When the Lavender Returns
As cold as ice
Wrapped round your brain
And darkness unfolds
You’re breathing in pain
It’s been freezing here
In this Land of Shattered Dreams
It’s been freezing here
This corrupted winter stings
It’s been freezing here
(Où est la Lavande?)
Your body can’t stay warm
(Où est la Lavande?)
It’s been freezing here
(Où est la Lavande?)
This cruel and criminal storm
(Où est la Lavande?)
But don’t give up
Don’t despair
Taste the hope
Floating through the air
When the lavender returns
It’ll warm your frozen bones
Vivid violet clothes
In their candy overtones
When the lavender returns
It’ll race across the land
Rebel flower grows
In the palm of your free hand
If you look out your window
The ground’s parched and bare
If you call for your lover
She’s no longer there
If you ponder your life
Well, it feels like a wreck
And your failures are scars
You can never forget
As leaves turn brown
Sky fades to grey
You’re feeling the drought
The end of the day
It’s been lonely here
In this World of Fallen Souls
[...] Read more
poem by Catman Cohen
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Related quotes
The God Of The Poor
There was a lord that hight Maltete,
Among great lords he was right great,
On poor folk trod he like the dirt,
None but God might do him hurt.
Deus est Deus pauperum.
With a grace of prayers sung loud and late
Many a widow’s house he ate;
Many a poor knight at his hands
Lost his house and narrow lands.
Deus est Deus pauperum.
He burnt the harvests many a time,
He made fair houses heaps of lime;
Whatso man loved wife or maid
Of Evil-head was sore afraid.
Deus est Deus pauperum.
He slew good men and spared the bad;
Too long a day the foul dog had,
E’en as all dogs will have their day;
But God is as strong as man, I say.
Deus est Deus pauperum.
For a valiant knight, men called Boncoeur,
Had hope he should not long endure,
And gathered to him much good folk,
Hardy hearts to break the yoke.
Deus est Deus pauperum.
But Boncoeur deemed it would be vain
To strive his guarded house to gain;
Therefore, within a little while,
He set himself to work by guile.
Deus est Deus pauperum.
He knew that Maltete loved right well
Red gold and heavy. If from hell
The Devil had cried, “Take this gold cup,”
Down had he gone to fetch it up.
Deus est Deus pauperum.
Twenty poor men’s lives were nought
To him, beside a ring well wrought.
The pommel of his hunting-knife
Was worth ten times a poor man’s life.
Deus est Deus pauperum.
A squire new-come from over-sea
Boncoeur called to him privily,
[...] Read more
poem by William Morris
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L’Invention
O fils du Mincius, je te salue, ô toi
Par qui le dieu des arts fut roi du peuple-roi!
Et vous, à qui jadis, pour créer l'harmonie,
L'Attique et l'onde Égée, et la belle Ionie,
Donnèrent un ciel pur, les plaisirs, la beauté,
Des moeurs simples, des lois, la paix, la liberté,
Un langage sonore aux douceurs souveraines,
Le plus beau qui soit né sur des lèvres humaines!
Nul âge ne verra pâlir vos saints lauriers,
Car vos pas inventeurs ouvrirent les sentiers;
Et du temple des arts que la gloire environne
Vos mains ont élevé la première colonne.
A nous tous aujourd'hui, vos faibles nourrissons,
Votre exemple a dicté d'importantes leçons.
Il nous dit que nos mains, pour vous être fidèles,
Y doivent élever des colonnes nouvelles.
L'esclave imitateur naît et s'évanouit;
La nuit vient, le corps reste, et son ombre s'enfuit.
Ce n'est qu'aux inventeurs que la vie est promise.
Nous voyons les enfants de la fière Tamise,
De toute servitude ennemis indomptés;
Mieux qu'eux, par votre exemple, à vous vaincre excités,
Osons; de votre gloire éclatante et durable
Essayons d'épuiser la source inépuisable.
Mais inventer n'est pas, en un brusque abandon,
Blesser la vérité, le bon sens, la raison;
Ce n'est pas entasser, sans dessein et sans forme,
Des membres ennemis en un colosse énorme;
Ce n'est pas, élevant des poissons dans les airs,
A l'aile des vautours ouvrir le sein des mers;
Ce n'est pas sur le front d'une nymphe brillante
Hérisser d'un lion la crinière sanglante:
Délires insensés! fantômes monstrueux!
Et d'un cerveau malsain rêves tumultueux!
Ces transports déréglés, vagabonde manie,
Sont l'accès de la fièvre et non pas du génie;
D'Ormus et d'Ariman ce sont les noirs combats,
Où, partout confondus, la vie et le trépas,
Les ténèbres, le jour, la forme et la matière,
Luttent sans être unis; mais l'esprit de lumière
Fait naître en ce chaos la concorde et le jour:
D'éléments divisés il reconnaît l'amour,
Les rappelle; et partout, en d'heureux intervalles,
Sépare et met en paix les semences rivales.
