Of Gollum and the Moon, who once were lovers
Toile Hugo Simberg
The moon is very blue, at evening,
I hear her spin beside the sun, and say,
Humming this song, “Ah well, ah well-a-day.
When I was green, of me did Gollum sing.”
None of her duckbills that does hear the thing,
Albeit with their weary task foredone,
But wakens at this name, and calls her one
Blest, to be held in long remembering.
Gollum is low beneath the earth, and laid
On sleep, like Byron in the myrtle shade,
The moon beside the sun, a dull rock gray,
His love she does remember and regret;
Ah, lovers, lovers, we may be happy yet,
And gather duckbills, while ’tis called today.
* * *
this poem is symbolic ==everything is symbolic
only French is symbolic == shall I explain it to you
explanations don’t suit you == I was just blinking at you
things are just like yesterday
where I live it’s yesterday == we’ll get along yesterday
working is not so bitter == is this poem so bitter
I feel blue I’m not bitter == this is going like clockwork
my thought running like clockwork
grain of sand in my clockwork == insensitive to panic
my destiny means panic == today is day of
panic
so many breathes around == will tomorrow turn around
things should quietly go round
iron color of the walls == why does a dog … ‘cos he can
my kingdom for a horseshoe
pour some water in my glass == I lost my water level
sunshine on the water tank
paper yet another ream == empty boat as in a dream
soul searching is it research == night on earth is not a gift
reason is just a burden == yes my name is “rubberneck”
well my song does finish here == well my thoughts are wrong I guess
well my wine is not for guests
never mind it’s not tragic == never mind it never rhymes
never mind it’s not burning == let’s just find a place to dance
let us forget and go on == in this world of snout beetles
Ronsard
« Quand vous serez bien vieiile, etc »
Of His Lady’s Old Age
When you are very old, at evening
You’ll sit and spin beside the fire, and say,
Humming my songs, “Ah well, ah well-a-day.
When I was young, of me did Ronsard sing.”
None of your maidens that doth hear the thing,
Albeit with her weary task foredone,
But wakens at my name, and calls you one
Blest, to be held in long remembering.
I shall be low beneath the earth, and laid
On sleep, a phantom in the myrtle shade,
While you beside the fire, a grandame gray,
My love, your pride, remember and regret;
Ah, love me, love, we may be happy yet,
And gather roses, while ’tis called to-day.
Translated by Andrew Lang.
Voir
http://sonnets-de-cochonfucius.lescigales.org/bent-sonnet.html
Keep Calm And
Read Cochonfucius
LikeLike
Dalí
At first sight
——–
Appearance of love
I ask myself about it,
Perhaps it is true.
LikeLike