Lettre-Océan

Je traverse la ville nez en avant et je la coupe en 2
J'étais au bord du Rhin quand tu partis pour le Mexique
Ta voix me parvient malgré l'énorme distance
Gens de mauvaise mine sur le quai à la Vera Cruz
Juan Aldama - Correos - Mexico - 4 centavos - U.S. Postage 2 cents 2
REPUBLICA MEXICANA TARJETA POSTAL
11 45 29-5 14 Rue des Batignolles
Les voyageurs de l'Espagne devant faire le voyage de Coatzacoalcos pour
s'embarquer je t'envoie cette carte aujourd'hui au lieu de profiter du courrier
de Vera Cruz qui n'est pas sûr. Tout est calme ici et nous sommes dans
l'attente des événements.
T S F
Sur la rive gauche devant le pont d'Iéna
Arrêtez cocher
Vive le Roy
Evviva il Papa
la gueule mon vieux pad
non si vous avez une moustache
La Tunisie tu fondes un journal
Jacques c'était délicieux

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poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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Mrs Tinkledrip's Demise

Mr Alfreds was saddened
by Mrs Tinkledrip's demise.

She had the two rooms
along the hall from his.

She had music playing
from some old gramophone

most of the day, old dance music,
foxtrots, tangos, waltzes and all

and he was sure he could hear
her footsteps some days

along the floor, tap taping
and soft shuffling.

Mr Alfreds went
and painted her kitchen

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poem by Terry Collett
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Between You And Me....

there could have been a bridge
even just a word to connect us and form a ring
a hollowness between
a hole
where both of us can pass through
and then leave all these

between a you and
i, there must be a word to describe
that wish for closeness

the intimacy that nudity speaks about
my hands clothe your body and make you another body

between my body and your body
there must at least be a syllable to make a sound of this silence between us

we hear a faint music of a distant phonograph
between us is a phrase

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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End of Summer (1966)

I'm tired of murdering children.
Once, long ago today, they wanted to live;
now I feel Vietnam the place
where rigor mortis is beginning to set-in upon me.

I force silence down the throats of mutes,
down the throats of mating-cries of animals who know they are extinct.
The chameleon's death-soliloquy is your voice's pulse;
your scorched forehead a constellation's suicide-note.

A phonograph needle plunges through long black hair,
and stone drips slowly into our veins.
The earth has been squandered by the meek.
And upsidedown in the earth a dead man walks upon my soles when I walk

A baby is crying.
In the swaddling-pages
a baby.

'Don't cry. No Solomori's-sword can

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poem by Bill Knott
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Let's look at the years.

Let's look at the years gone by, what has happened in the past,

Look at the things like planes, and the ships with the tall mast;

Then there was the cars, like ones with running board,

Such as the rolls Royce, the Chevy, and the t model ford.

Let's look at the things invented, over the years gone by,

Like the old phone, gramophone, and no tv, kids would say why?

And remember the old pianola, and how the farmer used a hoe,

These were good memories, the road speed was oh so slow.

Now! Let's look at these days, like the all motorised chair,

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poem by Margaret Haig
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Dead Musicians

I

From you, Beethoven, Bach, Mozart,
The substance of my dreams took fire.
You built cathedrals in my heart,
And lit my pinnacled desire.
You were the ardour and the bright
Procession of my thoughts toward prayer.
You were the wrath of storm, the light
On distant citadels aflare.

II

Great names, I cannot find you now
In these loud years of youth that strives
Through doom toward peace: upon my brow
I wear a wreath of banished lives.
You have no part with lads who fought
And laughed and suffered at my side.
Your fugues and symphonies have brought

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poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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The Philistine

Smith is a very stupid man;
He lives next door to me;
He has no settled scheme or plan
Of domesticity.
He does not own a gramophone,
Nor rush for morning trains;
His garden paths are overgrown,
He seldom entertains.

In all our staid suburban street
He strikes the one false note.
He goes about in slippered feet,
And seldom wears a coat.
He shows no taste in furniture,
He never goes to church;
His ways our district prim and pure
seem, somehow, to besmirch.