Ainsi donc, dans les arts, l'inventeur est celui
Qui peint ce que chacun put sentir comme lui;
Qui, fouillant des objets les plus sombres retraites,
Étale et fait briller leurs richesses secrètes;
Qui, par des noeuds certains, imprévus et nouveaux,
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poem by Andre Marie de Chenier
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Conclusion
Il est ! Mais nul cri d'homme ou d'ange, nul effroi,
Nul amour, nulle bouche, humble, tendre ou superbe,
Ne peut balbutier distinctement ce verbe !
Il est ! il est ! il est ! il est éperdument !
Tout, les feux, les clartés, les cieux, l'immense aimant,
Les jours, les nuits, tout est le chiffre ; il est la somme.
Plénitude pour lui, c'est l'infini pour l'homme.
Faire un dogme, et l'y mettre ! ô rêve ! inventer Dieu !
Il est ! Contentez-vous du monde, cet aveu !
Quoi ! des religions, c'est ce que tu veux faire,
Toi, l'homme ! ouvrir les yeux suffit ; je le préfère.
Contente-toi de croire en Lui ; contente-toi
De l'espérance avec sa grande aile, la foi ;
Contente-toi de boire, altéré, ce dictame ;
Contente-toi de dire : - Il est, puisque la femme
Berce l'enfant avec un chant mystérieux ;
Il est, puisque l'esprit frissonne curieux ;
Il est, puisque je vais le front haut ; puisqu'un maître
Qui n'est pas lui, m'indigne, et n'a pas le droit d'être ;
Il est, puisque César tremble devant Patmos ;
Il est, puisque c'est lui que je sens sous ces mots :
Idéal, Absolu, Devoir, Raison, Science ;
Il est, puisqu'à ma faute il faut sa patience,
Puisque l'âme me sert quand l'appétit me nuit,
Puisqu'il faut un grand jour sur ma profonde nuit! -
La pensée en montant vers lui devient géante.
Homme, contente-toi de cette soif béante ;
Mais ne dirige pas vers Dieu ta faculté
D'inventer de la peur et de l'iniquité,
Tes catéchismes fous, tes korans, tes grammaires,
Et ton outil sinistre à forger des chimères.
Vis, et fais ta journée ; aime et fais ton sommeil.
Vois au-dessus de toi le firmament vermeil ;
Regarde en toi ce ciel profond qu'on nomme l'âme ;
Dans ce gouffre, au zénith, resplendit une flamme.
Un centre de lumière inaccessible est là.
Hors de toi comme en toi cela brille et brilla ;
C'est là-bas, tout au fond, en haut du précipice.
Cette clarté toujours jeune, toujours propice,
Jamais ne s'interrompt et ne pâlit jamais ;
Elle sort des noirceurs, elle éclate aux sommets ;
La haine est de la nuit, l'ombre est de la colère !
Elle fait cette chose inouïe, elle éclaire.
Tu ne l'éteindrais pas si tu la blasphémais ;
Elle inspirait Orphée, elle échauffait Hermès ;
Elle est le formidable et tranquille prodige ;
L'oiseau l'a dans son nid, l'arbre l'a dans sa tige ;
Tout la possède, et rien ne pourrait la saisir ;
Elle s'offre immobile à l'éternel désir,
Et toujours se refuse et sans cesse se donne ;
[...] Read more
poem by Victor Hugo
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The House Of Dust: Complete
I.
The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.
And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.
'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.
We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .
Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.
Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.
Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.
II.
[...] Read more
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Le Mendiant
C'était quand le printemps a reverdi les prés.
La fille de Lycus, vierge aux cheveux dorés,
Sous les monts Achéens, non loin de Cérynée,
Errait à l'ombre, aux bords du faible et pur Crathis,
Car les eaux du Crathis, sous des berceaux de frêne,
Entouraient de Lycus le fertile domaine.
Soudain, à l'autre bord,
Du fond d'un bois épais, un noir fantôme sort,
Tout pâle, demi-nu, la barbe hérissée:
Il remuait à peine une lèvre glacée,
Des hommes et des dieux implorait le secours,
Et dans la forêt sombre errait depuis deux jours;
Il se traîne, il n'attend qu'une mort douloureuse;
Il succombe. L'enfant, interdite et peureuse,
A ce hideux aspect sorti du fond des bois,
Veut fuir; mais elle entend sa lamentable voix.
Il tend les bras, il tombe à genoux; il lui crie
Qu'au nom de tous les dieux il la conjure, il prie,
Et qu'il n'est point à craindre, et qu'une ardente faim
L'aiguillonne et le tue, et qu'il expire enfin.
