vendredi 19 juillet 2013

Léo Ferré



Le 14 juillet il y avait un hommage à Léo Ferré sur Arte à l'occasion du vingtième anniversaire de sa disparition.
J'ai regardé histoire de me remémorer des souvenirs enfouis.
Il a été celui qui, lors de l'adolescence, m'a fait aimer la poésie.
Pour moi l'inculte il a fait des choix judicieux parmi les poètes mais aussi dans leurs oeuvres.
Apollinaire, Aragon, Baudelaire, Rimbaud et Verlaine.
Ensuite, après m'être imprégné de toute cette poésie je suis parti à la recherche d'autres horizons.
Il y a eu en premier Oscar Wilde, puis Allen Ginsberg, Rainer Maria Rilke et beaucoup encore tel, Blake et John Keats.
Il me semble aujourd'hui que sans les poèmes sur lesquels Léo Ferré a posé sa musique, je n'aurais pas fait ce long trajet vers la poésie.
Et c'est pourquoi ce dimanche après midi j'ai regardé quasi religieusement Léo Ferré avec parfois des larmes plein les yeux.



dimanche 27 janvier 2013

Le Jardin des Tuileries

This winter air is keen and cold,
And keen and cold this winter sun,
But round my chair the children run
Like little tings of dancing gold.

Sometimes about the gaudy kiosk 
The mimic soldiers strut and stride,
Sometimes the blue-eyed brigands hide
In the bleak tangles of the bosk.

And sometimes, while the old nurse cons 
Her book, they steal across the square,
And launch their paper navies where
Huge Triton writhes in greenish bronze.

And now in mimic flight they flee,
And now they rush, a boisterous band--
And tiny hand on tiny hand,
Climb up the black and leafless tree.

Ah! cruel tree! if I were you,
And  children climbed me, for their sake
Though it be winter I would break
Into Spring blossoms white and blue!

The moon is like a yellow seal
Upon a dark blue envelope;
And soon below the dusky slope
Like a black sword of polished steel

With flickering damascenes of  gold
Lies the dim Seine, while here and there
Flutters the white or crimson glare
Of some swift carriage homeward-rolled.

Oscar wilde

________

vendredi 18 janvier 2013

Sonnet on the Sale by Auction of Keats' Love Letters

These are the letters which Endymion wrote
To one he loved in secret, and apart.
And now the brawlers of the auction mart
Bargain and bid for eachpoor blotted note,
Ay! for each separate pulse of passion quote
The merchant's price: I think they love not Art
Who break the crystal of  a poet's heart
That small and sickly eyes may glare and gloat.

Is it not said that many years ago,
In far Eastern town, some soldiers ran
With torches through the midnight, and began
To wrangle for the mean raiment, and to throw 
Dice for garments of a wretched man,
Not knowing the God's wonder, or His woe?

Oscar Wilde. Complete Poetry (Oxford World's Classics)

mercredi 16 janvier 2013

The Play-Ground


When painfully athwart my brain
Dark thoughts come crowding on,
And, sick of worldly hollwness,
My heart feels sad or lone-

Then out  upon the green I walk,
Just ere the close of day,
And swift I ween the sight I view
Clears all my gloom away.

For there I see young chidren -
The cheeriest thing on earth -
I see them play - I hear their tones
Of loud and reckless mirth.

And many a clear and flute-like laugh
Comes ringing through the air;
And many a roguish, flashing eye,
And rich red cheek, are there.

O, lovely, happy children!
I am with you in my soul;
I shout - I strike the ball with you -
With you I race and roll. -

Methinks white-winged angels,
Floating unseen the while,
Hover around this village green,
And pleansantly they smile.

O, angels! guard these children!
Keep grief and guilt away:
From earthly harm - from evil thoughts
O, shield them night and day!

Walt Whitman  The Complete Poems   (Penguin Classics)