vendredi 4 septembre 2009
retiendre - translation.
To the reader who's looking for a translation of "retiendre". Retiendre is the childish form of the verb "retenir" withold in english.
Indeed, the verbs of the third group, in french, are a nightmare to learn, and it's quite frequent that (young) children "bend" them their own way.
They'll often say, for exemple "il est reviendu", "il a pluvu".
mercredi 26 août 2009
Prévert et son oiseau
To Paint the portrait of a bird
First paint a cage
Its door open
Then paint inside
Something nice
Something easy
Something beautiful
And useful to the bird
Lean the painting against a tree
In a garden
A grove
Or a forest
Then hide yourself behind the tree
Silent and still
Sometimes the bird comes fast
Sometimes it takes him years
Be patient
Wait for years if needed
Success does not depend
On how fast the bird comes
When he does
Keep silent – completely
Wait till he steps inside the cage
Then close the door with your
paintbrush
Rub out the bars
Take care, don’t rub any feather
Of the bird
Then paint the tree
Keep its nicest branch for the bird
Paint the green of the leaves
And the fresh of the wind
And the dust of the sun
The tiny noise of insects in the summer-hot
grass
And wait to hear if the bird sings
If he doesn’t,
Its bad omen
Means that your painting is a fail
But if he does
It’s a good sign
Meaning you can sign the painting
So then pull out
One of the bird’s feather
Gently
And with it write your name
In a corner of the painting.
La suite logique, bien sûr, serait de traduire Barbara. Mais y'a dedans quelques vers en os majeur...
Rappelle-toi cela Barbara
Et ne m'en veux pas si je te tutoie
Je dis tu à tous ceux que j'aime
Même si je ne les ai vus qu'une seule fois
Je dis tu à tous ceux qui s'aiment
Même si je ne les connais pas
Rappelle-toi Barbara
Vous avez une idée vous ?
lundi 19 février 2007
Wars can wait
Honestly, something’s wrong. The world’s bleeding, there’s no
hurry. Wars can wait. I’ll tell you this, we are living a bit below. As long as
there is plonk, we drink and it is all worthless. Even when we don’t drink,
which is quite rare, it is worth being less. I’ll tell you this, that’s how we
live. Truly, it’s all stinking, there’s death in life. That’s how I live, but
plonk’s worth more. It does not change one’s life, gives nothing more, but
that’s wine, see, the singish sight. Messes up the throat, rasps the stomach
and extrudes bile. That’s how we live. Because it is all above us, this world
in the world that’s nowadays world, and something’s wrong, we’re helpless,
short of grasp. There’s beer also, but it does not soak you the same.
I’ll tell you, really. That’s how we live, we do not know how things
happen, but it hurts all the same. We’re short of grasp. So, we decide not to
feel. As if… and drink. Well, I’ll tell you this, we do live the same anyway.
You need not answer now. Wait till when you’ve time enough not to care, you’ll
tell me what it’s worth.
Orlando de Rudder.
