Low level well-being song

There’s a state

in some unbearable evenings

I would name

“low level well-being”

 

Like in the George Strait song

“I got some ocean front property in Arizona.

from my front porch you can see the sea”

When you hear

“I’ll be fine”

you probably know it’s not true

 

There’s a state

in some unbearable evenings

one just closes everything

in a incomprehensible pain

“low level well-being”

Well being?

“Yeah, if you’ll buy that I’ll throw the golden gate in free. “

 

#layers

 

 

Because of “you”, this French Verlaine’s poem can not be translated in English.

1 Tu or Vous?

You know that in France we have two different “YOU”.

  • It’s “VOUS” for the people you don’t know very well, your teacher, strangers, etc.
  • And we say “TU” to siblings, lovers, parents and good friends.

I know, it’s a bit complicated when you speak English. Your “How are you?” becomes “Comment vas-tu?” to my brother and my friends, and “Comment allez-vous?” to my neighbors, my mother-in-law, etc.

Sooo…  How are vous? or How are tu? See?

Of course you get that it’s very important in France, because vous is more polite, creates a safe distance, etc. As a French, we are easily offended by the wrong or too early “tu”. Some web pages targeting teenagers use the “tu” communication (in emails, for example), which can be tricky and over-familiar to many.

 

2 Verlaine

There’s an classic poem in France, named Colloque Sentimental, which begins like that :

Dans le vieux parc solitaire et glacé
Deux formes ont tout à l’heure passé.

In the lonely old park’s frozen glass
Two shadows lately passed.

Ha! You see the mood! These two were lovers, and they now talk about the past. Of course it becomes a cruel game between the wax lyrical guy and his cold ex.
So here is a part of their dialog :

– Te souvient-il de notre extase ancienne ?
– Pourquoi voulez-vous donc qu’il m’en souvienne ?

– Ton coeur bat-il toujours à mon seul nom ?
Toujours vois-tu mon âme en rêve ? – Non.

Ah ! les beaux jours de bonheur indicible
Où nous joignions nos bouches ! – C’est possible.

‘Do you recall our former ecstasies?’
‘Why do you want me to remember that?’
 
‘Does your heart still beat at my name alone?’
‘Is it always my soul you see in dream?’ – ‘No’.
 
‘Oh the lovely days of unspeakable mystery,
When our mouths met!’ – ‘Maybe.’

 

3 Translating the You?

Look closer at this one (you see me coming). The man asks :

– Te souvient-il de notre extase ancienne ? ‘Do you recall our former ecstasies?’

“Te souvient-il” is a formal way to say “Tu te souviens”. It’s the TU form of a close relation.

The woman’s answer is :

– Pourquoi voulez-vous donc qu’il m’en souvienne ?

She uses the VOUS form, speaking to him as a stranger. Putting a distance between them, saying “I don’t know vous very well”. So, the real answer is more like :

Why the fuck do you want me to remember that?

…but this is not poetry, right?

On the web I found :

  • “Why should I remember it at all?”
  • “Why would you have me rake up memories?”
  • “Why ever should you wish me to remember?”

All are correct, and we get her point, right?

BUT there’s no way, in a translation, you can feel the distance she puts using VOUS, instead of the TU she used to say in his arms, in older times.

Now, do you feel the guy tightening heart?

Aaawweeee!

Thanks for reading!

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Paintings : Joseph Lorusso

Impetus Kept Quiet in a Yeats’s #poem

TO A CHILD DANCING IN THE WIND

Dance there upon the shore;
What need have you to care
For wind or water’s roar ?
And tumble out your hair
That the salt drops have wet;
Being young you have not known
The fool’s triumph, nor yet
Love lost as soon as won,
Nor the best labourer dead
And all the sheaves to bind.
What need have you to dread
The monstrous crying of wind ?

W. B. Yeats

Isn’t it a good poem about how innocence and freedom of youth ignore disillusions and dark realities of adulthood?

But I like this poem because it says something about the narrator, who has the desire to warn, but knows it’s useless.

Nevertheless, the impetus is there!

It’s quite obvious that this “poem” is said in silence, in the narrator’s head : “Dance, What need have you to care, Being young you have not known…”. All this impetus is kept quiet, closed up into the narrator’s mind. Let her dance…

Why? To let her dance? Because the narrator feels he’s too pessimistic? Because he’s afraid of her reaction? Because he hopes he’s wrong (her life will maybe be a happy rainbow)?

It could be a dial to watch in us : When do we feel this impetus? When you want to warn somebody but you know it’s useless? Why? Do you fear you will not be heard? Is it a mistake, not to tell? Are you afraid that one day the other person would say to you : “You knew, you didn’t tell me, why?”?

 

Thanks for reading!

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Dreamers in the Colors of Oz #poem

Dorothy lives in Kansas

in a Black & White world.

One day she tornadoflies up

towards the Land of Oz

a land full of colors

and musics.

Then she’s back to Kansas.

After having met new friends

and the Wizard

Dorothy’s life will never be the same.

How do you live in black and white once you know the Land of Oz?

Yes it was a dream.

The world need dreamers, don’t you think ?

Someone said to me one day

that I was a Wizard.

I’m probably maybe more like a chimera

made of all Dorothy’s friends all together :

Tin Woodman

Scarecrow

Cowardly Lion.

All of them :

No brain. Heart stolen. Fearful.

Dancing and singing, though

like everyone one of us, right?

 

Thanks for reading!

#rue #nord #france #lille #sky #blue #briques #bricks #house

Ichtya

An egg

Weaved and white

like left on the black carpet

in an oblique ray of asleep light

There was an inner movement

a silken ripping

a fine breathe in the twilight tranquility

The spider has spread the cocoon

Her translucent legs slowly unfolded

Quivering like one hand of a dying woman

She opened her eyes

One by one

Revealing eight pearls black and rooted

Then she breathed the night.

Ichtya was born.

 

 

Ichtya

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(pictures taken by me)

#Rimbaud #Poem : Sensation

Sensation

Par les soirs bleus d’été, j’irai dans les sentiers,
Picoté par les blés, fouler l’herbe menue:
Rêveur, j’en sentirai la fraîcheur à mes pieds.
Je laisserai le vent baigner ma tête nue.

Je ne parlerai pas, je ne penserai rien:
Mais l’amour infini me montera dans l’àme,
Et j’irai loin, bien loin, comme un bohémien,
Par la Nature, — heureux comme avec une femme.

 

In summer evenings blue, pricked by the wheat
 On rustic paths the thin grass I shall tread, 
And feel its freshness underneath my feet, 
 And, dreaming, let the wind bathe my bare head,

I shall not speak, nor think, but, walking slow 
 Through Nature, I shall rove with Love my guide, 
As gipsies wander, where, they do not know, 
 Happy as one walks by a woman’s side.

 

Arthur Rimbaud

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