também me falaram do silêncio nas primeiras horas desta manhã, do cheiro das ruínas fumegantes.

 

Diante desse caos, lembro-me de uma frase do poeta libanês Kahlil Gibran: ‘’Só se chega ao amanhecer seguindo o caminho da noite.’’ Há alguns meses, você mais uma vez está afundando no caminho da noite. Existem divisões, ecos de conflitos em suas fronteiras, corrupção, a impotência de seus líderes, a crise monetária que mergulhou suas famílias na miséria e, em seguida, o surto da epidemia de coronavírus. A natureza libanesa despreocupada, a resposta aos dramas do passado, foi substituída por raiva e medo. Eu ficava mais ansioso a cada dia que passava, como se minhas feridas, as raízes que deixei para trás com apenas um ano e meio de idade finalmente estivessem me alcançando.

 

E então, de repente, às 18h10 de terça-feira, uma trágica nuvem cinza se levantou de seu porto, derrubando seu povo exausto. A espessa fumaça laranja afogou os céus de Beirute e substituiu a memória distante, tantas vezes contada por minha mãe, da luz amarela que banhava nosso apartamento no quarto andar, de frente para o mar, na Corniche. Não posso deixar de pensar nessas duas explosões como um símbolo de um sistema que está se despedaçando. O estrondo de bombas, causando mortes em ruas ainda marcadas pelas cicatrizes da guerra, não pode ser ignorado. O primeiro-ministro libanês, Hassan Diab, promete que as pessoas responsáveis ’’serão responsabilizadas’’. Mas os responsáveis por quem? Para quê? Os responsáveis por 30 anos de agonia que transformaram a terra dos cedros na terra das cinzas. Diz-se que uma catástrofe é um desfecho trágico, o fim de uma série de infortúnios.

 

Depois da escuridão, vem o amanhecer. Conheço a sua resiliência, a sua força e a sua solidariedade, alimentadas pela sua mistura de culturas, por este lugar especial que ocupa, a meio caminho entre o mundo árabe e a Europa. Amanhã, você se levantará como sempre fez antes. A música jorrará mais uma vez de suas janelas. As pessoas vão dançar em seus terraços e perfumes vão emanar de suas cozinhas. Eu estarei lá.

 

Mika

Edited by BiaIchihara
  • Like 1
  • Thanks 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

French TV wants to organize a charity concert for Lebanon this fall.

English cversion below. 

 

 

https://www.lorientlejour.com/article/1228822/france-televisions-prepare-un-concert-caritatif-pour-le-liban.html?fbclid=IwAR1gL8iw_gCfTGKULavp6Q0psHZJTWv1wLhcuM0LJyp8ICWFVgHHXwGNv20

image.thumb.png.1a8afc43d3e54268fe78b4f39435862f.png

 

image.thumb.png.4b19b8f01465966cec0779436af9bf52.png

 

image.thumb.png.175cb26abde5a15affb03b39c09c2951.png

 

Translation into English:

 

 

France Télévisions prépare un concert caritatif pour le Liban

 

France Televisions wants to launch a major charity concert for the benefit of Lebanon after the gigantic explosion which devastated Beirut on Tuesday, the public broadcasting group said on Sunday, confirming information from the daily Le Parisien.

"Lebanon is going through a terrible ordeal. France Télévisions is alongside the artists to organize a great concert of support and solidarity for the benefit of Lebanon and its affected population," the leader of the television group, Delphine Ernotte, told the newspaper.

The artistic direction of the concert was entrusted to the world-famous Franco-Lebanese trumpeter Ibrahim Maalouf. The event, organized in partnership with Radio France, will bring together French, Lebanese and international artists, and will raise funds for the reconstruction of the country. Matthieu Chedid and Bernard Lavilliers should be among the participants.

The huge explosion on Tuesday, in a warehouse in the port of the Lebanese capital, left at least 158 dead, thousands injured, tens of missing and hundreds of thousands homeless. "Beyond our public service mission, it is also a matter of showing our fraternity to the Lebanese people wounded by too many tragedies," added Delphine Ernotte.

The concert will take place in Paris this fall, after the start of the school year, on a date that remains to be specified, and will be broadcast live on France 2 and France Inter radio.

 

Edited by Anna Ko Kolkowska
Link to comment
Share on other sites

2 hours ago, Anna Ko Kolkowska said:

French TV wants to organize a charity concert for Lebanon this fall.

 

No mention of Mika though, from what I see? Would be cool if he took part, but it seems they don't even have a date yet. They'd surely need a good concept against infections, to make this happen.

  • Like 2
Link to comment
Share on other sites

4 hours ago, mellody said:

 

No mention of Mika though, from what I see? Would be cool if he took part, but it seems they don't even have a date yet. They'd surely need a good concept against infections, to make this happen.

 

It's just an information that they will do something.

Hard to say if it will be done with the audience or just via TV and internet just to collect money.

And I think it's too early to give any names of artists to perform.

And it's alway a possibility to prerecord some songs if an artist will not able to play live.

  • Like 1
Link to comment
Share on other sites

:canada:

7 Jours

«Demain, tu te relèveras comme tu l’as toujours fait.

La musique résonnera à nouveau depuis tes fenêtres, les corps danseront sur tes terrasses, les parfums s’échapperont de tes cuisines. Je serai là.»

— MIKA, DANS UNE LETTRE POUR BEYROUTH PUBLIÉE SUR LES RÉSEAUX SOCIAUX.

 

 

«Tomorrow you will get up as you always have.

Music will echo again from your windows, bodies will dance on your terraces, scents will escape from your kitchens. I will be there.»

- MIKA, IN A LETTER FOR BEIRUT PUBLISHED ON SOCIAL MEDIA.

 

page-3

2020-08-21_7Jours_p.3.thumb.jpg.81d79b055bce4454831360195fed3ec0.jpg

 

2020-08-21_7Jours_p.3.thumb.jpg.744eb2e3c2562811a403d436ae0ff4ac.jpg

 

  • Like 3
Link to comment
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now
×
×
  • Create New...

Important Information

Privacy Policy