Topic: Jake's pix

[Lost_Girl]

God, you're quick! 

Well I do the best I can lol






La vie dans le temps.

Les seconds, pas à pas inaccessibles -
Les minutes se pressaient , toujours longues -
Les heures, l'une apres les autres mal aimées -
L'an neuf, en allée sans remplir les voeux -
Le jour accompli, le coeur tourne encore -
Le sommeil, au matin miroir interdit -
L'instant n'a pas lui où nous aurions pu -
Notre vie, infranchissable, recluse -

André Frénaud [/color]

[tpe]

Sur un lys pâle mon coeur dort
D’un sommeil doux comme la mort ...
Mort exquise, mort parfumée
Du souffle de la bien-aimée ...

Sur ton sein pâle mon coeur dort
D’un sommeil doux comme la mort ...

- Lahor (Extase)


On a pale lily sleeps my heart
The sweet sleep that sets death apart ...
Exquisite death, perfuméd death
Sent by the Well-Belovéd’s breath ...

Upon your pale breast sleeps my heart
The sweet sleep that sets death apart ...

- Lahor (Ecstasy)

[tpe]

Votre âme est un paysage choisi
Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques
Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi
Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.

Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur
L’amour vainqueur et la vie opportune,
Ils n’ont pas l’air de croire à leur bonheur
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune.

Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,
Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres
Et sangloter d’extase les jets d’eau,
Les grands jets d’eau sveltes parmi les marbres.


- Verlaine (Clair de lune)




Your soul is a chosen landscape
Where charming masked and costumed figures stroll
Playing the lute and dancing and almost
Sad under their fantastic disguises.

While they sing in the minor mode
The victory of love and the opportunities of life,
They do not seem to believe in their happiness
And their song blends with the moonlight.

The quiet moonlight, sad and beautiful,
Which gives dreams to the birds in the trees
And makes the fountain sprays sob in ecstasy,
The tall willowy fountain sprays among the marble statues.


- Verlaine (Moonlight)




One of my most favorite Verlaine poems...

[Lost_Girl]

Good choose.



Nevermore

Allons, mon pauvre coeur, allons, mon vieux complice,
Redresse et peins à neuf tous tes arcs triomphaux;
Brûle un encens ranci sur tes autels d'or faux;
Sème de fleurs les bords béants du précipice;
Allons, mon pauvre coeur, allons, mon vieux complice!

Pousse à Dieu ton cantique, ô chantre rajeuni;
Entonne, orgue enroué, des Te Deum splendides;
Vieillard prématuré, mets du fard sur tes rides;
Couvre-toi de tapis mordorés, mur jauni;
Pousse à Dieu ton cantique, ô chantre rajeuni.

Sonnez, grelots; sonnez, clochettes; sonnez, cloches!
Car mon rêve impossible a pris corps, et je l'ai
Entre mes bras pressé: le Bonheur, cet ailé
Voyageur qui de l'Homme évite les approches,
--Sonnez, grelots; sonnez, clochettes; sonnez, cloches!

Le Bonheur a marché côte à côte avec moi;
Mais la FATALITÉ ne connaît point de trêve:
Le ver est dans le fruit, le réveil dans le rêve,
Et le remords est dans l'amour: telle est la loi.
--Le Bonheur a marché côte à côte avec moi.

From Poèmes saturniens (1866)

Nevermore

Come, my poor heart, come, old friend true and tried,
Repaint your triumph's arches, raised anew;
Smoke tinsel altars with stale incense; strew
Flowers before the chasm, gaping wide;
Come, my poor heart, come, old friend true and tried.

Cantor revivified, sing God your hymn;
Hoarse organ-pipes, intone Te Deums proud;
Make up your aging face, youth wrinkle-browed;
Bedeck yourself in gold, wall yellow-dim;
Cantor revivified, sing God your hymn.

Ring, bells; peal, chimes; peal, ring, bells large and small!
My hopeless dream takes shape: for Happiness--
Here, now--lies clutched, embraced in my caress;
Winged Voyager, who shuns Man's every call;
--Ring, bells; peal, chimes; peal, ring, bells large and small!

