collage
Voila ~ Quelques choses ~ un plateau entre image(moi) texte (Verlaine) et filme (Chaplin) ~
Verlaine
Sur le Balcon
Toutes deux regardaient s’enfuir les hirondelles :
L’une pâle aux cheveux de jais, et l’autre blonde
Et rose, et leurs peignoirs légers de vieille blonde
Vaguement serpentaient, nuages, autour d’elles.
Et toutes deux, avec des langueurs d’asphodèles,
Tandis qu’au ciel montait la lune molle et ronde,
Savouraient à longs traits l’émotion profonde
Du soir et le bonheur triste des cœurs fidèles.
Telles, leurs bras pressant, moites, leurs tailles souples,
Couple étrange qui prend pitié des autres couples,
Telles, sur le balcon, rêvaient les jeunes femmes.
Derrière elles, au fond du retrait riche et sombre,
Emphatique comme un trône de mélodrame
Et plein d’odeurs, le Lit, défait, s’ouvrait dans l’ombre.
Sur le Balcon
Toutes deux regardaient s’enfuir les hirondelles : L’une pâle aux cheveux de jais, et l’autre blonde Et rose, et leurs peignoirs légers de vieille blonde Vaguement serpentaient, nuages, autour d’elles. Et toutes deux, avec des langueurs d’asphodèles, Tandis qu’au ciel montait la lune molle et ronde, Savouraient à longs traits l’émotion profonde Du soir et le bonheur triste des cœurs fidèles. Telles, leurs bras pressant, moites, leurs tailles souples, Couple étrange qui prend pitié des autres couples, Telles, sur le balcon, rêvaient les jeunes femmes. Derrière elles, au fond du retrait riche et sombre, Emphatique comme un trône de mélodrame Et plein d’odeurs, le Lit, défait, s’ouvrait dans l’ombre.
love's little playlist ~
Liam ....she says come to 'le bed' "c'est tres tard" .... "Liam il faut coucher ..."
et faire l'amour?
Ah la question the question's between her thighs a secret waiting for each answer.
Sexy and dirty love letters. what everyone wants and needs!
letters
to
go
to
bed
with!
____________________Listen to beuys speak he is so beautiful ... he says find the imaginative creative elements in yourself... this is the beauty and creation dans le soi meme...
The Important thing is to make yourself what you are and to find that one is many things.../ to compose and recreate oneself out of what one has been told/ or read. One has to decide and then become.
become become one can be and is many things in a life time... I too have been many things... friend, worker, teacher, poet, blogger, performer, community organizer, reader .... enemy rival, man woman one is many many devenir multiple
where is one to find the person who is not a judge of one self or others.. let one self flourish to become many events and things, many loves
et faire l'amour?
Ah la question the question's between her thighs a secret waiting for each answer.
Sexy and dirty love letters. what everyone wants and needs!
letters
to
go
to
bed
with!
____________________Listen to beuys speak he is so beautiful ... he says find the imaginative creative elements in yourself... this is the beauty and creation dans le soi meme...
The Important thing is to make yourself what you are and to find that one is many things.../ to compose and recreate oneself out of what one has been told/ or read. One has to decide and then become.
become become one can be and is many things in a life time... I too have been many things... friend, worker, teacher, poet, blogger, performer, community organizer, reader .... enemy rival, man woman one is many many devenir multiple
where is one to find the person who is not a judge of one self or others.. let one self flourish to become many events and things, many loves
a little desire... goes a long way ~
La cour se fleurit de souci
Comme le front
De tous ceux-ci
Qui vont en rond
En flageolant sur leur fémur
Débilité
Le long du mur
Fou de clarté.
Tournez, Samsons sans Dalila,
Sans Philistin,
Tournez bien la
Meule au destin.
Vaincu risible de la loi,
Mouds tour à tour
Ton cœur, ta foi
Et ton amour !
Ils vont ! et leurs pauvres souliers
Font un bruit sec,
Humiliés,
La pipe au bec.
Pas un mot ou bien le cachot,
Pas un soupir.
Il fait si chaud
Qu’on croit mourir.
J’en suis de ce cirque effaré,
Soumis d’ailleurs
Et préparé
À tous malheurs.
Et pourquoi si j’ai contristé
Ton vœu têtu,
Société,
Me choierais-tu ?
Allons, frères, bons vieux voleurs,
Doux vagabonds,
Filous en fleurs,
Mes chers, mes bons,
Fumons philosophiquement,
Promenons-nous
Paisiblement :
Rien faire est doux.
montale
.
Fu dove il ponte di legno
mette a porto Corsini sul mare alto
e rari uomini, quasi immoti, affondano
o salpano le reti. Con un segno
della mano additavi all'altra sponda
invisibile la tua patria vera.
Poi seguimmo il canale fino alla darsena
della città, lucida di fuliggine,
nella bassura dove s'affondava
una primavera inerte, senza memoria.
E qui dove un'antica vita
si screzia in una dolce
ansietà d'Oriente,
le tue parole iridavano come le scaglie
della triglia moribonda.
La tua irrequietudine mi fa pensare
agli uccelli di passo che urtano ai fari
nelle sere tempestose:
è una tempesta anche la tua dolcezza,
turbina e non appare,
e i suoi riposi sono anche più rari.
Non so come stremata tu resisti
in questo lago
d'indifferenza ch'è il tuo cuore; forse
ti salva un amuleto che tu tieni
vicino alla matita delle labbra,
al piumino, alla lima: un topo bianco,
d'avorio; e così esisti!
Eugenio Montale
mette a porto Corsini sul mare alto
e rari uomini, quasi immoti, affondano
o salpano le reti. Con un segno
della mano additavi all'altra sponda
invisibile la tua patria vera.
Poi seguimmo il canale fino alla darsena
della città, lucida di fuliggine,
nella bassura dove s'affondava
una primavera inerte, senza memoria.
E qui dove un'antica vita
si screzia in una dolce
ansietà d'Oriente,
le tue parole iridavano come le scaglie
della triglia moribonda.
La tua irrequietudine mi fa pensare
agli uccelli di passo che urtano ai fari
nelle sere tempestose:
è una tempesta anche la tua dolcezza,
turbina e non appare,
e i suoi riposi sono anche più rari.
Non so come stremata tu resisti
in questo lago
d'indifferenza ch'è il tuo cuore; forse
ti salva un amuleto che tu tieni
vicino alla matita delle labbra,
al piumino, alla lima: un topo bianco,
d'avorio; e così esisti!
these days
... keep asking myself when does poetry stop. I see it as a lover's hands her arms, her naked shoulders and always she is everywhere. Around
and in me. Speaking me even when I sleep. .. n the arms of night, day breath. .. box of loves. Not calculated by the 'regular' images of
armies . and breath is a blessed name. i Kiss those long legs of . Her heart and other speakers. As the day winds. Round its kissing
__________________________
... wrote this about five minutes ago.... It's the tiniest wee morsel of a thing...
loosely connected to work .... Reader the comic element of any text is always that it appears serious. Thus poetry is a love affair.
As love affairs go it's not any worse than others. But and However, it
does have its own pains and rewards.______
Call it the adventures of Liam Word.
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