{"id":9511,"date":"2021-07-22T10:51:58","date_gmt":"2021-07-22T08:51:58","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/antimuseum.com\/?p=9511"},"modified":"2021-10-02T07:32:05","modified_gmt":"2021-10-02T05:32:05","slug":"rusted-cross","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/antimuseum.com\/en\/2021\/07\/22\/rusted-cross\/","title":{"rendered":"Rusted Cross"},"content":{"rendered":"

One Cannot Find a Name…<\/h2>\n

One Cannot Find a Name on this Rusted Cross is the somewhat elongated yet poetical title of a song by Jacques Higelin<\/a>. Higelin sadly passed away in 2018, time flies.<\/p>\n

As I was posting the pictures of the four-nations cemetery<\/a> the other day, it reminded me of a song by Higelin. I’m not much of a fan of French pop music, but Higelin is a different kind of artist, one who stood out from the crowd, a true poet, a bard whom we can remember from our childhood as we were singing his songs while listening to his records. One of the only local singers to make it to my record shelves next to the prog Rock stars I was so fond of as a child.<\/p>\n

\"Rusted<\/p>\n

The nameless tombstones and rusted crosses reminded me of this song which was written in the 1990s.<\/p>\n

\"Rusted<\/p>\n

Here are the lyrics and I’ll post the song underneath in case you feel like listening to it anyway.<\/p>\n

One cannot find a name on this rusted cross<\/h3>\n

One cannot find a name on this rusted cross
\nRight there in the bosom of the earth
\nAt the end of a derelict graveyard<\/p>\n

Who was born, who died, who sleeps under this cross?
\nWhat fate has condemned him without regret or remorse
\nTo the secret of anonymity?<\/p>\n

For how many years has no one come
\nTo pay a final tribute, flowering his grave with a thought
\nTo him who is no more?<\/p>\n

In the desert of loneliness from which no one ever returns
\nTo claim from ingratitude the meagre share of the respect we owe him
\nNothing but a prayer, so his soul can rest<\/p>\n

Life, love, death are daughters of oblivion
\nThat the wind of history sweeps with a draft
\nIn the corridors of infinity<\/p>\n

In the desert of loneliness from which no one ever returns
\nTo bear witness to the ingratitude that abandoned him at the threshold of the grave
\nWithout a prayer, so his soul can rest<\/p>\n

\"Rusted<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

May you rest in peace, Jacques.<\/p>\n