Tristan Hibš - kantautor, muzički aranžer, tonac, montažer i sve ostalo što mu je za pisanje i komponovanje pesama potrebno. On i peva i svira i snima; kompletan je muzički autor.
Ipak, poznatiji je kao fizičar koji se bavi string teorijama, matematikom i sličnim zanimacijama o čemu je napisao više udžbenika i preko 150 stručnih i naučnih radova. I koji putuje po svetu i o tome drži predavanja. Uostalom, od fizike živi. Na Univerzitetu Hovard, u Vašingtonu, je redovni profesor.
Međutim nas ovde trenutno više interesuje ono prvo zanimanje profesora, tj. njegova muzika. Uostalom, muzikom je zanesen duže nego fizikom jer je njom počeo da se bavi pre nego što će uopšte pomisliti da bude fizičar.
Poslao nam je profesor dve svoje kompozicije, obe na engleskom, a prvu od njih imamo od ranije u verziji na našem jeziku.
Poslušajte, pročitajte i uživajte.
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Asylum My falling out with the World at large
collects atomic mushrooms into a daisy chain
sheltering from acid rain…
My falling out with the World at large
so many say has neither any sanity
nor a good foundation to build a vanity…
My falling out with the World at large
say many has no rhyme nor yet any reason,
nor a good foundation to build a prison…
But, damn if I care for building
walls and motes and entrenchments;
my madness knows of no borders,
no border-crossing authorities…
My falling out with the World at large
declares our entire Planet an asylum,
I just assess the damages, and compile ’em…
JOŠ članaka o prof. Hibšu.
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26 Dimensions The day was young, the sky was bright,
we have just started on our flight
into the spacetime of our streams and dreams of might;
We have just learnt the counting right,
that time is flowing past all sight,
adding a fourth direction to the space delight.
But then we found that things were not
as simple as we first had thought,
that we were made of stuff that won't squeeze in a dot;
this stuff that moved about a lot,
and made it's own dimension trot,
spacetime was woven of strings and things tightly wrought...
What to do when my reality has
twenty-six dimensions,
A sweet sixteen of which are gauged,
and ten have supersymmetric extensions?
What to do when my reality has
twenty-six dimensions,
A sweet sixteen of which are gauged,
and ten are supersymmetric?
The Sphinx has asked the King to guess,
threatening with death to raise the stress
of naming that which at dawn four legs does possess,
yet walks by noon on only two
by eve on three, but through and through
is weakest with most legs and strongest with just a few.
Two thousand years and nonetheless,
the riddle showed a new finess,
counting dimensions of spacetime, oh what a quest;
at dawn of the twentieth century,
we counted four, as if by decree,
by noon, strings counted two but by eve those were three...
The third millennium had come,
a new dawn had started with a strum
of chords with unknown tune and hum,
disenchanting more than some.
Prophets turned all dour and glum,
snidely called for the gallows' drum,
denouncing everyone as dumb,
all staying comfortably numb, constructively mum...
What to do when my reality has
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