Happiness once walked side by side with me;
But DOOM knows no reprieve, there's no mistaking:
The worm is in the fruit; in dreaming, waking;
In loving, mourning. And so must it be.
--Happiness once walked side by side with me.

[tpe]

The pix and the poetry are starting to make me cry.

Can you blame me for being such a softie when faced with all this beauty?

[Tom]

The pix and the poetry are starting to make me cry.

Can you blame me for being such a softie when faced with all this beauty?

Nothing soft about ya mate. Just big hearted. 

[Lost_Girl]

Who can blame you huh ? 



J'ai embrassé l'aube d'été.

Rien ne bougeait encore au front des palais. L'eau était morte. Les camps d'ombres ne quittaient pas la route du bois. J'ai marché, réveillant les haleines vives et tièdes, et les pierreries regardèrent, et les ailes se levèrent sans bruit.
La première entreprise fut, dans le sentier déjà empli de frais et blêmes éclats, une fleur qui me dit son nom.
Je ris au wasserfall blond qui s'échevela à travers les sapins: à la cime argentée je reconnus la déesse.
Alors, je levai un à un les voiles. Dans l'allée, en agitant les bras. Par la plaine, où je l'ai dénoncée au coq. A la grand'ville elle fuyait parmi les clochers et les dômes, et courant comme un mendiant sur les quais de marbre, je la chassais.
En haut de la route, près d'un bois de lauriers, je l'ai entourée avec ses voiles amassés, et j'ai senti un peu son immense corps. L'aube et l'enfant tombèrent au bas du bois.

Au réveil il était midi.


I embraced the summer dawn.
Nothing yet stirred on the face of the palaces. The water is dead. The shadows still camped in the woodland road. I walked, waking quick warm breaths, and gems looked on, and wings rose without a sound.
The first venture was, in a path already filled with fresh, pale gleams, a flower who told me her name.
I laughed at the blond wasserfall that tousled through the pines : on the silver summit I recognized the goddess.
Then, one by one, I lifted up her veils. In the lane, waving my arms. Across the plain, where I notified the c*ck. In the city, she fled among the steeples and the domes, and running like a beggar on the marble quays, I chased her.
Above the road near a laurel wood, I wrapped her up in gathered veils, and I felt a little her immense body. Dawn and the child fell down at the edge of the wood.

Waking, it was noon.

Arthur Rimbaud.

[Lost_Girl]

Et puis un jour on reconnaît sa route
Puis de détours c'est son coeur qu'on écoute
Et on se voit comme le dernier reflet
Au fond de ses yeux
Et puis un jour on aime ses silences
Le monde autour nous redonne une chance
Et on se voit comme le dernier reflet
Au fond de ses yeux

[tpe]

Calmes dans le demi-jour
Que les branches hautes font,
Pénétrons bien notre amour
De ce silence profond.

Fondons nos âmes, nos cœurs
Et nos sens extasiés,
Parmi les vagues langueurs
Des pins et des arbousiers.

Ferme tes yeux à demi,
Croise tes bras sur ton sein,
Et de ton coeur endormi
Chasse à jamais tout dessein.

Laissons-nous persuader
Au souffle berceur et doux,
Qui vient à tes pieds rider
Les ondes de gazon roux.

Et quand, solennel, le soir
Des chênes noirs tombera,
Voix de notre désespoir,
Le rossignol chantera.





Serene in the twilight
Created by the high branches,
Let our love be imbued
With this profound silence.

Let us blend our souls, our hearts,
And our enraptured senses,
Amidst the faint langour
Of the pines and arbutus.

Half-close your eyes,
Cross your arms on your breast
Drive away forever all plans.

Let us surrender
To the soft and rocking breath
Which comes to your feet in ripples
The waves of the russet lawn.

And when, solemnly, the night
Shall descend from the black oaks,
The voice of our despair,
The nightingale, shall sing.


