mardi 28 août 2012

Daniel Lavoie - Les Paravents Chinois

from "Comédies Humaines"
by Daniel Lavoie / Patrice Guirao 

Devant ton paravent chinois 
In front of your chinese screen 
J'attends parfois des heures barlongues 
I sometimes wait for the longest hours  
Que se dévoile un peu de toi 
That unveil a little of you 
Sur le bleu tendre du Mékong 
On the tender blue of the Mekong 

Qu'il me dessine l'idéogramme 
It designs me the arenaceous 
Arénacé de tes contours  
Idiogram of your contours
Et le delta violine et femme 
And the violet and feminine delta
Où se méandrent les amours 
Where lovers meander 

Dessous ses ponts enluminés 
Under the illuminated bridges 
Des jonques glissent sous leur bambous 
With junks shining beneath their bamboo 
L'ambre et la soie de tes dessous 
The amber and silk of your lingerie 
Comme une caresse remémorée 
Like a remembered caress 

Sous les jupons d'une illusion 
Under the half-slips of an illusion 
Mes mains se posent à même la fresque 
My hands pose on the fresco 
Pour tatouer un papillon 
To tattoo a butterfly 
A la cheville d'une arabesque 
On the ankle of an arabesque 

Bien sûr qu'ils ont une âme les paravents chinois 
Of course chinese screens have a soul 
Ils ont celles de ces femmes qui ne leur cachent rien 
They have those of these women that hide nothing of them
Ils ont celles qu'ils réclament dès qu'elles couvrent leurs seins 
They have those that they claim as soon as they cover their breasts 
Bien sûr qu'ils ont une âme les paravents chinois 
Of course chinese screens have a soul 

La gorge nue sur un vallon 
The nude throat on a valley 
Le temps se courbe à l'infini 
Time bends toward the infinite 
Sur les dentelles de l'horizon 
On the lace of the horizon 
A la recherche de ton lit 
In the search for your bed 

J'attends que vienne ta nudité 
I wait for your nudity to come 
Debout sur le soleil levant 
Lying upon the rising sun 
Qui me dévoile l'intimité 
That unveils to me the intimacy 
Que tu réserves à tes amants 
That you reserve for your lovers 

Bien sûr qu'ils ont une âme les paravents chinois 
Of course chinese screens have a soul 
Ils ont celles de ces femmes qui ne leur cachent rien 
They have those of these women that hide nothing of them
Ils ont celles qu'ils réclament dès qu'elles couvrent leurs seins 
They have those that they claim as soon as they cover their breasts 
Bien sûr qu'ils ont une âme les paravents chinois 
Of course chinese screens have a soul


it's inevitable

it was inevitable that
she would become too lonely
it was inevitable that
she would find a way to
feel needed and beautiful
that she would become afraid
feel guilty and unfaithful
that she would scurry home
with her tail between her legs
and act angry and hurtful
it was all so inevitable

it is inevitable now that

her heart feels like a sponge
soaked with someone's blood
it is inevitable that 
her mind is always
somewhere else
that she is driven to say
sorry it was all my fault
and think about how
poems might save her
it is all so inevitable

all so obvious and
inevitable and unfair to
everyone including herself
in its inevitability
like a hangover after
too much liquor
or an early grave
of a golddigger
and she's been digging
just as fast as she can
for a way out

dimanche 26 août 2012

rêve du matin

i slept in this morning
and had a strong dream
about dangerous love:
no façade is the best façade
for one can project anything
one wants onto it

there was always a
cruelty to his words
a narcissistic sense of
superiority over everything
and i for one knew
i would never live up to
his fundamentalist gospel

no easy answers in
the dark deep chasm
of pain and illness
yet they slipped from his fingers
like honey and raindrops
i can live with the dichotomies
that life throws at me
my mouth is open to it all

one life, one love
one man to make love to
he is visible and kind
he has never mocked me
but his laugh lights up the world
and i can see

Paintings: Lenoir Charles Amable, Dream of the Orient and Nymph in the Forest

samedi 25 août 2012

Mad for You

Somewhere between the roar
of tankers on the river
and cars on the highway above my head,
the sweetest song i ever heard
started up from the laurel bushes,
a sudden trill of notes that
shattered the bitter mechanics:
i took it for a visit from your soul
and i swooned, mad for you ...

