L'Héautontimorouménos (The Man Who Tortures Himself)
L'Héautontimorouménos
Je te frapperai sans colère
Et sans haine, comme un boucher,
Comme Moïse le rocher
Et je ferai de ta paupière,
Pour abreuver mon Saharah
Jaillir les eaux de la souffrance.
Mon désir gonflé d'espérance
Sur tes pleurs salés nagera
Comme un vaisseau qui prend le large,
Et dans mon coeur qu'ils soûleront
Tes chers sanglots retentiront
Comme un tambour qui bat la charge!
Ne suis-je pas un faux accord
Dans la divine symphonie,
Grâce à la vorace Ironie
Qui me secoue et qui me mord
Elle est dans ma voix, la criarde!
C'est tout mon sang ce poison noir!
Je suis le sinistre miroir
Où la mégère se regarde.
Je suis la plaie et le couteau!
Je suis le soufflet et la joue!
Je suis les membres et la roue,
Et la victime et le bourreau!
Je suis de mon coeur le vampire,
— Un de ces grands abandonnés
Au rire éternel condamnés
Et qui ne peuvent plus sourire!
The Man Who Tortures Himself
I shall strike you without anger
And without hate, like a butcher,
As Moses struck the rock!
And from your eyelids I shall make
The waters of suffering gush forth
To inundate my Sahara.
My desire swollen with hope
Will float upon your salty tears
Like a vessel which puts to sea,
And in my heart that they'll make drunk
Your beloved sobs will resound
Like a drum beating the charge!
Am I not a discord
In the heavenly symphony,
Thanks to voracious Irony
Who shakes me and who bites me?
She's in my voice, the termagant!
All my blood is her black poison!
I am the sinister mirror
In which the vixen looks.
I am the wound and the dagger!
I am the blow and the cheek!
I am the members and the wheel,
Victim and executioner!
I'm the vampire of my own heart
— One of those utter derelicts
Condemned to eternal laughter,
But who can no longer smile!
— Translated by William Aggeler
Heautontimoroumenos
I'll strike you, but without the least
Anger — as butchers poll an ox,
Or Moses, when he struck the rocks —
That from your eyelid thus released,
The lymph of suffering may brim
To slake my desert of its drought.
So my desire, by hope made stout,
Upon your salty tears may swim,
Like a proud ship, far out from shore.
Within my heart, which they'll confound
With drunken joy, your sobs will sound
Like drums that beat a charge in war.
I am I not a faulty chord
In all this symphony divine,
Thanks to the irony malign
That shakes and cuts me like a sword?
It's in my voice, the raucous jade!
It's in my blood's black venom too!
I am the looking-glass, wherethrough
Megera sees herself portrayed!
I am the wound, and yet the blade!
The smack, and yet the cheek that takes it!
The limb, and yet the wheel that breaks it,
The torturer, and he who's flayed!
One of the sort whom all revile,
A Vampire, my own blood I quaff,
Condemned to an eternal laugh
Because I know not how to smile.
— Translated by Roy Campbell
Heauton Timoroumenos
I mean to strike you without hate,
As butchers do; as Moses did
The rock. From under either lid
Your tears will flow to inundate
This huge Sahara which is I.
My heart, insensible with pain,
Caught in that flood will live again:
Will care whether it live or die —
Will strive as in the salty sea,
Drunken with brine and all but drowned,
Yet driven onward by the sound
Of your wild sobbing endlessly!
For look — I am at war, my dear,
With the whole universe. I know
There is no medicine for my woe.
Believe me, it is called Despair.
It runs in all my veins. I pray:
It cries in all my words. I am
The very glass where what I damn
Leers and admires itself all day.
I am the wound — I am the knife
The deep wound scabbards; the outdrawn
Rack, and the writhing thereupon;
The lifeless, and the taker of life.
I murder what I most adore,
Laughing: I am indeed of those
Condemned for ever without repose
To laugh — but who can smile no more.
— Translated by George Dillon
Heautontimoroumenos
The Man Who Tortures Himself
I shall cleave without scrape or shock,
And, like a butcher, without hate,
Like Moses, when he struck the rock.
From your eyes I shall generate
Waters of woe throughout the years
To quench my fierce Sahara fires,
Swollen with vast hope, my desires
Shall float upon your bitter tears
Like a proud vessel, sailing large;
And in my heart, drunk at the sound,
Your cherished sobbing shall resound
Like drums beating the long lost charge.
Am I not a discordant note
In the celestial symphony,
Thanks to voracious Irony
Who shakes and bites me at the throat?
She's in my voice, the scold; her black
Poison is all my blood, alas!
I am the direful looking glass
Which flashes her reflection back.
I am the wound, the knives that strike,
The blows that crush, the head that reels,
I am wrenched limbs and grinding wheels,
Victim and hangman, as you like!
Vampire of my own heart, meanwhile,
A derelict, I am of those
Doomed to eternal laughter's throes,
Yet powerless to frame a smile!
— Translated by Jacques LeClercq
L'Héautontimouroménos
I'll strike thee without enmity
nor wrath, like butchers at the block,
like Moses when he smote the rock!
I'll make those eyelids gush for me
with springs of suffering, whose flow
shall slake the desert of my thirst;
— a salt flood, where my lust accurst,
with Hope to plump her sail, shall go
as from the port a pitching barge,
and in my heart they satiate
thy sobs I love shall fulminate
loud as a drum that beats a charge!
for am I not a clashing chord
in all Thy heavenly symphony,
thanks to this vulture Irony
that shakes and bites me always, Lord?
she's in my voice, the screaming elf!
my poisoned blood came all from her!
I am the mirror sinister
in which the vixen sees herself!
I am the wound and I the knife!
I am the blow I give, and feel!
I am the broken limbs, the wheel,
the hangman and the strangled life!
I am my heart's own vampire, for
God has forsaken me, and men,
these lips can never smile again,
but laugh they must, and evermore!