'Si, comme je le crois, belle dès ton enfance,
C'est le dieu de ces eaux qui t'a donné naissance,
Nymphe, souvent les voeux des malheureux humains
Ouvrent des immortels les bienfaisantes mains,
Ou si c'est quelque front porteur d'une couronne
Qui te nomme sa fille et te destine au trône,
Souviens-toi, jeune enfant, que le ciel quelquefois
Venge les opprimés sur la tête des rois.
Belle vierge, sans doute enfant d'une déesse,
Crains de laisser périr l'étranger en détresse:
L'étranger qui supplie est envoyé des dieux.'
Elle reste. A le voir, elle enhardit ses yeux,
. . . . . . . . et d'une voix encore
Tremblante: 'Ami, le ciel écoute qui l'implore.
Mais ce soir, quand la nuit descend sur l'horizon,
Passe le pont mobile, entre dans la maison;
J'aurai soin qu'on te laisse entrer sans méfiance.
Pour la douzième fois célébrant ma naissance,
Mon père doit donner une fête aujourd'hui.
Il m'aime, il n'a que moi: viens t'adresser à lui,
C'est le riche Lycus. Viens ce soir; il est tendre,
Il est humain: il pleure aux pleurs qu'il voit répandre.'
Elle achève ces mots, et, le coeur palpitant,
S'enfuit; car l'étranger sur elle, en l'écoutant,
Fixait de ses yeux creux l'attention avide.
Elle rentre, cherchant dans le palais splendide
L'esclave près de qui toujours ses jeunes ans
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poem by Andre Marie de Chenier
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Chanson des oiseaux
Vie ! ô bonheur ! bois profonds,
Nous vivons.
L'essor sans fin nous réclame ;
Planons sur l'air et les eaux !
Les oiseaux
Sont de la poussière d'âme.
Accourez, planez ! volons
Aux vallons,
A l'antre, à l'ombre, à l'asile !
Perdons-nous dans cette mer
De l'éther
Où la nuée est une île !
Du fond des rocs et des joncs,
Des donjons,
Des monts que le jour embrase,
Volons, et, frémissants, fous,
Plongeons-nous
Dans l'inexprimable extase !
Oiseaux, volez aux clochers,
Aux rochers,
Au précipice, à la cime,
Aux glaciers, aux lacs, aux prés ;
Savourez
La liberté de l'abîme!
Vie ! azur ! rayons ! frissons !
Traversons
La vaste gaîté sereine,
Pendant que sur les vivants,
Dans les vents,
L'ombre des nuages traîne !
Avril ouvre à deux battants
Le printemps ;
L'été le suit, et déploie
Sur la terre un beau tapis
Fait d'épis,
D'herbe, de fleurs, et de joie.
Buvons, mangeons ; becquetons
Les festons
De la ronce et de la vigne ;
Le banquet dans la forêt
Est tout prêt ;
Chaque branche nous fait signe.
Les pivoines sont en feu ;
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poem by Victor Hugo
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A qui la faute?
Tu viens d'incendier la Bibliothèque ?
- Oui.
J'ai mis le feu là.
- Mais c'est un crime inouï !
Crime commis par toi contre toi-même, infâme !
Mais tu viens de tuer le rayon de ton âme !
C'est ton propre flambeau que tu viens de souffler !
Ce que ta rage impie et folle ose brûler,
C'est ton bien, ton trésor, ta dot, ton héritage
Le livre, hostile au maître, est à ton avantage.
Le livre a toujours pris fait et cause pour toi.
Une bibliothèque est un acte de foi
Des générations ténébreuses encore
Qui rendent dans la nuit témoignage à l'aurore.
Quoi! dans ce vénérable amas des vérités,
Dans ces chefs-d'oeuvre pleins de foudre et de clartés,
Dans ce tombeau des temps devenu répertoire,
Dans les siècles, dans l'homme antique, dans l'histoire,
Dans le passé, leçon qu'épelle l'avenir,
Dans ce qui commença pour ne jamais finir,
Dans les poètes! quoi, dans ce gouffre des bibles,
Dans le divin monceau des Eschyles terribles,
Des Homères, des jobs, debout sur l'horizon,
Dans Molière, Voltaire et Kant, dans la raison,
Tu jettes, misérable, une torche enflammée !
De tout l'esprit humain tu fais de la fumée !
As-tu donc oublié que ton libérateur,
C'est le livre ? Le livre est là sur la hauteur;
Il luit; parce qu'il brille et qu'il les illumine,
Il détruit l'échafaud, la guerre, la famine
Il parle, plus d'esclave et plus de paria.
Ouvre un livre. Platon, Milton, Beccaria.
