19
Can we live without love?
In Kyrgyzstan, in Armenia,
In Brittany, in Venezuela,
Without sharing his emotions,
With God or Saint Joseph,
Regardless of his birth,
The color of his skin,
No matter how much he’s worth,
Can we live without love?
In Greece or the Cyclades,
In the sun or under the Big Dipper,
In the light, in a dungeon,
Can we live without love?
20
Can we live without love?
In Rio, or in Calcutta,
in Marrakech or in Berlin,
in Paris or in Marseille,
at the sea, in the countryside,
No matter how hard you try,
To suspend time, or anything
No one will read your rondeau,
Can we live without love?
In Brest or Carcassonne,
In the gardens of the Essonne,
In the flowery countryside
Or in Véronique’s bed?
Paris-Brest v.s. Mille-Feuille
Shirmp and Catfish Mousse---------------
-------------------------------
I 'm beside my self
head over heels
unfazed by those things
in quite a mood
we're in love
so in love
Noi insieme
Un momento romantico
Coppie riunite
Una splendida serata
Cantare
Tavole incantevoli
Tutto all'insegna del gusto
Il romanticismo come tema
La gioia che l'amore regala
I'm in love
that long haul kinda beleiving
that you an I together
kinda feeling
wanting the night to be
needing you
wanting you
loving you
loving you
ooh ahuh yeah we're in love
ooh auh ooh we; yeah we're
in love
auh;auh oh auh
we're in love
let the world know
we're in lover
naturale armonico melodico
(In Paris in 1904, Lily - deserted wife
of composer Claude Debussy - recounts
her suicide attempt among the statues.)
What do you do?
I couldn't bring myself
to write a "you're untrue"
type letter. It wouldn't do.
They're coming
back from Jersey now,
he and his fat old woman.
What did I do?
How did I let him down?
I would take him back
in a heartbeat,
despite this indiscreet
and ugly business,
the talk of the town.
What did I lack?
Next Wednesday marks five.
If I'm still alive,
I'll pass it alone.
He's got his old crone.
How did it come to this?
How did I miss?
He begged me
to be his wife.
If not, he'd take his life.
What does anything mean?
I didn't have a plan.
Just insupportable pain.
I wandered about in the rain,
nursing the revolver in my purse.
I passed the Madeleine
and Strasbourg, in black,
and knew I wasn't going back.
Between the Obelisk and Brest
I held the damn thing
to my chest.
The rest's a blur.
I woke up here in the Hotel Dieu.
They said it's lodged,
the lump of lead,
behind my heart.
It has to stay there.
Far too near
a vertebra to operate.
At any rate,
I'll wear his souvenir
until I'm dead.
Emotion will overcome,
The one we have while crossing Yellowstone Park,
With two loyal friends,
Walking on walkways above the bubbling
from Mammoth Spring,
The one we have using a defibrillator to see a heart
Beat again,
Emotion will win, the one we have when looking at the stars
shining in the selfish night,
The one we have while detailing the lights sparkle on the other side of the bay,
That one emotion while listening to a cantata by Bach, while facing the sea,
The faith in God transcending our souls, our spirits,
The emotion one has when thinking about our mom loosing her ideals
staying in bed,
the emotion will overcome,
The one we have as a passenger, at each takeoff or landing of a Boeing 747,
That emotion while admiring a painting of Monet or Botticelli,
That one by reading our travel book about Brazil,
That of the child discovering his gifts under the Christmas tree,
the emotion will win,
That of the tourist from Brest, discovering for the first time
Manhattan,
or photographing whales off the coast of Cape Code,
The one of the teacher looking into the eyes of a eleventh grader,
Emotion will conquer, or the world will perish.
It is never too late,
My birthday gift,
Is the most beautiful that I received,
My sister, my brother-in-law and I,
Let’s cross France, on Monday
Went to Giverny on Tuesday
We visited the garden and the house
By Claude Monet, the painter,
Somme went to Paris on Wednesday
We visited the Musée de l'Orangerie,
To see Monet’s water lilies,
In two immense and oval rooms,
It was pretty amazing!