— Lewis Piaget Shanks, Flowers of Evil (New York: Ives Washburn, 1931)
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Le Vampire (The Vampire)
Toi qui, comme un coup de couteau,
Dans mon coeur plaintif es entrée;
Toi qui, forte comme un troupeau
De démons, vins, folle et parée,
De mon esprit humilié
Faire ton lit et ton domaine;
— Infâme à qui je suis lié
Comme le forçat à la chaîne,
Comme au jeu le joueur têtu,
Comme à la bouteille l'ivrogne,
Comme aux vermines la charogne
— Maudite, maudite sois-tu!
J'ai prié le glaive rapide
De conquérir ma liberté,
Et j'ai dit au poison perfide
De secourir ma lâcheté.
Hélas! le poison et le glaive
M'ont pris en dédain et m'ont dit:
«Tu n'es pas digne qu'on t'enlève
À ton esclavage maudit,
Imbécile! — de son empire
Si nos efforts te délivraient,
Tes baisers ressusciteraient
Le cadavre de ton vampire!»
The Vampire
You who, like the stab of a knife,
Entered my plaintive heart;
You who, strong as a herd
Of demons, came, ardent and adorned,
To make your bed and your domain
Of my humiliated mind
— Infamous bitch to whom I'm bound
Like the convict to his chain,
Like the stubborn gambler to the game,
Like the drunkard to his wine,
Like the maggots to the corpse,
— Accurst, accurst be you!
I begged the swift poniard
To gain for me my liberty,
I asked perfidious poison
To give aid to my cowardice.
Alas! both poison and the knife
Contemptuously said to me:
'You do not deserve to be freed
From your accursed slavery,
Fool! — if from her domination
Our efforts could deliver you,
Your kisses would resuscitate
The cadaver of your vampire!'
— Translated by William Aggeler
The Vampire
You, who like a dagger ploughed
Into my heart with deadly thrill:
You who, stronger than a crowd
Of demons, mad, and dressed to kill,
Of my dejected soul have made
Your bed, your lodging, and domain:
To whom I'm linked (Unseemly jade!)
As is a convict to his chain,
Or as the gamester to his dice,
Or as the drunkard to his dram,
Or as the carrion to its lice —
I curse you. Would my curse could damn!
I have besought the sudden blade
To win for me my freedom back.
Perfidious poison I have prayed
To help my cowardice. Alack!
Both poison and the sword disdained
My cowardice, and seemed to say
'You are not fit to be unchained
From your damned servitude. Away,
You imbecile! since if from her empire
We were to liberate the slave,
You'd raise the carrion of your vampire,
By your own kisses, from the grave.'
— Translated by Roy Campbell
The Vampire
Thou who abruptly as a knife
Didst come into my heart; thou who,
A demon horde into my life,
Didst enter, wildly dancing, through
The doorways of my sense unlatched
To make my spirit thy domain —
Harlot to whom I am attached
As convicts to the ball and chain,
As gamblers to the wheel's bright spell,
As drunkards to their raging thirst,
As corpses to their worms — accurst
Be thou! Oh, be thou damned to hell!
I have entreated the swift sword
To strike, that I at once be freed;
The poisoned phial I have implored
To plot with me a ruthless deed.
Alas! the phial and the blade
Do cry aloud and laugh at me:
'Thou art not worthy of our aid;
Thou art not worthy to be free.
'Though one of us should be the tool
To save thee from thy wretched fate,
Thy kisses would resuscitate
The body of thy vampire, fool!'
— Translated by George Dillon
The Vampire
Thou, sharper than a dagger thrust
Sinking into my plaintive heart,
Thou, frenzied and arrayed in lust,
Strong as a demon host whose art
Possessed my humbled soul at last,
Made it thy bed and thy domain,
Strumpet, to whom I am bound fast
As is the convict to his chain,
The stubborn gambler to his dice,
The rabid drunkard to his bowl,
The carcass to its vermin lice —
O thrice-accursèd be thy soul!
I called on the swift sword to smite
One blow to free my life of this,
I begged perfidious aconite
For succor in my cowardice.
But sword and poison in my need
Heaped scorn upon my craven mood,
Saying: 'Unworthy to be freed,
From thine accursed servitude,
O fool, if through our efforts, Fate
Absolved thee from thy sorry plight,
Thy kisses would resuscitate
Thy vampire's corpse for thy delight.'
— Translated by Jacques LeClercq
The Vampire
You who, keen as a carving blade,
Into my plaintive heart has plunged,
You who, strong as a wild array
Of crazed and costumed cacodaemons,
Storming into my helpless soul
To make your bed and your domain;
— Tainted jade to whom I'm joined
Like a convict to his chain,
Like a gambler to his game,
Like a drunkard to his bottle,
Like maggot-worms to their cadaver,
Damn you, oh damn you I say!
I pleaded with the speedy sword
To win me back my liberty;
And finally, a desperate coward,
I turned to poison's perfidy.
Alas, but poison and the sword
Had only scorn to offer me:
'You're not worthy to be free
Of your wretched slavery,
You imbecile! — For if our means
Should release you from her reign,
You with your kisses would only breathe
New life into the vampire slain!'
— Translated by Atti Viragh
The Vampire
You that, like a dagger’s thrust,
Have entered my complaining heart,
You that, stronger than a host
Of demons, came, wild yet prepared;
Within my mind’s humility
You made your bed and your domain;
- Infamous one who’s bound to me
Like any felon by his chain,
Like a gambler by his games,
Like the bottle and the sot,
Like the worms in one’s remains,
- Damn you! Damnation be your lot!
I’ve begged the merciful, swift sword
To overcome my liberty -
To poison I have said the word:
Save me from poltroonery.
Alas the sword! Alas the poison!
Contemptuous, they spoke to m:
'You never can deserve remission
Of your accursed slavery,
'Imbecile! - If our deadly empire
Freed you from your present fate,
Your kiss would soon resuscitate
The cold cadaver of your vampire!'