Lis ces prophètes, Dante, ou Shakespeare, ou Corneille
L'âme immense qu'ils ont en eux, en toi s'éveille ;
Ébloui, tu te sens le même homme qu'eux tous ;
Tu deviens en lisant grave, pensif et doux ;
Tu sens dans ton esprit tous ces grands hommes croître,
Ils t'enseignent ainsi que l'aube éclaire un cloître
À mesure qu'il plonge en ton coeur plus avant,
Leur chaud rayon t'apaise et te fait plus vivant ;
Ton âme interrogée est prête à leur répondre ;
Tu te reconnais bon, puis meilleur; tu sens fondre,
Comme la neige au feu, ton orgueil, tes fureurs,
Le mal, les préjugés, les rois, les empereurs !
Car la science en l'homme arrive la première.
Puis vient la liberté. Toute cette lumière,
C'est à toi comprends donc, et c'est toi qui l'éteins !
Les buts rêvés par toi sont par le livre atteints.
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poem by Victor Hugo
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Ice Ice Baby
(vanilla ice, earthquake, m. smooth)
Yo, vip, lets kick it!
Ice ice baby, ice ice baby
All right stop, collaborate and listen
Ice is back with my brand new invention
Something grabs a hold of me tightly
Then I flow like a harpoon daily and nightly
Will it ever stop? yo -- I dont know
Turn off the lights and Ill glow
To the extreme I rock a mic like a vandal
Light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle.
Dance, bum rush the speaker that booms
Im killing your brain like a poisonous mushroom
Deadly, when I play a dope melody
Anything less than the best is a felony
Love it or leave it, you better gain way
You better hit bulls eye, the kid dont play
If there was a problem, yo, Ill solve it
Check out the hook while my dj revolves it
Ice ice baby vanilla, ice ice baby vanilla
Ice ice baby vanilla, ice ice baby vanilla
Now that the party is jumping
With the bass kicked in, the vegas are pumpin
Quick to the point, to the point no faking
Im cooking mcs like a pound of bacon
Burning them if theyre not quick and nimble
I go crazy when I hear a cymbal
And a hi hat with a souped up tempo
Im on a roll and its time to go solo
Rollin in my 5.0
With my ragtop down so my hair can blow
The girlies on standby, waving just to say hi
Did you stop? no -- I just drove by
Kept on pursuing to the next stop
I busted a left and Im heading to the next block
That block was dead
Yo -- so I continued to a1a beachfront ave.
Girls were hot wearing less than bikinis
Rockman lovers driving lamborghinis
Jealous cause Im out geting mine
Shay with a gauge and vanilla with a nine
Reading for the chumps on the wall
The chumps acting ill because theyre so full of eight balls
Gunshots ranged out like a bell
I grabbed my nine -- all I heard were shells
Falling on the concrete real fast
Jumped in my car, slammed on the gas
Bumper to bumper the avenues packed
Im trying to get away before the jackers jack
Police on the scene, you know what I mean
[...] Read more
song performed by Vanilla Ice
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ice Ice Baby
(vanilla ice, earthquake, m. smooth)
Yo, vip, lets kick it!
Ice ice baby, ice ice baby
All right stop, collaborate and listen
Ice is back with my brand new invention
Something grabs a hold of me tightly
Then I flow like a harpoon daily and nightly
Will it ever stop? yo -- I dont know
Turn off the lights and Ill glow
To the extreme I rock a mic like a vandal
Light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle.
Dance, bum rush the speaker that booms
Im killing your brain like a poisonous mushroom
Deadly, when I play a dope melody
Anything less than the best is a felony
Love it or leave it, you better gain way
You better hit bulls eye, the kid dont play
If there was a problem, yo, Ill solve it
Check out the hook while my dj revolves it
Ice ice baby vanilla, ice ice baby vanilla
Ice ice baby vanilla, ice ice baby vanilla
Now that the party is jumping
With the bass kicked in, the vegas are pumpin
Quick to the point, to the point no faking
Im cooking mcs like a pound of bacon
Burning them if theyre not quick and nimble
I go crazy when I hear a cymbal
And a hi hat with a souped up tempo
Im on a roll and its time to go solo
Rollin in my 5.0
With my ragtop down so my hair can blow
The girlies on standby, waving just to say hi
Did you stop? no -- I just drove by
Kept on pursuing to the next stop
I busted a left and Im heading to the next block
That block was dead
Yo -- so I continued to a1a beachfront ave.
Girls were hot wearing less than bikinis
Rockman lovers driving lamborghinis
Jealous cause Im out geting mine
Shay with a gauge and vanilla with a nine
Reading for the chumps on the wall
The chumps acting ill because theyre so full of eight balls
Gunshots ranged out like a bell
I grabbed my nine -- all I heard were shells
Falling on the concrete real fast
Jumped in my car, slammed on the gas
Bumper to bumper the avenues packed
Im trying to get away before the jackers jack
Police on the scene, you know what I mean
[...] Read more
song performed by Vanilla Ice
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Four Seasons : Winter
See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train;
Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme,
These! that exalt the soul to solemn thought,
And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms,
Congenial horrors, hail! with frequent foot,
Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life,
When nursed by careless Solitude I lived,
And sung of Nature with unceasing joy,
Pleased have I wander'd through your rough domain;
Trod the pure virgin-snows, myself as pure;
Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst;
Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brew'd,
In the grim evening sky. Thus pass'd the time,
Till through the lucid chambers of the south
Look'd out the joyous Spring, look'd out, and smiled.