We tasted the Tuileries garden
among some Chinese tourists,
Then we left Paris in the afternoon,
The next day in the Mayenne
We visited the Robert Tatin museum,
Then we left for Brest
Here is a birthday gift
That I will never forget,
It was pretty amazing!
Thank you O sea,
For the untiring music of your waves,
For the rolling of your rollers,
Thank you O sea
for your music so refined,
This music softens the soul,
His sight soothes the poet
Console the painter ,
Thank you O sea
For your music,
For your mighty storms,
Merci Debussy
For your symphonic poem,
Thank youO sea
For your overflowing imagination,
For your writers, generous
Homer to Baudelaire, to Hugo,
Thank you O sea,
For all your colors,
For horizons surrounded by foam
For the sunny south of ancient Greece,
For your date palms,
Thank you O sea, for your example,
For the exemplary flight of seagulls,
For the frigate, white terns
For the quiet schooners,
Who anchor in the atolls
Thank you the sea,
For your illuminated ships
In the port of Brest,
For each oysters savored,
Thank you O sea, for your gifts
Your travels to America
You are the soul of the world
the source of my thoughts.
Hide this bottle from me,
That I could drink
This Chateauneuf du Pape
More tempting than the smile of a maid,
this Saint Emilion sneaky
Who has no saint but the name,
Hide this bottle from me,
This haut c$ote de Beaune,
Straight from the Middle Ages,
This rosé of Provence so sincere
Who would make pretty Bretons blush,
In a creperie of Brest.
Hide this bottle from me,
This Sauternes so sweet, so sweet
That makes high school girls naughty,
Hide me this bottle,
That I might well drink,
This wild little sauvignon,
Love is enough to make me drunk.
Cachez-moi cette bouteille,
Que je pourrais bien boire
Ce Chateauneuf du Pape
Plus tentant que les fesses d’une pucelle,
ce Saint Emilion sournois
Qui n’a de saint que le nom,
Cachez-moi cette bouteille,
Ce haut côte de Beaune,
Venu tout droit du Moyen Age,
Ce rosé de Provence si sincère
Qui ferait rougir de jolies bretonnes,
Dans une crêperie brestoise.
Cachez-moi cette bouteille,
Ce Sauternes si sucré, si doux
Qui rend les lycéennes coquines,
Cachez moi cette bouteille,
Que je pourrais bien boire,
Ce sauvignon peu sauvage,
L’amour suffit à m’enivrer.
17
I know, that there are no answers in cognac or armagnac
In the wine or sacred prayer,
No answers in geometry or trigonometry,
No response in Toronto, or Chicago,
That’s why we write this,
I know that there are no answers in the middle-class,
In the castles of the Loire, or in Pigalle,
In bars or shops, in the shopping crowd
That’s why we go to cinemas
In museums or exhibitions in Landerneau,
I know there is no answer from our neighbors,
No answers from intellectuals,
New Yorkers, or champions,
That’s why we read the poets, That we admire
Rodin or the sunflowers of Van Gogh,
I know that there is no answer in the Brest,
No answer in drugs or diamonds,
That’s why we seek silence,
No answer in solitude or enjoyment,
That’s why we protect bees,
That we travel.
When you see a white sail in the harbor of Brest,
A sail under a burning sun,
It’s a nagging sail,
She has not the tranquility of a sail on the Nile,
Her mind is not at peace, her conscience torments her,
This sail flees life; it does not enjoy life,
So are most of the things we like
In This country.
Quand vous voyez une voile blanche dans la rade de Brest,
Une voile sous un soleil ardent,
C’est une voile agaçante,
Elle n’a pas la tranquillité d’une voile sur le Nil,
Son esprit n’est pas en paix, sa conscience la tourmente,
Cette voile fuit la vie, elle n’en profite pas,
Il en est ainsi de la plupart des choses que nous aimons
En ce pays.