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poison Heart
No one ever thought this one would survive
Helpless child, gonna walk a drum beat behind
Lock you in a dream, never let you go
Never let you laugh or smile, not you.
Well, I just want to walk right out of this world,
'Cause everybody has a poison heart
I just want to walk right out of this world,
'Cause everybody has a poison heart.
Making friends with a homeless torn up man
He just kind of smiles, it really shakes me up.
There's danger on every corner but I'm okay
Walking down the street trying to forget yesterday.
Well, I just want to walk right out of this world,
'Cause everybody has a poison heart.
I just want to walk right out of this world,
'Cause everybody has a poison heart,
a poison heart, a poison heart, a poison heart ... yeah!
You know that life really takes its toll
And a poet's gut reaction is to search his very soul
So much damn confusion before my eyes,
But nothing seems to phase me and this one still survives.
I just want to walk right out of this world,
'Cause everybody has a poison heart.
I just want to walk right out of this world,
'Cause everybody has a poison heart,
Well, I just want to walk right out of this world,
'Cause everybody has a poison heart.
a poison heart, a poison heart, a poison heart.
a poison heart, a poison heart, a poison heart.
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Salut, Je M’appele Sarah / Hello, My Name Is Sarah
Ce sont mes mains pour les oiseaux
Ce sont les fenetres por les yeux
Ce sont les yeux por une image
Je suis un toutage de papillon
Mort dans le lumiere
Un pavot rouge rouge ensanglante
Je vive comme une chant blanc
Ce sont les battements de mon coeur
Ce sont les petals de mon fleur
Mon coeur mon courage
Mon fleur mon image
Je suis une cadeau pour le ciel
Je dis Pater Pater papillonace
Comment t’appele tu?
Hello, my name is Sarah
These are the hands for the birds
These are the windows for the eyes
These are the eyes for the image
I’m a tatoo of a black butterfly
Dead within the light
I’m a red red poppy in blood
I live like a white song
These are the beats of my heart
These are the petals if my flower
My heart my courage
My flower my image
I say a butterfly-like Father Father
What’s your name?
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Semper Eadem (Ever The Same)
«D'où vous vient, disiez-vous, cette tristesse étrange,
Montant comme la mer sur le roc noir et nu?»
— Quand notre coeur a fait une fois sa vendange
Vivre est un mal. C'est un secret de tous connu,
Une douleur très simple et non mystérieuse
Et, comme votre joie, éclatante pour tous.
Cessez donc de chercher, ô belle curieuse!
Et, bien que votre voix soit douce, taisez-vous!
Taisez-vous, ignorante! âme toujours ravie!
Bouche au rire enfantin! Plus encor que la Vie,
La Mort nous tient souvent par des liens subtils.
Laissez, laissez mon coeur s'enivrer d'un mensonge,
Plonger dans vos beaux yeux comme dans un beau songe
Et sommeiller longtemps à l'ombre de vos cils!
Ever the Same
-'Whence comes to you, you asked, this singular sadness
That rises like the sea on the naked, black rock?'
— Once our heart has gathered the grapes from its vineyard,
Living is an evil. That's a secret known to all,
A simple pain, with no mystery,
As obvious to all men as your gaiety.
So abandon your search, inquisitive beauty;
And though your voice is sweet, be still!
Be silent, ignorant! ever enraptured soul!
Mouth with the child-like laugh! Still more than Life,
Death holds us frequently with subtle bonds.
Let, let my heart become drunk with a lie; let it
Plunge into your fair eyes as into a fair dream
And slumber long in the shadow of your lashes.
— Translated by William Aggeler
Semper Eadem
'Whence,' ask you, 'does this strange new sadness flow
Like rising tides on rocks, black, bare, and vast?'
For human hearts, when vintage-time is past,
To live is bad. That secret all men know —
An obvious sorrow, with no mystery, shown,
Clear as your joy, to everyone around.
O curious one, seek nothing more profound,
And speak not, though your voice be sweet in tone.
Hush, ignorant! Hush, soul that's still enraptured,
And mouth of childish laughter! Neatly captured,
Death pulls us, more than life, with subtle wile.
Oh let my thought get drunk upon a lie,
And plunge, as in a dream, in either eye,
And in their lashes' shadow sleep awhile!
— Translated by Roy Campbell
Semper Eadem
'What in the world,' you said, 'has brought on this black mood,
Climbing you as the sea climbs up a naked reef?'
— When once the heart has made its harvest (understood
By all men, this) why, just to be alive is grief:
A pain quite simple, nothing mysterious at all,
And like that joy of yours, patent to all we meet;
Stop asking questions, then, I beg of you, and fall
Silent a while, fair prober, though your voice be sweet.
Ah, yes, be silent, ignorant girl, always so gay,
Mouth with the childlike laughter! More than Life, I say,
Death has the power to hold us by most subtle ties.
My one fictitious comfort, kindly, let me keep:
To plunge as into dreams into your lovely eyes,
And in the shadow of your lashes fall asleep.
— Translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Semper eadam
you asked: 'what floods of gloom engulf you — strange
as creeping tides against a bare black wall?'
— when hearts once crush their grapes and close the grange,
life is an evil. secret known to all,
'tis but the common grief each man betrays
to all, as you your joy, in eyes or brow
so veil, my fair one, your inquiring gaze
and though your voice is low, be silent now!
be silent, simple soul! mouth always gay
with girlish laughter! more than Life, today,
Death binds our hearts with tenuous webs of doom;
let mine be drunken with the wine of lies,
o let me delve for dreams in those deep eyes
and slumber long beneath your eyebrows' gloom!
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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La Beauté (Beauty)
Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre,
Et mon sein, où chacun s'est meurtri tour à tour,
Est fait pour inspirer au poète un amour
Eternel et muet ainsi que la matière.