To thee, the patron of her first essay,
The Muse, O Wilmington! renews her song.
Since has she rounded the revolving year:
Skimm'd the gay Spring; on eagle-pinions borne,
Attempted through the Summer-blaze to rise;
Then swept o'er Autumn with the shadowy gale;
And now among the wintry clouds again,
Roll'd in the doubling storm, she tries to soar;
To swell her note with all the rushing winds;
To suit her sounding cadence to the floods;
As is her theme, her numbers wildly great:
Thrice happy could she fill thy judging ear
With bold description, and with manly thought.
Nor art thou skill'd in awful schemes alone,
And how to make a mighty people thrive;
But equal goodness, sound integrity,
A firm, unshaken, uncorrupted soul,
Amid a sliding age, and burning strong,
Not vainly blazing for thy country's weal,
A steady spirit regularly free;
These, each exalting each, the statesman light
Into the patriot; these, the public hope
And eye to thee converting, bid the Muse
Record what envy dares not flattery call.
Now when the cheerless empire of the sky
To Capricorn the Centaur Archer yields,
And fierce Aquarius stains the inverted year;
Hung o'er the farthest verge of Heaven, the sun
Scarce spreads through ether the dejected day.
Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot
His struggling rays, in horizontal lines,
Through the thick air; as clothed in cloudy storm,
Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky;
And, soon-descending, to the long dark night,
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poem by James Thomson
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Book III - Part 03 - The Soul is Mortal
Now come: that thou mayst able be to know
That minds and the light souls of all that live
Have mortal birth and death, I will go on
Verses to build meet for thy rule of life,
Sought after long, discovered with sweet toil.
But under one name I'd have thee yoke them both;
And when, for instance, I shall speak of soul,
Teaching the same to be but mortal, think
Thereby I'm speaking also of the mind-
Since both are one, a substance interjoined.
First, then, since I have taught how soul exists
A subtle fabric, of particles minute,
Made up from atoms smaller much than those
Of water's liquid damp, or fog, or smoke,
So in mobility it far excels,
More prone to move, though strook by lighter cause
Even moved by images of smoke or fog-
As where we view, when in our sleeps we're lulled,
The altars exhaling steam and smoke aloft-
For, beyond doubt, these apparitions come
To us from outward. Now, then, since thou seest,
Their liquids depart, their waters flow away,
When jars are shivered, and since fog and smoke
Depart into the winds away, believe
The soul no less is shed abroad and dies
More quickly far, more quickly is dissolved
Back to its primal bodies, when withdrawn
From out man's members it has gone away.
For, sure, if body (container of the same
Like as a jar), when shivered from some cause,
And rarefied by loss of blood from veins,
Cannot for longer hold the soul, how then
Thinkst thou it can be held by any air-
A stuff much rarer than our bodies be?
Besides we feel that mind to being comes
Along with body, with body grows and ages.
For just as children totter round about
With frames infirm and tender, so there follows
A weakling wisdom in their minds; and then,
Where years have ripened into robust powers,
Counsel is also greater, more increased
The power of mind; thereafter, where already
The body's shattered by master-powers of eld,
And fallen the frame with its enfeebled powers,
Thought hobbles, tongue wanders, and the mind gives way;
All fails, all's lacking at the selfsame time.