Using the vast ocean,
I look deep at the ocean, to drown out the stupidity,
I look at the sea, to drown out the violence of young people,
The more I look at the sea, a thousand times, the more lucid my soul is,
I look at the sea, to drown out the arrogance of talking hyenas,
I look deep at the sea, to drown in the smells of suburbs,
I watch the sea a thousand times to drown my sleepless nights,
To drown out the toxic looks, take off, you capture the sky.
I look at the ocean, to live in my country by the new energy of the grand desert.
I look at the sea, to drown the arrogance of the great cities,
I look at the red sea, to drown out the Brest bitterness,
I look at the ocean; I’ll look at it a million times,
Forgetting my day, how bad, people can be.
Because forgetting the dark side of my planet
I looked at the ocean
To drown out people I met,
And thoughts they had.
The biggest question of language in text book demands,
Primarily,
-Are you diaper trained?
Secondly,
-I do not care about your Brest fed strength.
DAMN!
And all I will show you that I can afford a display board
live and 24 hour befitting services
For sisterhood, for brotherhood,
Holy Garbage and trivial Garbage
Michelle with Muslim in –laws or
Hussein in with linked errors.
These kinds of stuffs.
Your Cheap red dress that is ripped.
A night out on the town it is humid and cheap.
Sexy to cheap so it's tight.
Pushed up your brest held by the cup that is he.
Torn into shreds like a cheap master card let it be.
My deep back for the straps let them show.
I am he that some one may know.
I have history,
That speaks to no one but me, I am here.
Underneath the red dress that you show.
You are mine as your eyes open and glow.
Walking up in and out so I study your ways.
Once you were his now your are mine turned out,
To expensive too be a whore.
Whom ever keeps the money green coming in.
The other's will do as their told.
Life is to short and the river is wide and far is the shore,
This from they I was told.
Council is wise I grow wear you grow old.
We will walk as they say and the Judges,
like they we live to be bold.
Wildlife 17
There once was a young tit from Brest,
Who was snuggled up warm in her nest,
She did not mind the weather,
But was short of a feather,
So she wore a bright blue thermal vest!
PLEASE CHILD DON'T CRY,
PLEASE CHILD DON'T CRY WHEN WE FAIL TO TRY,
PLEASE CHILD I KNOW NOT OF TOMORROW,
BUT WALK WITH ME,
WALK WITH ME AND LET MAKE THIS TALK A REALITY.
A VISION SEEN BY THE HEART,
AND A MISSION WON BY THE MIND,
YOURS TEARS YOUR FEARS WHEN WE CRAWL,
DESPISE NO ONE AND TRUST NO ONE,
I MIGHT GET TIRED ON THE WAY,
BELIEVE IN YOURSELF AND MAKE A MOVE,
EVEN AS TIME GOES ON DON'T GET INTO CRIME,
DON'T LOOK BACK FLOW LIKE A RIVER,
AT THE END YOU WILL SHINE LIKE A SILVER.
IN MY OWN MOTHERLAND PEOPLE CRY TEARS OF HUNGER,
AS THEIR TONGUE FAILS TO TASTE AND RETIRE TO GRAVES,
I FED YOU ON BREST MILK TO MAKE YOU SEE THE SUNSET,
NOW I WILL BE GONE I HOPE MY WORDS WILL LEAD YOU,
CHILD PLEASE DON'T CRY
All Praise the Breast
When an infant’s hungry, frightened or injured
His mother places him upon her breasts,
Comfortable like pillows with nipples.
Nipples. Mmmm, good.
From the very beginning
The breast is a major source of comfort,
Which we forget during childhood
But discover again after puberty.
Breasts are satisfying,
No matter their shape or size,
They are full of promise,
For future generations depend on these.
Beyond all eroticism, the breast is good and comforting.
When a man holds his sweetheart’s breast while drifting off to sleep,
The woman cannot imagine
The comfort he derives from simply holding her breast.
This itself is enough to make a bad day good,
No alcohol required.
They are beautiful on all levels, to the senses, heart and mind.
How wonderful it is that women exist!
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