Painting: Edward Burne-Jones, Cupid Delivering Psyche (c 1871)
Bird: Melospiza melodia or Song sparrow

vendredi 24 août 2012

Indie Album: The Life and Death of Cathode Ray Eyes

"The Life and Death of Cathode Ray Eyes is a collection of lo-fi psychedelic garage gospel blues recorded as a by product of insomnia, tinnitus and descending madness..." by Cathode Ray Eyes

samedi 18 août 2012

Oh la guitare / Pavane

Oh la guitare

Oh la guitare oh la guitare en sa gorge est mon cœur enclos
Oh the guitar oh the guitar in its throat is my enclosed heart
Moi qui ne fus qu'un chien bâtard je n'ai vécu que de sanglots
I who was only a bastard dog, I only wanted to live by tears
Oh la guitare quand on aime et l'autre ne vous aime pas
Oh the guitar when one loves and the other doesn't love you
Qu'on fasse taire le poème entendez-moi pleurer tout bas
So that one makes hush the poem, hear me cry very softly
Sur la guitare la guitare
On the guitar the guitar

Oh la guitare oh la guitare elle fait nuit mieux que la nuit
Oh the guitar oh the guitar it makes night better than the night
Les larmes sont mon seul nectar tout le reste n'est que du bruit
Tears are my only nectar all the rest is but noise
Oh la guitare pour le rêve oh la guitare pour l'oubli
Oh the guitar for dreaming, oh the guitar for forgetting
Le verre à quoi la main le lève à l'âge où l'on dort dans les lits
The hand raises the glass to the age where one sleeps in beds
Sans la guitare la guitare
Without the guitar the guitar

Oh la guitare ma guitare il me la faut pour que je croie
Oh the guitar my guitar I need it to believe
À ce triste air à ce triste art qui m'aide à mieux porter ma croix
In this sad air in this sad art that helps me better carry my cross
Oh la guitare du calvaire oh la guitare sans tes yeux
Oh the guitar of calvary oh the guitar without eyes
Brûlez ma voix brûlez mes vers oh la guitare d'être vieux
Burn my voice burn my lines of poetry oh the guitar of being old
Guitare guitare guitare
Guitar guitar guitar

Interprète: Hélène Martin

Pavane pour une infant défunte:
Julian Bream and John Williams

Photos: Aragon, Martin, Bream and Williams

vendredi 17 août 2012

shoe repair

Photo: "Mission shoes" by David

i'm taking my shoes to the shoe repair
there are not any extras, it's my only pair
on the tip of each toe is a very large hole
perhaps they will have to replace the sole
so worn with a lifetime of walking about
god knows that i cannot forage without
through the forest floor or the grimy street
all of which is hard on the feet

this singular pair of shoes i love
that i've worn for years, that fit like a glove
i pray that the shoe doctor knows his trade
and will fix up the holes in the sole i've made

for these shoes are priceless, they're good as gold
one day i may bronze them when i grow old
set them on a mantle and remember the days
when glory was a walk in the sunlit haze
or i climbed a mountain and felt the nip
of a glacial wind on my burdened hip
yet inside i soared like a bird of prey

i remember the ecstacy to this day
that pair of shoes that held the ground
now needing the sole doctor i've found
at the shoe repair shop in the center of town
where i bring my pair and set them down
on the counter top where the doctor stands
and examines the work and notes the demands
then assures me the shoes can be repaired

and i feel that my very life has been spared
for i love those shoes, they are part of me

they're the wings on my feet that set me free
he appears sympathetic, he's seen this before
as i take the ticket and walk to the door
in my naked feet, every shard to feel
in his hands my shoes with holes to heal


vendredi 3 août 2012

one last poem and again

Arthur Streeton, "Oblivion"

one last kiss of the sun

before timelessness sets in
one more sweet speech
from your thick red lips
that have loved me
from my crown to my feet
and have absolved me
of ancient iniquities
yet never could remove
the stain of malady

now that there is nothing
to beat back the sick
and languid days
now that the prose i loved
is beyond my ability
to decipher and absorb
the length of days 
grows infinite
i'm sometimes awake
more often somnabulent
shut down against
an unalterable gray

my heart is hurting
the gates of my brain
have been broken
all i hear now are
chainsaws and cars
in syncopation with
my uneven pulse
and even the kiss of sun
spins my skin to silver
poisons the river
as it spills into the ocean

kiss me one more time
and i shall float an
elderly ghost on the shoreline
i shall write for you
one last poem to say
i loved you more than
life itself but not
and i am sorry
more than oblivion

would you understand
if i could no longer live
with this sickness?