I don't know how he earns his bread;
'Tis said he paints or writes;

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Shrine Replicates You

quaking beauty of terrified gesture
lastly uttered the depth of dying sintex
perfumed favor of that fascinating glimpse
quaked me my drought of endless waiting
when nights mean stemming the steam behind
a birth of its fabulous vindictive apathy
guttering touch the strawberry my finger tips
cool but gramophone once pinned the voice
loud to cheek the chin chained the lagoon landing

nuts the shell as beads the buffer O' my cheer
stalon topping such stoney tavern a dim light
not light equipped with so-dark dubbing sensations
snatch the way from browsing error rather vanquished
voluptuous brings to shoot the real ditch of dribbling fathom
echoes the bip through nail to nerve
streaming the tug through jammer to gripper
the hymn hangovers crystaline crudity yet crabs
thousand fire to burn all buried bristoles
remnants od vanished debris exquisite the aroma

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poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
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Listen To The Ocean 01.08.2009

.................Nina and Frederick

Living my life to the accompaniment of
a song in my heart, I mostly remember
the refrain, hubby and the kids live in
perpetual discontent as I keep singing
the refrain playing in my head

Looking up lyrics on the Internet to learn
the words, maybe then I will be allowed
to sing my songs at home, my favourite
is ‘Listen to the Ocean’ by Nina and
Frederick

Turning like a broken gramophone in my
head, over and over, enchanting rhythm,
words divine, melody sublime: ‘Listen to
the ocean, echoes of a million seashells,
forever it's in motion

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poem by Margaret Alice
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A Gotham Garden of Verses

I

In summer when the days are hot
The subway is delayed a lot;
In winter, quite the selfsame thing;
In autumn also, and in spring.

And does it not seem strange to you
That transportation is askew
In this--I pray, restrain your mirth!--
In this, the Greatest Town on Earth?

II

All night long and every night
The neighbors dance for my delight;
I hear the people dance and sing
Like practically anything.

Women and men and girls and boys,

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poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Pretzel Logic

I would love to tour the southland
In a travelling minstrel show
Yes Id love to tour the southland
In a traveling minstrel show
Yes Im dying to be a star and make them laugh
Sound just like a record on the phonograph
Those days are gone forever
Over a long time ago, oh yeah
I have never met napoleon
But I plan to find the time
I have never met napoleon
But I plan to find the time
cause he looks so fine upon that hill
They tell me he was lonely, hes lonely still
Those days are gone forever
Over a long time ago, oh yeah
I stepped up on the platform
The man gave me the news
He said, you must be joking son
Where did you get those shoes?

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song performed by Steely Dan
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Edison Museum

The edison museum, not open to the public
Its haunted towers rise into the clouds above
Folks drive in from out of town
To gaze in amazement when they see it
Just outside the gate I look into the courtyard
Underneath the gathering thunderstorm
Through the iron bars, I see the black maria
Revolving slowly in its platform
In the topmost tower, the lights burn dim
A coiling filament glowing within
The edison museum, once a bustling factory
Today is but a darkened cobweb covered hive of industry
The tallest, widest and most famous haunted mansion in new jersey
Behind a wooden door, the voice of thomas alva
Recites a poem on a phonograph
Ghosts float up the stairs, like silent moving pictures
The loyal phantoms of his in house staff
A wondrous place it is, there can be no doubt
But no one ever goes in, and no one ever goes out
The edison museum, not open to the public

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song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sanctuary Scorned [1936]

Oh, is there not one place on earth
Where man's goodwill has gone from birth
Thro' adolescence, with its rage,
Into a kindly, mellow age
A tolerant maturity
Mayhap some tropic coral isle
Where even man no more is vile.
If such a place be anywhere,
Ah, take me there! Ah, take me there!
And let me know security.

Is there no haven, heaven-bent,
Where economic argument
Falls flat; where war and talk of
Are with forgotten things of yore
Anachronistic oddities
Where mankind's mental food is peace,
And bliss and brotherhood increase.
If such a place be anywhere,
Ah, take me there! Ah, take me there!

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Las Vegas Nights

Las vegas nights
Have been calling
But I wait to see her float down stairs
There she stands with her eyes full and yearning
I look
And I know gotta be there
Is there another chance
To bring her closer
Make her feel I know we could be happy again
Is there another chance
To bring her flowers
So she will only whisper my name
A chance to make things right for her
And make my lies seem true
Im begging do
Dont go down to the station
Somehow we wont live that long
Dont go now, desert flower
Cause you just wont bloom
And your memories made need more room

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song performed by Hootie & The Blowfish
Added by Lucian Velea
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Uk Jive