Therefore it suits that even the soul's dissolved,
Like smoke, into the lofty winds of air;
[...] Read more
poem by Lucretius
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C'est La Vie
I am as young as i'm feeling
I'm always 21, i am always 21
C'est la vie, c'est la vie, c'est la vie
I'm always 21 at heart, love listen to me
Ooooh yeah yeah yeah
I need somebody to stay beside me
Cause i've got a hungry heart
Baby with or without love
I'm gonna get a man who can fulfill my dreams
On the top of the world i don't wanna be alone
No no no not me
C'est la vie, c'est la vie, c'est la vie
On the road tonight
Life is good for you, always 21
C'est la vie, c'est la vie, c'est la vie
On my own tonight
Life is good for you, always 21
Love is a lyer, but i'm a tryer,
Give it another go
You have another, yes i have seen her,
I wonder who she is
Does she kiss you the way
That i used to kiss you
I bet she wonders
Who i am
C'est la vie, c'est la vie, c'est la vie
On the road tonight
Life is good for you, always 21
C'est la vie, c'est la vie, c'est la vie
On my own tonight
Life is good for you, always 21
C'est la vie, c'est la vie, c'est la vie
On my own tonight
Love will come to you
You are always 21
I get older everyday
But i will fight it till the end
There's a man for me to have and to hold
Easy come and easy go
Once bitten but not for long
And as young as i'm feeling
Yes i am
C'est la vie, c'est la vie, c'est la vie
On my own tonight
Love will come to you
You are always 21
C'est la vie, c'est la vie, c'est la vie
On my own tonight
Life is good for you, always 21
You are always 21
[...] Read more
song performed by Ace Of Base
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cold As Ice
I dont think you understand
Oh the rhythm of my heart
Theres a strong line to mind and soul
I feel it tearing apart
Ive been searching for new words
Gonna make you understand in a different way
When I told you Id hang on forever
I threw my choice away
And its cold as ice
I cant let go
Its cold as ice
Baby but I need your love
And I wish I could have been the first one
Oh to walk out the door
The more I find myself to blame
The less there is to come back for
You wish you could have been the last one
To tell me how you really feel
Cause when you closed the door oh deep inside
My heart it still seemed so sincere
And its cold as ice
I cant let go oh
Its cold as ice
Baby but I need your love
Its cold as ice
I cant let go
Its cold as ice
Baby but I need your love
If theres a message to this madness
Well it still seems quite unclear
If I really need to save myself
Why cant I just walk out of here
Theres a message in your eyes
And you make it perfectly plain
Either I leave your heart behind
Or crack beneath this freezing
Freezing freezing freezing rain
Cold as ice
(cold as ice)
I cant let go
(but I cant let go)
Cold as ice
Baby but i
But I need your love
All right
I said Im cold
Cold Im cold
(cold as ice)
Cold Im cold
(baby)
[...] Read more
song performed by Indigo Girls
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Too Cold
(vanilla ice, earthquake, m. smooth)
All right stop, collaborate and listen
Ice is back I got a brand new invention
Something grabs a hold of me tightly
Flow like a harpoon daily and nightly
Will it ever stop? yo-i dont know
Now turn off the lights (huh) and Ill glow
And to the extreme I rock a mic like a vandal
Light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle
Too cold, too cold
Too cold, too cold
Too cold, too cold
Too cold
But you be talkin that shi*(repeating until next verse)
Dance, bum rush the speaker that booms
Im killing your brain like a poisonous mushroom
Deadly, now as I play a dope melody
Anything less than the best is a felony
Love it or leave it, you better gain way
You better hit the bulls eye, the kid dont play
And if there was a problem, yo, Ill solve it
Check out the hook while my dj revolves it
Ice ice baby, ice ice baby
Ice ice baby, ice ice baby
Take heed, cause Im a lyrical poet
Miamis on the scene just in case you didnt know it
My town, that created all the bass sound
Enough to shake and kick holes in the ground
cause my style is like a chemical spill
Feasible rhymes you can vision and feel
Conducted and formed, this is a hell of a concept
We make it hype and know you wanna step with this
Swamp plays on the fade, slice like a ninja
Cut like a razor blade so fast, other djs say damn
If rhyme was a drug, you know Id sell it by the gram
Keep my composure when its time to get loose
Magnetized by the mic and when I kick my juice
And if there was a problem, you know that I would solve it
Check out the hook while my dj revolves it.
Ice ice baby (throw your hands in the air, let me know youre out there)
Ice ice baby, ice ice baby (throw your hands in the air, let me know youre out there)
Ice ice baby, too fuc*in cold
Too cold, too cold, too cold, too cold
Ice ice baby
Too cold, too cold
Ice ice baby
Too cold, too cold
Ice ice baby
Too cold, too cold
Ice ice baby
[...] Read more
song performed by Vanilla Ice
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Jeton KELMENDI – Biographie poésie
Traduit en français par Athanase Vantchev de Thracy Paris
Jeton KELMENDI – Biographie
Jeton Kelmendi est un auteur qui propose une poésie tri-dimensionnelle, couplant modernité et actualité, et qui la communique d’une manière à la fois originale et traditionnelle. Des critiques littéraires ont apprécié dans sa poésie un message au caractère claire, puissant et accompli.
Le langage de Kelmendi est personnel et s’offre naturellement au lecteur. Sa forme agréable et attractive tient significativement à ses concepts émouvants figuratifs en même temps que complexes. L’essence de sa poésie est une narration verticale et une sélection rigoureuse des sujets abordés, qui lui permettent des jeux d’espace et de temps.
Le poète albanais Jeton Kelmendi est né à Peja en 1978. Il a suivi sa scolarité, primaire et secondaire, dans sa ville natale, puis il a poursuivi des études supérieures à l’Université de Prishtina. Correspondant de plusieurs média albanais (en Albanie et au Kosovo) , il collabore avec encore d’autres au niveau international.
Kelmendi est un nom familier aux lecteurs kosovars de poésie, depuis 2000.