- Verlaine (En Sourdine)

[Lost_Girl]

Your eyes look sad tonight
I’ve seen that look before
It always means goodbye
Don’t say another word

[Lost_Girl]

Say goodnight not goodbye.






It's was the last for today - 2night. Have sweet dreams or day.

[Rønnaug]

*knocked out*

[tpe]

Many thanks, Lost_Girl.  Good night!

I'm still trying to recover a bit...

[tpe]

This is for you, Lost_Girl   Good night! 






La lune blanche
Luit dans les bois ;
De chaque branche
Part une voix
Sous la ramée ...

Ô bien-aimée.

L'étang reflète,
Profond miroir,
La silhouette
Du saule noir
Où le vent pleure ...

Rêvons, c'est l'heure.

Un vaste et tendre
Apaisement
Semble descendre
Du firmament
Que l'astre irise ...

C'est l'heure exquise.



      ***


The white moon shines in the forest,
From every branch comes forth a voice,
Under the foliage,

Oh beloved!

The pond reflects, a deep mirror,
The silhouette of the dark willow,
Where the wind is weeping.

Let us dream, this is the hour!

A vast and tender calm
Seems to descend from the firmament,
Which the orb clads in rainbow colors;

This is the exquisite hour.



- Verlaine (L'heure exquise)

[sweetlilg]

stunning as usual!

[tpe]

Devant une neige Un Etre de Beauté de haute taille. Des sifflements de mort et des cercles de musique sourde font monter, s'élargir et trembler comme un spectre ce corps adoré, des blessures écarlates et noires éclatent dans les chairs superbes. Les couleurs propres de la vie se foncent, dansent, et se dégagent autour de la Vision, sur le chantier. Et les frissons s'élèvent et grondent et la saveur forcenée de ces effets se chargeant avec les sifflements mortels et les rauques musiques que le monde, loin derrière nous, lance sur notre mère de beauté, - elle recule, elle se dresse. Oh ! nos os sont revêtus d'un nouveau corps amoureux.

Ô la face cendrée, lécusson de crin, les bras de cristal ! Le canon sur lequel je dois m'abattre à travers la mêlée des arbres et de l'air léger !


Against the snow of Being a high-statured Beauty. Whistlings of death and circles of secret music make the adored body, like a specter, rise, expand, and quiver ; wounds of black and scarlet burst in the superb flesh. - Life's own colors darken, dance, and drift around the Vision in the making. - Shudders rise and rumble, and the delerious savor of these effects clashing with the deadly hissings and the hoarse music that the world, far behind us, hurls at our mother of beauty, - she recoils, she rears up. Oh, our bones are clothed with an amorous new body.

O the ashy faces, the crined escutcheon, the crystal arms ! the cannon on which I am to fall in the melee of trees and of light air !


- Rimbaud (from Les illuminations)

[tpe]

Nous bénissons la douce nuit,
Dont le frais baiser nous délivre.
Sous son aile on se sent vivre
Sans inquiétude et sans bruit.

Le souci dévorant s'enfuit,
Le parfum de l'air nous enivre;
Nous bénissons la douce nuit,
Dont le frais baiser nous délivre.

Pâle songeur qu'un Dieu poursuit,
Repose-toi, ferme ton livre.
Dans les cieux blancs comme du givre
Un flot d'astres frissone et luit,
Nous bénissons la douce nuit.





We bless sweet night,
whose fresh kiss delivers us.
Beneath her wing we feel ourselves living
without care and without sound.

The devouring fear flees,
the fragrance of the air intoxicates us;
we bless sweet night,
whose fresh kiss delivers us.

Pale dreamer whom a God pursues,
rest, close your book.
In the heavens, as white as the frost,
a wave of stars shivers and glows,
we bless sweet night.




- Banville (La nuit)





Dear friends: thanks, and good night. 

[chameau]

Thanks for spoiling us again TPE 

[tpe]

Thank you Pierre! 

Jake Gyllenhaal and french poetry -- exquisite combination.

