Welcome to an extra episode of Flowmatic Blood Moon with bonus material in the form of an interview with Mansoor Hosseini, who created the music for the podcast. Since there’s not all that much information on Mansoor available online, and since he, like Shadi Bazeghi, was originally a refugee from Iran, I thought that it might be interesting to learn a little more about his background, and the way he approached creating the music for the project. Rudiger Meyer Links Mansoor Hosseini (Wikipedia) Mansoor Hosseini (Composer’s site) Themus Ensemble The Other Iran (Exhibition) Shazia Khan (Photographer) Transcription

Flowmatic Blood Moon er Poetisk Podcasts første tosprogede produktion, og på mange måder frugten af en fælles indsats. Shadi Bazeghis digte forholder sig til traumer, spændinger og virkningerne af krig. De er storskalerede refleksioner over vores planets aktuelle tilstand, rodfæstet i en hverdagslig poetisk intimitet. Mansoor Hosseini, der som Shadi oprindelig er flygtning fra Iran, har skabt en musik som både er moderne og nostalgisk; lydlige landskaber der åbner et dramatisk rum for ordene, og forstærker deres intensitet. Tekst/Stemme: Shadi Bazeghi Musik: Mansoor Mani Hosseini Montage/Lyddesign: Rudiger Meyer * Flowmatic Blood Moon is Poetisk Podcast’s first bilingual production and in many ways a collaborative effort. Shadi Bazeghi’s poems tackle trauma, tension, and the effects of war. Big-picture reflections on the current state of our planet rooted in a poetic intimacy of the everyday. Mansoor Hosseini, like Shadi originally a refugee from Iran, has created music that is both modern and nostalgic, creating landscapes that open a space for the words and amplify their intensity. Text/Voice: Shadi Bazeghi Music: Mansoor Mani Hosseini Montage/Sound Design: Rudiger Meyer – [01] all hail the american night i said: all hail the american night — [05] you have a way of repeating things when you program — [01] probably   but i have expanded the code          PROGRAM ID . hello-world-as-deep-as-a-paper-plate ¬ ¬ ¬ [05] so i hand you water and beer in a wineglass with ruby-red lipstick on the rim — what are we without     a little elegance when the masks crack and we recognize each other by our glitches ¬ ¬ ¬ i am so tired   i say   and you’re the only one who knows    it’s a vast understatement     that i am cold as hell    that time is a continuation of the economy’s repeating pattern absolute power circles; the US military that buys 269,000 barrels of oil every day war capital that pays for our excess consumption draining the planet populations unable to see the forest for the consumables who turn to warlords for words of comfort and here          in my head?    ¬ ¬ ¬ in my PTSD brain    DISPLAY the dissonance and gravity of the syndromes     memory flashes and a heavy oblivion corroding the spirit there is nothing besides a poetry à la wilderness ¬ ¬ ¬ [10] it reeks of smoke and pent-up night here the dreams grow from your hair i awake under the bed with shared pain and blood in my face you say it is the blood moon of the century ¬ ¬ ¬ DISPLAY   september nights   the divergence of melancholies             in flowmatic september nights   where longing             for the sun and purple                   dandelions   unfold             on stems of pain ¬ ¬ ¬ DISPLAY   september nights    hoarse flowmatic september nights an interstellar object moves into Pegasus at 44 km per second    hey hold on     we are here     we are not here EXIT PERFORM you know     DISPLAY ¬ ¬ ¬             september nights    7-digit september nights             in what language does rain fall             over unrecognizable bodies             Common Business Oriented Language? ¬ ¬ ¬ Venus moves into Scorpio and your passion your ethnic passion reeks! there are 117 earth days between each sunrise ¬ ¬ ¬ – berätta något för mig – harfi be man bezan – berätta något för mig som inte redan finns             – tell them you came and saw and looked into my eyes ¬ ¬ ¬ on the other side of the pomme grenade trees    where we lie 100 years ago or 100 years from now and talk about writing it all down about melancholy as the only reflexive emotion by definition the only one that can cultivate our empathy — for earth ¬ ¬ ¬ the earth that constantly must.must.must. without hope or fear or doubt absorb all blood ¬ ¬ ¬ in order for us to fertilize the camp      and battlefields ¬ ¬ ¬ [10] glitterblack     velvetnight crystallized morning dew    negligé on the mulberry tree i paced around the garden the frost under my stilettos your body still reminding me of solar noon ¬ ¬ ¬ i used to get cramps in the ovaries in the morning mist used to feel a kinship                     with Himalayan birds black nightshade                      in the morning mist ¬ ¬ ¬ i drank absinth that morning habibi the birds drank chlorine water they flew from table to table eating abandoned        bread   scrambled eggs   fear you said    what woman is so enamored of her own oppression that she cannot see her heelprint upon another woman’s face? ¬ ¬ ¬ English Translation: Flowmatic, Shadi Angelina Bazeghi, Gyldendal, 2020, translated by Katrine Øgaard Jensen, p.32-36 and p.67-77