FRANCIS
ST-GERMAIN
ST-GERMAIN
EXODE
ELECTROACOUSTIC | EROTIC POEM IN THREE PARTSCredits
Text, Music & Voice - Francis St-Germain
Piano - Carolina Santiago Martínez
Exode is an erotic poem written in 2018 and later adapted into a stereo electroacoustic work in 2020. The text unfolds in three parts:
Steeped in anatomical references and interwoven with scattered invented words, the poem evokes an intuitive, almost primal response. Its rhythmic syllables act as musical cues, drawing the reader or listener in a visceral exploration of sensual longing and sexual craving.
The 2020 electroacoustic adaptation heightens the poem’s intimacy. The author’s voice delivers the text over a delicate sonic backdrop crafted from prepared piano recordings. The subtle musical landscape serves as a supportive layer, amplifying the raw qualities of the poem.
Exode was featured in Sensual Havoc II, a group exhibition exploring themes of sexuality, longing, and desire, held at Subbacultcha in Amsterdam from December 1–5, 2021. Curated by Nadja Henß and Naama Freedman, the exhibition also included a recording of Beata Ludovica Albertoni for violin and piano, which delves into the tension between spiritual and carnal ecstasy.
- Ce qu’était (What was)
- Ce que va (What will)
- Ce qu’est (What is)
Steeped in anatomical references and interwoven with scattered invented words, the poem evokes an intuitive, almost primal response. Its rhythmic syllables act as musical cues, drawing the reader or listener in a visceral exploration of sensual longing and sexual craving.
The 2020 electroacoustic adaptation heightens the poem’s intimacy. The author’s voice delivers the text over a delicate sonic backdrop crafted from prepared piano recordings. The subtle musical landscape serves as a supportive layer, amplifying the raw qualities of the poem.
Exode was featured in Sensual Havoc II, a group exhibition exploring themes of sexuality, longing, and desire, held at Subbacultcha in Amsterdam from December 1–5, 2021. Curated by Nadja Henß and Naama Freedman, the exhibition also included a recording of Beata Ludovica Albertoni for violin and piano, which delves into the tension between spiritual and carnal ecstasy.
Duration: 3 minutes 30 seconds
Credits
Text, Music & Voice - Francis St-Germain
Piano - Carolina Santiago Martínez
Text, Music & Voice - Francis St-Germain
Piano - Carolina Santiago Martínez
1. CE QU'ÉTAIT
Ça gonfle.
C’est vapeur qui migre en profondeur,
se raffermi.
L’excitation est presque tangible, les nerfs sentent,
les viscères se touchent.
Vision devient enveloppe qui regarde d’haut en bas en haut.
Les mains se touchent, veulent se caresser, n’en restent qu’à toucher.
La peau frémis, se durci.
Sous le voile, la fermeté brumasse de la transparence ; un lac de poindre.
Un lieu interdit, gardé par ses propres gardes presqu’armés.
Un lieu sacré pour pêcher, pour prêcher.
Une barrière éphémère jouant la tentation omnipotente, se prenant pour autre que toile flasque entre désir et fébrilité.
L’ischio de janvier n’est rien de plus rêche que son arme carne.
L’âmoisson se pâme à n’en caller plus profond.
On veut manger.
2. CE QUE VA
Carence croasse.
Sa carapace craquée ne jute plus.
Son jus est loin, le soin encore plus.
Pénitence fracasse,
son sucre était beau.
Pénitence matraque,
vapeur n’est plus.
Coulant liquide.
Émietté de venir.
3. CE QU'EST
Il est venu, chez moi il est venu.
Il est menu, j’aimerais son jus.
Le jus de son âme, juste son jus.
Je ne le connais pas, peut-être est-il
juteux
salé
salide
acide
amer… sucré.
Il sent sucré, son sucre goûte bon.
Sa pensée est comme un café mielé.
Quand il est venu, c’était pour se faire toucher, pour sentir sur lui la gelée de mon gel, pour que j’étende sa sueur sensuelle.
Quand il est venu, il faisait rouge, et comme il était las.
D’une lassitude languissante qui permit à sa peau, à son doux parfum épicé de s’étaler, gémissant.
Le gémissement de plaisir après le deuxième flotta jusqu’à m’emplir le palais d’un givre glacé.
Un frisson sur sa peau, son âme sucrée.
Un délice à s’en humecter.
Le gel passé, l’hiver fondu, le sucre mou.
La pluie est enfin tombée.
(2018)
1. WHAT WAS
It swells.
It is vapor that migrates in depth,
firming up.
The excitement is almost tangible, nerves are feeling,
viscera touching.
Vision becomes envelope that looks from top to bottom to top.
Hands are touching, want to caress one another, all that’s left to do is touch.
The skin quivers, hardens.
Under the veil, firmness is mist from transparency; a lake to dawn.
A forbidden place, guarded by its own almost armed guards.
A sacred place to fish, to preach.
An ephemeral barrier playing omnipotent temptation, taking itself for something else than a flaccid filter between desire and feverishness.
Tibial gut is nothing rougher than his carnal weapon.
Harvestsoul swools not to go deeper.
We want to eat.
2. WHAT WILL
Deprivation croaks.
Its cracked shell no longer jets.
Its juice is far, the care even more.
Penitence shatters,
his sugar was fine.
Penitence bludgeons,
vapor is no more.
Flowing liquid.
Crumbled to cum.
3. WHAT IS
He came, at my place he came.
It’s slender, I would like its juice.
His soul’s juice, just his juice.
I do not know him, maybe is he
juicy
salty
saltid
acid
bitter… sweet.
He smells sweet, his sweets taste good.
His thought is like honeyed coffee.
When he came, it was to get touched, to feel on him the jelly of my gel, for me to spread his sultry sweat.
When he came it was red, and he was oh so weary.
A languid weariness that allowed his skin, his sweet spicy scent to spread out, moaning.
The moan of pleasure after the second one floated until it filled my palate with icy frost.
A shiver on his skin, his sweet soul.
A delight to be moistened with.
Frost has passed, winter has melted, sugar is soft.
Rain has finally fallen.
(2018)