[Lost_Girl]

Merci beaucoup for your post.  Bonjour.



"L'amour est à réinventer." Arthur Rimbaud.

[frances]

I love this thread too!
Poetry casts a kind of new light on Jake's pictures.
Beautiful!
I warn you. Don't ever dare to do the same with Heath's ones (the matching poetry/picture, I mean) : I dont' want to faint in the middle of the office! 

[tpe]

I love this thread too!
Poetry casts a kind of new light on Jake's pictures.
Beautiful!
I warn you. Don't ever dare to do the same with Heath's ones (the matching poetry/picture, I mean) : I dont' want to faint in the middle of the office! 

frances, I was actually thinking of starting one in the 'Oh Bby...pix' thread on Heath.    I'll think about it, but what I had in mind were contrasting poetry on both threads.  THis would require some help from others though!

The poetry speaks a lot to me about my admiration for Gyllenhaal and his work.   It is great to realize that I am not alone in this forum. 

[frances]

frances, I was actually thinking of starting one in the 'Oh Bby...pix' thread on Heath.    I'll think about it, but what I had in mind were contrasting poetry on both threads.  THis would require some help from others though!

The poetry speaks a lot to me about my admiration for Gyllenhaal and his work.   It is great to realize that I am not alone in this forum. 

This would be perfect. For an Ennis', not Heath's picture though.

FUNERAL BLUES
Wystan Hugh Auden


Stop all the clocks,
cut off the telephone,
Prevent he dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos
and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin,
let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message:
He Is Dead.
Put crêpe bows
round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear
black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South,
my East and West,
My working week
and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight,
my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever:
I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now:
put out every one;
Pack up the moon
and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

[tpe]

Comme les anges à l'oeil fauve,
Je reviendrai dans ton alcôve
Et vers toi glisserai sans bruit
Avec les ombres de la nuit;


Et je te donnerai, ma brune,
Des baisers froids comme la lune
Et des caresses de serpent
Autour d'une fosse rampant.


Quand viendra le matin livide,
Tu trouveras ma place vide,
Où jusqu'au soir il fera froid.


Comme d'autres par la tendresse,
Sur ta vie et sur ta jeunesse,
Moi, je veux régner par l'effroi.





Like angels with wild beast's eyes
I shall return to your bedroom
And silently glide toward you
With the shadows of the night;


And, dark beauty, I shall give you
Kisses cold as the moon
And the caresses of a snake
That crawls around a grave.


When the livid morning comes,
You'll find my place empty,
And it will be cold there till night.


I wish to hold sway over
Your life and youth by fear,
As others do by tenderness.


- Baudelaire: Le Revenant (The Ghost)

[frances]

Tissues...pleeeeaaasssssse!!!!!

[tpe]

Tissues...pleeeeaaasssssse!!!!!

I think we should take a break at this -- yes, thinking about this early in the morning is very difficult for one's emotional wellbeing. 

I should know better than to reflect on the scene of the shirts at day's first light.   :'(

[frances]

Tissues...pleeeeaaasssssse!!!!!

I think we should take a break at this -- yes, thinking about this early in the morning is very difficult for one's emotional wellbeing. 

I should know better than to reflect on the scene of the shirts at day's first light.   :'(

That's ok for me!
Smile!

[tpe]

Tissues...pleeeeaaasssssse!!!!!

I think we should take a break at this -- yes, thinking about this early in the morning is very difficult for one's emotional wellbeing. 

I should know better than to reflect on the scene of the shirts at day's first light.   :'(

That's ok for me!
Smile!

Thanks frances.  I appreciate it. 

God only knows why we are sometimes so enamoured with sadness...   I guess it's because it gets to us every time...

[jerasjr]

OMG, I've so often thought that poem was the ultimate in expressing grief...there aren't enough tissues now, and I hae to go to work.

[tpe]

OMG, I've so often thought that poem was the ultimate in expressing grief...there aren't enough tissues now, and I hae to go to work.

I understand jerasjr, I'm here at work...and all I can think of right now are those shirts!