Il est également connu comme journaliste, spécialisé dans les domaines politique et culturel.
La poésie de Kelmendi a été traduite en plusieurs langues et figure dans de nombreuses anthologies. Membre de plusieurs associations internationales de poètes, il a été publié dans des revues culturelles, surtout en anglais.
Au centre de la pensée poétique de Kelmendi se trouvent la subtilité de l’expression et le soin accordé à la parole. Les thèmes dominants de ses écrits sont l’amour et les réalités crues de la situation politique, qu’imprègne souvent un sentiment de déception devant la conduite des affaires.
Il est un ancien combattant de l’UCK (Armée de Libération Kosovare) . Actuellement, membre de l’Association Européenne des Journalistes Professionnels, Kelmendi réside à Bruxelles.
Bibliographie
En albanais:
Le siècle de promesses - Shekulli i Premtimeve,1999 (poésie)
Au delà du silence - Përtej Heshtjes,2002 (poésie)
S’il est midi - Në qoftë mesditë,2004 (poésie)
Donnez-moi une patrie - Më fal pak Atdhe,2005 (poésie)
Où vont les avenirs - Ku shkojnë ardhjet,2007 (poésie)
Madame Parole - Zonja Fjalë 2007 (théâtre)
En roumain:
Si rares sont devenues les lettres - Ce mult s-au rãrit scrisorile 2007 (anthologie personnelle de poèmes)
Poesie
MADEMOISELLE PAROLE ET MONSIEUR PENSEE
1.
J’ai parlé d’une manière plutôt
Différente
Trop triomphante
Mademoiselle
J’espère que
Vous n’y voyez pas d’offense
Ce ne sont, après tout
Que des paroles d’un poète
Et vous savez qu’il est permis
[...] Read more
poem by Jeton Kelmendi Poét
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Le Tourbillon De La Vie (feat. Jeanne Moreau)
Elle avait des bagues chaque doigt,
Des tas de bracelets autour des poignets,
Et puis elle chantait avec une voix
Qui, sitot, m'enjola.
Elle avait des yeux, des yeux d'opale,
Qui me fascinaient, qui me fascinaient.
Y avait l'ovale de son visage ple
De femme fatale qui m'fut fatale [2x].
On s'est connus, on s'est reconnus,
On s'est perdus de vue, on s'est r'perdus d'vue
On s'est retrouvs, on s'est rchauffs,
Puis on s'est spars.
Chacun pour soi est reparti.
Dans l'tourbillon de la vie
Je l'ai revue un soir, hie, hie, hie
a fait dj un fameux bail [2x].
Au son des banjos je l'ai reconnue.
Ce curieux sourire qui m'avait tant plu.
Sa voix si fatale, son beau visage ple
M'murent plus que jamais.
Je me suis sol en l'coutant.
L'alcool fait oublier le temps.
Je me suis rveill en sentant
Des baisers sur mon front brlant [2x].
On s'est connus, on s'est reconnus.
On s'est perdus de vue, on s'est r'perdus de vue
On s'est retrouvs, on s'est spars.
Dans le tourbillon de la vie.
On a continu toumer
Tous les deux enlacs
Tous les deux enlacs.
Puis on s'est rchauffs.
Chacun pour soi est reparti.
Dans l'tourbillon de la vie.
Je l'ai revue un soir ah l l
Elle est retombe dans mes bras.
Quand on s'est connus,
Quand on s'est reconnus,
Pourquoi se perdre de vue,
Se reperdre de vue ?
Quand on s'est retrouvs,
Quand on s'est rchauffs,
Pourquoi se sparer ?
Alors tous deux on est repartis
Dans le tourbillon de la vie
On continu tourner
Tous les deux enlacs
Tous les deux enlacs.
song performed by Vanessa Paradis
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Tamar
I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.
The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned
the dead mare's muzzle and sluggishly
Felt for the rider; Cauldwell’s sleepy soul came back from the
blind course curious to know
What sea-cold fingers tapped the walls of its deserted ruin.
Pain, pain and faintness, crushing
Weights, and a vain desire to vomit, and soon again
die icy fingers, they had crept over the loose hand and lay in the
hair now. He rolled sidewise
Against mountains of weight and for another half-hour lay still.
With a gush of liquid noises
The wave covered him head and all, his body
Crawled without consciousness and like a creature with no bones,
a seaworm, lifted its face
Above the sea-wrack of a stone; then a white twilight grew about
the moon, and above
The ancient water, the everlasting repetition of the dawn. You
shipwrecked horseman
So many and still so many and now for you the last. But when it
grew daylight
He grew quite conscious; broken ends of bone ground on each
other among the working fibers
While by half-inches he was drawing himself out of the seawrack
up to sandy granite,
Out of the tide's path. Where the thin ledge tailed into flat cliff
he fell asleep. . . .
