I learned about the dramatic death of Robert “Furi” Furman over the phone, writes Sławek Orwat. The tragic news last November overwhelmed me; I was in Poland at the time. I returned to St. Albans six days later and started to write down my intense thoughts almost right away. It is the most personal article of my entire life. It has been six months since Furi died. Thanks to “Pangea Magazine” the text is printed and can reach out Poles spread all over the world.
|photo: Monika S. Jakubowska|
…Like a phantom is human life.
It appears. You want to touch, to grasp, but it disappears? Disappears!
Robert appeared in my consciousness on 27 April in Ravenscourt Art Centre, London. It was also the place where I met him for the very last time. A coincidence? During Frühstücka’s concert in April, Kred appeared out of nowhere. After a brief greeting he informed me that he plays for a British band. “Are you the only Polish member there?” – I asked. “No” – Kred answered – “There is also Furi.” “Who is Furi?” – I asked. How was Furi…
Can you speak now, Furi? Are we never going to know what was beyond your capabilities?! Your damn fantastic personality, which seemed to be as solid as a rock! I am listening to “Rebellion”, which was brought to life by Bogumił in July 2013. I am listening to what you said, interrupted by Kred’s comic asides, which I genuinely adore. Thanks to the crazy idea of the revelry at WOŚP in Hull, almost the entire community of the “London Spring” came to know you.
For me, the most intimate and personal moment of the day happened much earlier. It was the moment when I saw HER, in the room where the musicians stored their instruments. She was there – proud and beautiful like a monument.
I am not quite sure if I showed the picture to Kred or to Justin first, but I will never forget the expressions on their faces. They were both frozen and stunned by the image they saw… The heart-shaped shadow, which was created by your guitar on this unique Sunday afternoon, will always remain the most meaningful symbol of your presence, FURI… FOREVER!
Polish version of this memory is available here
* This is a fragment of the poem composed by Monika S. Jakubowska at the same moment as Robert was saying his goodbyes. The author herself has not managed to understand this coincidence.
Monika S. Jakubowska
In memory of Robert “Furi” Furman
On a rope plated by a lighter,
in a something like waltz, swinging on three.
Growing into the grey cover
with a non-fulfilment.
He aced up his sleeve with the rest
- eternal and intractable.
Pulled it by ears
and put it just next to shoes, in the corner.
“Such a shame for the shoes, such a shame!
How THEY carried away! They used to carry!...I was SPEEDING!”
The dawn licking a felt’s hump, on the back,
just from the corner – up to the collar
up to the lips
frozen in the mid-sentence and got livid in the concealment
“Such a sha…”
Gripped the neck
Did not make it for amen