Je trône dans l'azur comme un sphinx incompris;
J'unis un coeur de neige à la blancheur des cygnes;
Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes,
Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.
Les poètes, devant mes grandes attitudes,
Que j'ai l'air d'emprunter aux plus fiers monuments,
Consumeront leurs jours en d'austères études;
Car j'ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants,
De purs miroirs qui font toutes choses plus belles:
Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartés éternelles!
Beauty
I am fair, O mortals! like a dream carved in stone,
And my breast where each one in turn has bruised himself
Is made to inspire in the poet a love
As eternal and silent as matter.
On a throne in the sky, a mysterious sphinx,
I join a heart of snow to the whiteness of swans;
I hate movement for it displaces lines,
And never do I weep and never do I laugh.
Poets, before my grandiose poses,
Which I seem to assume from the proudest statues,
Will consume their lives in austere study;
For I have, to enchant those submissive lovers,
Pure mirrors that make all things more beautiful:
My eyes, my large, wide eyes of eternal brightness!
— Translated by William Aggeler
Beauty
I'm fair, O mortals, as a dream of stone;
My breasts whereon, in turn, your wrecks you shatter,
Were made to wake in poets' hearts alone
A love as indestructible as matter.
A sky-throned sphinx, unknown yet, I combine
The cygnet's whiteness with a heart of snow.
I loathe all movement that displaces line,
And neither tears nor laughter do I know.
Poets before my postures, which I seem
To learn from masterpieces, love to dream
And there in austere thought consume their days.
I have, these docile lovers to subject,
Mirrors that glorify all they reflect —
These eyes, great eyes, eternal in their blaze!
— Translated by Roy Campbell
La Beauté
fair as a dream in stone I loom afar
— mortals! — with dazzling breast where, bruised in turn
all poets fall in silence, doomed to burn
with love eternal as the atoms are.
white as a swan I throne with heart of snow
in azure space, a sphynx that none divine,
no hateful motion mars my lovely line,
nor tears nor laughter shall I ever know.
and poets, lured by this magnificence
— this grandeur proud as Parian monuments —
toil all their days like martyrs in a spell;
lovers bewitched are they, for I possess
pure mirrors harbouring worlds of loveliness:
my wide, wide eyes where fires eternal dwell!
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
Beauty
Conceive me as a dream of stone:
my breast, where mortals come to grief,
is made to prompt all poets' love,
mute and noble as matter itself.
With snow for flesh, with ice for heart,
I sit on high, an unguessed sphinx
begrudging acts that alter forms;
I never laugh, I never weep.
In studious awe the poets brood
before my monumental pose
aped from the proudest pedestal,
and to bind these docile lovers fast
I freeze the world in a perfect mirror:
The timeless light of my wide eyes.
William A. Sigler
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Bites
Do you know what a vampire is?
Whoa! love bites, love bites,
Love bites, love bites,
Love bites, love bites.
Come live forever with me, or transpire,
A flame alone, on a funeral pire,
Well build an empire, if we so desire,
Travel the world, and set it on fire!
Bite me babe, set my soul on fire!
Bite me babe, set my soul on fire!
Come taste my love baby,
Blood makes me hard to resist,
My soul burns like fire,
Kiss my hungry lips vampire!
Love bites, love bites,
Love bites, love bites,
Love bites, love bites.
Blood turns cold for mortals who wait,
Your coils unwinding, now choose you fate,
A flame alone on a funeral pire,
Or eternal life as my vampire!!
Bite me babe, set my soul on fire!
Bite me babe, set my soul on fire!
Come taste my love baby,
Blood makes me hard to resist,
My sould burns like fire,
Kiss my hungry lips vampire!
Love bites, love bites,
Love bites, love bites, [loves bites!],
Love bites, love bites, [my vampire].
Deep into the, deep into the, deep into the, night!
Deep into the, deep into the, deep into the, night! [love bites],
Deep into the, deep into the, deep into the, night!
Deep into the, deep into the, deep into the, night! [love bites].
[demonic laughing!].
Blood turns cold for mortals who wait,
Your coils unwinding, now choose you fate.
Love bites, love bites,
Love bites, love bites, [loves bites!],
Love bites, love bites, [my vampire],
Deep into the, deep into the, deep into the, night!
[...repeat & fade...].
song performed by by Grace Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Obsession
Grands bois, vous m'effrayez comme des cathédrales;
Vous hurlez comme l'orgue; et dans nos coeurs maudits,
Chambres d'éternel deuil où vibrent de vieux râles,
Répondent les échos de vos De profundis.
Je te hais, Océan! tes bonds et tes tumultes,
Mon esprit les retrouve en lui; ce rire amer
De l'homme vaincu, plein de sanglots et d'insultes,
Je l'entends dans le rire énorme de la mer
Comme tu me plairais, ô nuit! sans ces étoiles
Dont la lumière parle un langage connu!
Car je cherche le vide, et le noir, et le nu!
Mais les ténèbres sont elles-mêmes des toiles
Où vivent, jaillissant de mon oeil par milliers,
Des êtres disparus aux regards familiers.
Obsession
Great woods, you frighten me like cathedrals;
You roar like the organ; and in our cursed hearts,
Rooms of endless mourning where old death-rattles sound,
Respond the echoes of your De profundis.
I hate you, Ocean! your bounding and your tumult,
My mind finds them within itself; that bitter laugh
Of the vanquished man, full of sobs and insults,
I hear it in the immense laughter of the sea.
How I would like you, Night! without those stars
Whose light speaks a language I know!
For I seek emptiness, darkness, and nudity!
But the darkness is itself a canvas
Upon which live, springing from my eyes by thousands,
Beings with understanding looks, who have vanished.
— Translated by William Aggeler
Obsession
You forests, like cathedrals, are my dread:
You roar like organs. Our curst hearts, like cells
Where death forever rattles on the bed,
Echo your de Profundis as it swells.