Far seaward
The daylight moon hung like a slip of cloud against the horizon.
The tide was ebbing
From the dead horse and the black belt of sea-growth. Cauldwell
seemed to have felt her crying beside him,
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 15
Ac after my wakynge it was wonder longe
Er I koude kyndely knowe what was Dowel.
And so my wit weex and wanyed til I a fool weere;
And some lakked my lif - allowed it fewe -
And leten me for a lorel and looth to reverencen
Lordes or ladies or any lif ellis -
As persons in pelure with pendaunts of silver;
To sergeaunts ne to swiche seide noght ones,
' God loke yow, lordes!' - ne loutede faire,
That folk helden me a fool; and in that folie I raved,
Til reson hadde ruthe on me and rokked me aslepe,
Til I seigh, as it sorcerie were, a sotil thyng withalle -
Oon withouten tonge and teeth, tolde me whider I sholde
And wherof I cam and of what kynde. I conjured hym at the laste,
If he were Cristes creature for Cristes love me to tellen.
' I am Cristes creature,' quod he, 'and Cristene in many a place,
In Cristes court yknowe wel, and of his kyn a party.
Is neither Peter the Porter, ne Poul with the fauchon,
That wole defende me the dore, dynge I never so late.
At mydnyght, at mydday, my vois is so yknowe
That ech a creature of his court welcometh me faire.'
'What are ye called?' quod I, 'in that court among Cristes peple?'
'The whiles I quykne the cors,' quod he, 'called am I Anima;
And whan I wilne and wolde, Animus ich hatte;
And for that I kan and knowe, called am I Mens;
And whan I make mone to God, Memoria is my name;
And whan I deme domes and do as truthe techeth,
Thanne is Racio my righte name - ''reson'' on Englissh;
And whan I feele that folk telleth, my firste name is Sensus -
And that is wit and wisdom, the welle of alle craftes;
And whan I chalange or chalange noght, chepe or refuse,
Thanne am I Conseience ycalled, Goddes clerk and his notarie;
And whan I love leelly Oure Lord and alle othere,
Thanne is ''lele Love'' my name, and in Latyn Amor;
And whan I flee fro the flessh and forsake the careyne,
Thanne am I spirit spechelees - and Spiritus thanne ich hatte.
Austyn and Ysodorus, either of hem bothe
Nempnede me thus to name - now thow myght chese
How thow coveitest to calle me, now thow knowest alle my names.
Anima pro diversis accionibus diversa nomina sortiturdum
vivificat corpus, anima est; dum vult, animus est; dum scit,
mens est; dum recolit, memoria est; dum iudicat, racio est;
dum sentit, sensus est; dum amat, Amor est ; dum negat vel
consentit, consciencia est; dum spirat, spiritus est.'
'Ye ben as a bisshop,' quod I, al bourdynge that tyme,
' For bisshopes yblessed, thei bereth manye names -
Presul and Pontifex and Metropolitanus,
And othere names an heep, Episcopus and Pastor.'
'That is sooth,' seide he, 'now I se thi wille!
[...] Read more
poem by William Langland
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The Idols
An Ode
Luce intellettual, piena d' amore
Prelude
Lo, the spirit of a pulsing star within a stone
Born of earth, sprung from night!
Prisoned with the profound fires of the light
That lives like all the tongues of eloquence
Locked in a speech unknown!
The crystal, cold and hard as innocence,
Immures the flame; and yet as if it knew
Raptures or pangs it could not but betray,
As if the light could feel changes of blood and breath
And all--but--human quiverings of the sense,
Throbs of a sudden rose, a frosty blue,
Shoot thrilling in its ray,
Like the far longings of the intellect
Restless in clouding clay.
Who has confined the Light? Who has held it a slave,
Sold and bought, bought and sold?
Who has made of it a mystery to be doled,
Or trophy, to awe with legendary fire,
Where regal banners wave?
And still into the dark it sends Desire.
In the heart's darkness it sows cruelties.
The bright jewel becomes a beacon to the vile,
A lodestar to corruption, envy's own:
Soiled with blood, fought for, clutched at; this world's prize,
Captive Authority. Oh, the star is stone
To all that outward sight,
Yet still, like truth that none has ever used,
Lives lost in its own light.
Troubled I fly. O let me wander again at will
(Far from cries, far from these
Hard blindnesses and frozen certainties!)
Where life proceeds in vastness unaware
And stirs profound and still:
Where leafing thoughts at shy touch of the air
Tremble, and gleams come seeking to be mine,
Or dart, like suddenly remembered youth,
Like the ache of love, a light, lost, found, and lost again.
Surely in the dusk some messenger was there!
But, haunted in the heart, I thirst, I pine.--
Oh, how can truth be truth
Except I taste it close and sweet and sharp
As an apple to the tooth?
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Laurence Binyon
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]
POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR
POEMS
1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song
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poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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