Of course, it's fun to play with Blacks.
quote by Boris Vian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I played the trumpet a bit like a porker, I think.
quote by Boris Vian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The three great moments of my life had to be the concerts of Ellington in 1938, Dizzy in '48, and Ella in '52.
quote by Boris Vian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One ends up relying on pure musical inspiration, and failing that, the music won't lead to anything good, or it will alienate all but the most die-hard fans.
quote by Boris Vian
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The problem is the following, black music is increasing encumbered by white elements, often pleasant but always superfluous, easily and advantageously replaced with black elements.
quote by Boris Vian
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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There are only two things: love, all sorts of love, with pretty girls, and the music of New Orleans or Duke Ellington. Everything else ought to go, because everything else is ugly.
quote by Boris Vian
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Surprise Party
The turntable hacked up a melancholy blues
The air was heavy with dust and odors
Several zazous danced while holding to their hearts
Short girls with spasmodic behinds
In a closet, an amateur obstetrics couple
Delivered themselves to games full of art and naivete
Another in a corner attempted with ardor
Tonsil-coupling, to music.
Hands encountered one another under too-short skirts
Drunk, two lovebirds—(what if I said: two dodos?)
Looked everywhere for a bed; they were all full…
Let this happy youth screw itself
Why eradicate from them this impure manure
If their hope restricts itself to rubbing membranes?
poem by Boris Vian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Deserter
Mr. President
I'm writing you a letter
that perhaps you will read
If you have the time.
I've just received
my call-up papers
to leave for the front
Before Wednesday night.
Mr. President
I do not want to go
I am not on this earth
to kill wretched people.
It's not to make you mad
I must tell you
my decision is made
I am going to desert.
[...] Read more
poem by Boris Vian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I wouldn't want to die (Je voudrais pas crever)
Before having known
The black mexican dogs
Who sleep without dreaming
The butt-naked monkeys
Gobbling up tropics
The silver spiders in
Webs riddled with bubbles
I wouldn't want to die
Not knowing if the moon
Behind its fake nickel look
Has a sharper side
If the sun is cold
If the four seasons
Are really only four
Not having tried
To wear a dress
On the boulevards
Not having peeped
Through a sewer peephole
Not having put my dick
[...] Read more
poem by Boris Vian
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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