My spirit hates you, Ocean! sees, and loathes
Its tumults in your own. Of men defeated
The bitter laugh, that's full of sobs and oaths,
Is in your own tremendously repeated.
How you would please me, Night! without your stars
Which speak a foreign dialect, that jars
On one who seeks the void, the black, the bare.
Yet even your darkest shade a canvas forms
Whereon my eye must multiply in swarms
Familiar looks of shapes no longer there.
— Translation by Roy Campbell
poem by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heart...oh...Heart
My heart will sing if i'hear your happy voice*
My heart will smile if i'saw your shadow in my dreams*
My heart will sweet if i'feel your sweet kiss*
My heart will flowery if you always stand for me*
My heart will yearn if you lost from my mind*
My heart will cry if you received the sadness*
My heart will painful if you received the pain wound*
My heart will empty felt if you hided behind in the other heart*
Heart..oh heart*
Why must you feel all of all pain and the wound because of the love*
Heart...oh heart*
Maybe i'cannot to cry*
Heart...oh heart*
There was nobody see my heart wound**
White Skin Black Heart
Yeah, whatcha gonna do now, now that you started?
Whatcha gonna do now, now that its done?
The words got out there, they float around and are coming right back down.
You gonna leave us lying here
Dealing with the consequences of a bad sound
Of a bad sound.
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
Whatcha gonna do now, that its spoken?
These words of a habit, have not faded away.
.................... it clear, conscious gets opened like a wound.
If you cant concieve a better line and better times,
Then let silence bury you, in the end.
When you feel it, when you feel it
Youre condemned.
You see, youve lost your strangle on the freedom road! you
Think ........................of something a long time ago! you
[spewed it out you were so] insecure! it was like ............. on
The toilet floor! youre a [nine seat] drunk, ............... and
You say you want something, .......... you heard the rednecks
Roaring for blood and then they wanted more! life was so small, you
Couldnt get enough. you made a start.
White skin black heart
Dripping,
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
Drag your eyes from [aurora] black heart!
White skin black heart
Drag your leg, get outta here [my sight]!
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
You didnt have to start
White skin black heart
White skin black heart
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Le Guignon (Ill-Starred)
Pour soulever un poids si lourd,
Sisyphe, il faudrait ton courage!
Bien qu'on ait du coeur à l'ouvrage,
L'Art est long et le Temps est court.
Loin des sépultures célèbres,
Vers un cimetière isolé,
Mon coeur, comme un tambour voilé,
Va battant des marches funèbres.
— Maint joyau dort enseveli
Dans les ténèbres et l'oubli,
Bien loin des pioches et des sondes;
Mainte fleur épanche à regret
Son parfum doux comme un secret
Dans les solitudes profondes.
Evil Fate
To lift a weight so heavy,
Would take your courage, Sisyphus!
Although one's heart is in the work,
Art is long and Time is short.
Far from famous sepulchers
Toward a lonely cemetery
My heart, like muffled drums,
Goes beating funeral marches.
Many a jewel lies buried
In darkness and oblivion,
Far, far away from picks and drills;
Many a flower regretfully
Exhales perfume soft as secrets
In a profound solitude.
— Translated by William Aggeler
Ill Luck
So huge a burden to support
Your courage, Sisyphus, would ask;
Well though my heart attacks its task,
Yet Art is long and Time is short.
Far from the famed memorial arch
Towards a lonely grave I come.
My heart in its funereal march
Goes beating like a muffled drum.
— Yet many a gem lies hidden still
Of whom no pick-axe, spade, or drill
The lonely secrecy invades;
And many a flower, to heal regret,
Pours forth its fragrant secret yet
Amidst the solitary shades.
— Translated by Roy Campbell
Ill-Starred
A man would needs be brave and strong
As Sisyphus, for such a task!
It is not greater zeal I ask —
But life is brief, and art is long.
To a forsaken mound of clay
Where no admirers ever come,
My heart, like an invisible drum,
Goes beating a dead march all day.
Many a jewel of untold worth
Lies slumbering at the core of earth,
In darkness and oblivion drowned;
Many a flower has bloomed and spent
The secret of its passionate scent
Upon the wilderness profound.
— Translated by George Dillon
Ill-Starred
To bear a weight that cannot be borne,
Sisyphus, even you aren't that strong,
Although your heart cannot be torn
Time is short and Art is long.
Far from celebrated sepulchers
Toward a solitary graveyard
My heart, like a drum muffled hard
Beats a funeral march for the ill-starred.
—Many jewels are buried or shrouded
In darkness and oblivion's clouds,
Far from any pick or drill bit,
Many a flower unburdens with regret
Its perfume sweet like a secret;
In profoundly empty solitude to sit.
Translated by William A. Sigler
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Pour Toi En Ce Jour De St Valentin
pour toi qui est le cheri de mon cœur
je suis ta femme et ton âme sœur
null amour est infaillible
pourtant le notre est crédible
tant d’années ont passées
les sentiments pas chassés
offres moi une fleur nommé lys
car pour toi je suis sans artifice
aujourd’hui j’ai juste envie
de te dire jouissons ensemble de la vie
car ceci est un précieux cadeau du ciel
à déguster et savourer comme du miel
pour toi qui est le cheri de mon coeur
je suis ta femme et âme soeur
devant l'étérnel
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
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Poison Heart
No one ever thought this one would survive.
Helpless child, gonna walk a drum beat behind.
Lock you in a dream, never let you go.
Never let you laugh or smile, not you.
I just want to walk right out of this world,
cause everybody has a poison heart.
I just want to walk right out of this world,
cause everybody has a poison heart.
Making friends with a homeless torn up man,
He just kind of smiles, it really, shakes me up.
Theres danger on, every corner but Im okay.
Walking down the street trying to forget yesterday.
I just want to walk right out of this world,
cause everybody has a poison heart.
I just want to walk right out of this world,
cause everybody has a poison heart.