Another saturday night and everybody gets together
The pubs are turning out and all the streets are alive
But the people wanna party so they come back to our house
Everybody gonna do the u.k jive
Dads got a crate of beer and its an open invitation
Hes ever-so elated and so are his mates.
Everybodys welcome to bring all their dates home
To syncopate and celebrate the u.k. jive.
Swing your partner to the left, swing he back to the right.
Dont stand in the middle and act cool all night.
Everybody act a fool, jump around, lose your mind
Celebrate and typify the sign of the times.
Do that u.k. jive
Do that u.k. jive
U.k. o.k. u.k. o.k. gimme that u.k. jive
(repeat)
You gotta swing to the left, then back to the right
You gotta learn to swing both ways.
When youre jiving in the u.k. o.k. u.k.
Mums all annoyed dad forgot the inflation

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song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cajun Born

I was born on the bayou
Thirty miles of Layfayette
My daddy was a cajun man
Lord he taught us how to plow
I remember mama's breakfast
Cush Cush and a Kaye
Being served on a Banyee
Oh, I wish I had some now.
I'm a cajun born
I'm a cajun bred
When I die
I'm a cajun dead
If I die in Alaska
If I die in Ohio
This soul will find its way
Back to the bayou.
We went to church every sunday
We had a French speaking preacher man
Joked about the preacher man
'Cause we thought he wore a dress.

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song performed by Emmylou Harris
Added by Lucian Velea
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Could I Have Your Autograph

Hello, I dont know me from adam, you dont know me from eve
I just came here tonight cause I was lonely
Youre no elvis presley, Im no marilyn monroe
But I do think youre sexy, just thought Id tell you so
Hey could I have your autograph
Your name and your number on a small photograph
Id like to know you and what youre all about
Hey could I have your autograph
Ive had my eyes on you and youre worth lookin at
Could I ask you out or should a lady do that
You may not be famous but you look like a star
You should be in movies as cute as you are
Hey could I have your autograph
Your name and your number on a small photograph
Could I interest you in a romance perhaps
Hey could I have your autograph
Got my heart in my hands and my head in the clouds
And youre everything every girl dreams about
And being with you would be heaven no doubt
What I wouldnt do for your autograph

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song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Spirit Of St. Louis

In my consirtium,
In my realm,
In my apartment,
And like thr spirit of St. Louis in the land of my muse;
But this world is full of sins.

Three months of studies and three months of love,
But Thomas Alva Edison taught himself everything that he knew;
And he became a great man! !
As he also invented the phonograph in 1877,
But cry the beloved child of Africa.

Achilles dipped into the River Styx,
But i was born on Friday the 13th of October 1961;
In the very time when the cameras around could not take my picture.

My image at birth was very hard for the cameras,
But do kiss the missing birds when i am about to touch you with my love;
For my words are more imaginative than ever!
And like Thomas Alva Edison who taught himself.

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poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Law Of The Yukon

This is the law of the Yukon, and ever she makes it plain:
"Send not your foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane --
Strong for the red rage of battle; sane for I harry them sore;
Send me men girt for the combat, men who are grit to the core;
Swift as the panther in triumph, fierce as the bear in defeat,
Sired of a bulldog parent, steeled in the furnace heat.
Send me the best of your breeding, lend me your chosen ones;
Them will I take to my bosom, them will I call my sons;
Them will I gild with my treasure, them will I glut with my meat;
But the others -- the misfits, the failures -- I trample under my feet.
Dissolute, damned and despairful, crippled and palsied and slain,
Ye would send me the spawn of your gutters -- Go! take back your spawn again.

"Wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway;
From my ruthless throne I have ruled alone for a million years and a day;
Hugging my mighty treasure, waiting for man to come,
Till he swept like a turbid torrent, and after him swept -- the scum.
The pallid pimp of the dead-line, the enervate of the pen,
One by one I weeded them out, for all that I sought was -- Men.
One by one I dismayed them, frighting them sore with my glooms;

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poem by Robert William Service
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The Bridge: The Tunnel

Performances, assortments, résumés—
Up Times Square to Columbus Circle lights
Channel the congresses, nightly sessions,
Refractions of the thousand theatres, faces—
Mysterious kitchens. . . . You shall search them all.
Someday by heart you’ll learn each famous sight
And watch the curtain lift in hell’s despite;
You’ll find the garden in the third act dead,
Finger your knees—and wish yourself in bed
With tabloid crime-sheets perched in easy sight.

Then let you reach your hat
and go.
As usual, let you—also
walking down—exclaim
to twelve upward leaving
a subscription praise
for what time slays.

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poem by Harold Hart Crane
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