You know that life reallt takes its and a poets
Gut reaction is to search his very soul.
So much damn confusion before my eyes,
But nothing seems to phase me and this one still survives.
I just want to walk right out of this world,
cause everybody has a poison heart.
I just want to walk right out of this world,
cause everybody has a poison heart.
song performed by by Ramones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Life
Ma vie est comme un jeu
mes parents sont les joueurs
ils combattent pour gagner
leur prix est moi
je suis coincé au milieu
parfois je peux m'échapper
mais d'autres que je suis emprisonné pour voir qui gagne
je veulent ne jamais courir loin et retour
mais je reste pour voir s'il changera
je suis un esclave à ma mère
I'm une responsabilité à mon père
là est seulement une personne qui me maintient
je ne peut pas la laisser pour défendre pour elle-même
comme mon frère a fait à moi
je vivrai dans son intéret
et sois le prix de ce jeu
mais je ne les laisserai pas me dépouiller vers le bas de ce que suis je
je ne laisserai pas n'importe qui choisir qui je suis
Translation:
My life is like a game
My parents are the players
They fight to win
Their prize is me
I'm stuck in the middle
Sometimes I can escape
But others I'm trapped to see who wins
I want to run away and never return
But I stay to see if it'll change
I'm a slave to my mother
I'm a liability to my father
There's only one person that keeps me going
I can't leave her to fend for herself
Like my brother did to me
I shall live for her sake
And be the prize of this game
But I will not let them strip me down of what I am
I won't let anyone choose who I am
poem by Emily Tyrrell
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Je Suis Africain
Je suis africain,
Le sang du peuple noir coule dans mes veines,
Je suis africain, je vente et vend ma culture,
Je suis africain, je suis fière de l’être,
Je suis africain,
Depuis toujours je l’ai été,
Depuis le ventre de ma mère,
Avant même que je fût conçu,
Laisser moi venter ma Négritude,
Laisser moi chanter que je suis noir,
Oh, quelle jolie peau,
Oh quelle peau endurante,
Oh quelle force,
Oh quelle élégance,
Mon sol donne des fruits à chaque période,
La pluie n’arrête d’arroser mon champ,
J’aime ma culture,
J’aime mon Afrique,
Car je puis tout faire dans le pays de mes ancêtres,
Je suis libre chez moi,
L’exode me conduit dans la séparation avec mon Afrique,
L’exode m’empêche de cerner encore et encore ma destinée dans mon propre pays,
Oh quel bonheur d’être africain,
poem by Kafun Lady
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Love Blood Tear Heart
LOVE
I love you
I believe you
you made my heart beat
I can't believe it
I'm in love
when I see you
my face turns red
my voice shakes
what can i do?
BLOOD
I can't believe
all was false
you wasn't the truth
I'm heartbroken
my heart is bloody now
somebody help me
let my heart stop
that still beat for him
blood blood
my heart is bleeding
TEAR
what is this warm thing
that flows on my face
Is it the blood?
that overflowed from my heart?
It is tear
no, it is just a salty water]
I can't be crying
I tear my heart
so that it won't beat anymore
It hurts...
not the pain that heart is torn
but the pain i'm betrayed by you
the pain we can't love anymore
HEART
my heart will never beat
my heart will stay cold
and nobody will find me
don't expect me to love you again
I'm not fool anymore
my heart has stopped
my heart has torn
In future i will be able to say to you
'you're just somebody, i forgot you'
LOVE
BLOOD-
TEAR
HEART
That Rock Was Christ
When Israel's tribes were parch'd with thirst,
Forth from the rock the waters burst;
And all their future journey through
Yielded them drink, and Gospel too!
In Moses' rod a type they saw
Of his severe and fiery law;
The smitten rock prefigur'd Him
From whose pierc'd side all blessings stream.
But ah! the types were all too faint,
His sorrows or his worth to paint;
Slight was the stroke of Moses' rod,
But he endur'd the wrath of God.
Their outward rock could feel no pain,
But ours was wounded, torn and slain;
The rock gave but a wat'ry flood,
But Jesus pour'd forth streams of blood.
The earth is like their wilderness,
A land of drought and sore distress;
Without one stream from pole to pole,
To satisfy a thirsty soul.
But let the Saviour's praise resound;
In him refreshing streams are found,
Which pardon, strength, and comfort give;
And thirsty sinners drink and live.
poem by John Newton
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Le Léthé (Lethe)
Viens sur mon coeur, âme cruelle et sourde,
Tigre adoré, monstre aux airs indolents;
Je veux longtemps plonger mes doigts tremblants
Dans l'épaisseur de ta crinière lourde;
Dans tes jupons remplis de ton parfum
Ensevelir ma tête endolorie,
Et respirer, comme une fleur flétrie,
Le doux relent de mon amour défunt.
Je veux dormir! dormir plutôt que vivre!
Dans un sommeil aussi doux que la mort,
J'étalerai mes baisers sans remords
Sur ton beau corps poli comme le cuivre.
Pour engloutir mes sanglots apaisés
Rien ne me vaut l'abîme de ta couche;
L'oubli puissant habite sur ta bouche,
Et le Léthé coule dans tes baisers.
À mon destin, désormais mon délice,
J'obéirai comme un prédestiné;
Martyr docile, innocent condamné,
Dont la ferveur attise le supplice,
Je sucerai, pour noyer ma rancoeur,
Le népenthès et la bonne ciguë
Aux bouts charmants de cette gorge aiguë
Qui n'a jamais emprisonné de coeur.
Lethe
Come, lie upon my breast, cruel, insensitive soul,
Adored tigress, monster with the indolent air;
I want to plunge trembling fingers for a long time
In the thickness of your heavy mane,
To bury my head, full of pain
In your skirts redolent of your perfume,
To inhale, as from a withered flower,
The moldy sweetness of my defunct love.
I wish to sleep! to sleep rather than live!
In a slumber doubtful as death,
I shall remorselessly cover with my kisses
Your lovely body polished like copper.
To bury my subdued sobbing
Nothing equals the abyss of your bed,
Potent oblivion dwells upon your lips
And Lethe flows in your kisses.
My fate, hereafter my delight,
I'll obey like one predestined;
Docile martyr, innocent man condemned,
Whose fervor aggravates the punishment.
I shall suck, to drown my rancor,
Nepenthe and the good hemlock
From the charming tips of those pointed breasts
That have never guarded a heart.
— Translated by William Aggeler
Lethe
Rest on my heart, deaf, cruel soul, adored
Tigress, and monster with the lazy air.
I long, in the black jungles of your hair,
To force each finger thrilling like a sword:
Within wide skirts, filled with your scent, to hide
My bruised and battered forehead hour by hour,
And breathe, like dampness from a withered flower,
The pleasant mildew of a love that died.
Rather than live, I wish to sleep, alas!
Lulled in a slumber soft and dark as death,
In ruthless kisses lavishing my breath
Upon your body smooth as burnished brass.
To swallow up my sorrows in eclipse,
Nothing can match your couch's deep abysses;
The stream of Lethe issues from your kisses
And powerful oblivion from your lips.
Like a predestined victim I submit:
My doom, to me, henceforth, is my delight,
A willing martyr in my own despite
Whose fervour fans the faggots it has lit.
To drown my rancour and to heal its smart,
Nepenthe and sweet hemlock, peace and rest,
I'll drink from the twin summits of a breast
That never lodged the semblance of a heart.
— Translated by Roy Campbell
Lethe
Come to my arms, cruel and sullen thing;
Indolent beast, come to my arms again,
For I would plunge my fingers in your mane
And be a long time unremembering —
And bury myself in you, and breathe your wild
Perfume remorselessly for one more hour:
And breathe again, as of a ruined flower,
The fragrance of the love you have defiled.
I long to sleep; I think that from a stark
Slumber like death I could awake the same
As I was once, and lavish without shame
Caresses upon your body, glowing and dark.
To drown my sorrow there is no abyss,
However deep, that can compare with your bed.
Forgetfulness has made its country your red
Mouth, and the flowing of Lethe is in your kiss.
My doom, henceforward, is my sole desire:
As martyrs, being demented in their zeal,
Shake with delightful spasms upon the wheel,
Implore the whip, or puff upon the fire,
So I implore you, fervently resigned!
Come; I would drink nepenthe and long rest
At the sweet points of this entrancing breast
Wherein no heart has ever been confined.
— Translated by George Dillon
Lethe
Tigress adored, indolent fiend, lie there,
There on my heart now, merciless and strong,
I wish to run my trembling fingers long
Through the black tangles of your heavy hair,
To plunge my aching head amorous of
Your skirts as into secret, perfumed bowers,
To breathe your scent as from pale withered flowers
The after-flavor of my defunct love.
I wish to sleep rather than live, alas!
In slumber deep and sweet as death, O lover,
As my fierce and remorseless kisses cover
Your lovely body, bright as burnished brass,
To bury my stilled sobs in the abysses
Of your anodyne bed, to feast upon
Your lips that shed potent oblivion,
To drink the Lethe flowing in your kisses.
I shall delight in following my fate,
Obeying it gladly as a man contemned,
O docile martyr, innocent condemned
To tortures that his fervors aggravate.
With suckling lips to quell my spleen and rancor,
Nepenthe I shall drain, and hemlock's sweets,
Out of the magic tips of pointed teats
That never served a human heart for anchor.
— Translated by Jacques LeClercq
Le Léthé
come to my heart, cold viper-soul malign,
beloved tiger, hydra indolent;
long will I drag my hands incontinent
and quivering, through this vast loosed mane of thine;
long will I bury throbbing brow and head
among thy skirts all redolent of thee,
and breathe — a blighted flower of perfidy —
the fading odour of my passion dead.
I'll sleep, not live! I'll lose myself in sleep!
in slumber soft as Death's uncertain shore,
I'll sleep and sow my drowsy kisses o'er
thy polished coppery arms and bosom deep.
to drown my sobs and still my spirit — o!
no boon but thine abysmal bed avails;
poppied oblivion from thy mouth exhales
and through thy kisses floods of Lethe flow.
so to my doom, henceforward my desire,
I shall submit as one predestinate;
and like a martyr, calm, immaculate,
whose fervour prods again his flickering pyre,
I'll suck, to drown my hate's eternal smart,
Nepenthe, and good bitter hemlock brew,
from the sharp rose-buds of thy breast, anew,
thy breast that never did contain a heart.
— Translated by Lewis Piaget Shanks
Lethe
Come on my heart, cruel and insensible soul,
My darling tiger, beast with indolent airs;
I want to plunge for hours my trembling fingers
In your thick and heavy mane;
In your petticoats filled with your perfume
To bury my aching head,
And breathe, like a faded flower,
The sweet taste of my dead love.
I want to sleep, to sleep and not to live,
In a sleep as soft as death,
I shall cover with remorseless kisses
Your body beautifully polished as copper.
To swallow my appeased sobbing
I need only the abyss of your bed;
A powerful oblivion lives on your lips,
And all Lethe flows in your kisses.
I shall obey, as though predestined,
My destiny, that is now my delight;
Submissive martyr, innocent damned one,
My ardor inflames my torture,
And I shall suck, to drown my bitterness
The nepenthe and the good hemlock,
On the lovely tips of those jutting breasts
Which have never imprisoned love.
— TRanslated by Geoffrey Wagner
Lethe
Come to my heart, cruel, insensible one,
Adored tiger, monster with the indolent air;
I would for a long time plunge my trembling fingers
Into the heavy tresses of your hair;
And in your garments that exhale your perfume
I would bury my aching head,
And breathe, like a withered flower,
The sweet, stale reek of my love that is dead.
I want to sleep! sleep rather than live!
And in a slumber, dubious as the tomb's,
I would lavish my kisses without remorse
Upon the burnished copper of your limbs.
To swallow my abated sobs
Nothing equals your bed's abyss;
Forgetfulness dwells in your mouth,
And Lethe flows from your kiss.
My destiny, henceforth my pleasure,
I shall obey, predestined instrument,
Docile martyr, condemned innocent,
Whose fervour but augments his torment.
I shall suck, to drown my rancour,
Nepenthe, hemlock, an opiate,
At the charming tips of this pointed breast
That has never imprisoned a heart.
Translated by Anonymous
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Fulgur
L'océan me disait : Ô poëte, homme juste,
J'ai parfois comme toi cette surprise auguste
Qu'il me descend des cieux une immense rougeur ;
Et je suis traversé tout à coup, ô songeur,
Par la foudre sublime, irritée et haïe
Comme toi par l'esprit sinistre d'Isaïe ;
Les éclairs sont mes cris, les foudres sont ma voix ;
Je gronde sur l'écueil comme toi sur les rois ;
Je suis l'avertisseur brusque, horrible et céleste.
L'énorme bras de feu m'associe à son geste
Quand il menace l'ombre et le bagne infernal.
On est beau par Virgile et grand par Juvénal,
Et mon gouffre le sait aussi bien que ton âme ;
J'ai, comme toi, l'azur, une douceur de femme,
Une gaîté d'enfant, des vagues pleines d'yeux,
Des aurores où rit le ciel prodigieux,
Des écumes parfois blanches comme les cygnes ;
Les astres par-dessus mes flots se font des signes,
Et se disent : Viens donc te mirer dans la mer.
Je suis le niveau pur, le précipice clair ;
J'offre mes gouttes d'eau nuit et jour aux brins d'herbe.
Mais je fais peu de cas de tout ce bleu superbe,
De ce vaste sourire épanoui sur tout,
De cette grâce où l'ombre en clarté se dissout,
De ces flots de cristal, de ces ondes de moire ;
Et le passage affreux du tonnerre est ma gloire.
poem by Victor Hugo
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Le Cowboy Du Quebec
J'ai dix piastres dans mes poches
Et mon char est plain d'gaz
Et tous va bien dans ma vie
Dans mon habit du dimanche
et la belle lune qui est blanche
Ce soir j'vais danser c'est samedi
Je suis le cowboy du Quebec
Je chants des chansons que j'ai faite
Avec une Ange pour ma blonde
Ma guitar et mon mondes
Je suis le cowboy du quebec
Mon vieux char usage
Et comme i'll brille mes souliers
Parraille comme une vieille peau d'chien
Avec une belle coupe de ch'veux
Et un bon razoir neuf
Ce soir j'vait d'i proposer
poem by Paul Henry Dallaire
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Que diras-tu ce soir, pauvre âme solitaire (What Will You Say Tonight, Poor Solitary Soul)
Que diras-tu ce soir, pauvre âme solitaire,
Que diras-tu, mon coeur, coeur autrefois flétri,
À la très belle, à la très bonne, à la très chère,
Dont le regard divin t'a soudain refleuri?
— Nous mettrons notre orgueil à chanter ses louanges:
Rien ne vaut la douceur de son autorité
Sa chair spirituelle a le parfum des Anges
Et son oeil nous revêt d'un habit de clarté.
Que ce soit dans la nuit et dans la solitude
Que ce soit dans la rue et dans la multitude
Son fantôme dans l'air danse comme un flambeau.
Parfois il parle et dit: «Je suis belle, et j'ordonne
Que pour l'amour de moi vous n'aimiez que le Beau;
Je suis l'Ange gardien, la Muse et la Madone.»
What Will You Say Tonight, Poor Solitary Soul
What will you say tonight, poor solitary soul,
What will you say, my heart, heart once so withered,
To the kindest, dearest, the fairest of women,
Whose divine glance suddenly revived you?
— We shall try our pride in singing her praises:
There is nothing sweeter than to do her bidding;
Her spiritual flesh has the fragrance of Angels,
And when she looks upon us we are clothed with light.
Be it in the darkness of night, in solitude,
Or in the city street among the multitude,
Her image in the air dances like a torch flame.
Sometimes it speaks and says: 'I am fair, I command
That for your love of me you love only Beauty;
I am your guardian Angel, your Muse and Madonna.'
— Translated by William Aggeler
What Can You Say, Poor Lonely Soul of Mine
What can you say, poor lonely soul of mine,
Or you, poor heart, so long ago turned sour,
To the best, dearest, loveliest, whose divine
Regard has made you open like a flower?
We'll set our pride to sing her highest praise
Naught to her sweet authority compares:
Her psychic flesh is formed of fragrant airs.
Her glances clothe us in a suit of rays.
Be it in solitude at dead of night,
Or in the crowded streets of glaring light,
Her phantom like a torch before me streams.
It speaks: 'I'm beautiful. These orders take.
Love naught but Beauty, always, for my sake,
Madonna, guardian Angel, Muse of dreams.'
— Translated by Roy Campbell
What Shall You Say Tonight?
What shall you say tonight, poor soul so full of care,
What shall you say, my heart, heart hitherto so sad,
To the most kind, to the most dear, to the most fair,
Whose pure serene regard has made you proud and glad?
— We shall set all our pride to sing her holy praise!
What sweetness to be hers! To live beneath her sight!
Half spirit is her flesh, angelic all her ways;
Her glance alone invests us in a robe of light!
Whether in solitude and deep obscurity,
Whether by day among the moving crowd it be,
Her phantom like a torch in air will dance and run;
It speaks: 'Beauty is mine; Authority is mine;
Love only, for my sake, the noble and the fine:
I am thine Angel, Muse, Madonna, all in one.'
— Translated by Edna St. Vincent Millay
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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