I hate all other handouts; please forget me. Gift of the Poem I bring you this child of an Idumaean night! La solitude bleue et sterile a fremi. O la berceuse, avec ta fille et Finnocence De vos pieds froids, accueille une horrible naissance: Et ta voix rappelant viole et clavecin, Avec le doigt fane presseras-tu le sein Par qui coule en blancheur sibylline la femme Pour des levres que Fair du vierge azur affame?
A mes levres tes doigts et leurs bagues, et cesse De marcher dans un age ignore. Par quel attrait Menee et quel matin oublie des prophetes Verse, sur les lointains mourants, ses tristes fetes, Le sais-je? Mais encore as-tu vu quels furent mes effrois? Woman lulling your little daughter, greet a cruel birth, with the innocence of your cold feet and your voice which both viol and harpsichord invest, will you with shrivelled fingers press the breast from which flows woman. Sibylline and white, for lips starved of the virgin azure light?
Cease walking in some unknown era; let me press your fingers and their rings to my lips. Even the strong blonde stream of my unspotted hair bathing my solitary body freezes it with terror, woman, and my hairs entwined and knit with bright light are immortal. One kiss would kill me if beauty were not death. By what affinity I am drawn, and what dawn unknown to prophets pours its doleful festivals on distant dying shores, do I know? Laisse la ces parfums!
Ne sais-tu Que je les hais, nourrice, et veux-tu que je sente Leur ivresse noyer ma tete languissante? Je veux que mes cheveux qui ne sont pas des fleurs A repandre Poubli des humaines douleurs, Mais de For, a jamais vierge des aromates, Dans leurs eclairs cruels et dans leurs paleurs mates, Observent la froideur sterile du metal, Vous ay ant refletes, joy aux du mur natal, Armes, vases, depuis ma solitaire enfance. Page eifaqait, reine, votre defense De mon esprit pali comme un vieux livre ou noir.
Tiens devant moi ce miroir. Poetical Works 3i at the descent of all the languid disarray 20 dropping down, in the silence, through my reverie, the lions part the indolence of the dress I wear and gaze upon my feet that would appease the sea. Surely, nurse, you know I hate them all, or would you have me feel their drunken rapture flow in overwhelming floods that drown my languid head? Hold up the looking-glass before me. Cold water frozen by the boredom at your back, 45 how many times, and during what long hours, dismayed by dreams and groping for my memories that pass like leaves beneath your ice and its profound abyss, 1 saw myself within you like some distant shade, 32 Poesies Mais, horreur!
Un astre, en verite: Mais cette tresse tombe. Arrete dans ton crime Qui refroidit mon sang vers sa source, et reprime Ce geste, impiete fameuse: O mon coeur, cette main encore sacrilege, Car tu voulais, je crois, me toucher, sont un jour Que ne finira pas sans malheur sur la tour. Temps bizarre, en effet, de quoi le ciel vous garde! Etre a qui le Destin reserve vos secrets. Poetical Works 33 yet some nights, in your grim fountain — horrible, this! Nurse, am I beautiful? Truly, a starry gleam: Stop your wickedness which chills my blood right to its wellsprings, and repress that gesture, that notorious blasphemy: O heart of mine, that ever sacrilegious hand, for you wished, I believe, to touch me, are a day that will not end without misfortune on the tower Were you not about to touch me?
O to be the one for whom your secrets are reserved by fate! Will he be here some time? Va, garde ta pitie comme ton ironie. Mais qui me toucherait, des lions respectee? Victime lamentable a son destin oiferte! O you pure N. For whom would you, consumed by pangs, keep the unknown splendour and the vain mystery of your being? Sad lonely flower, emotionally ignorant but for its shadow seen in the stream listlessly. Go, spare your pity and your irony. Yet tell me this: But when lions respect me, who would dare touch me?
Besides, I long for nothing human; if you see me like a statue with eyes lost in paradise, that is when I recall the milk you gave me formerly. Victim facing her doom — pitiful sacrifice! Yes, for myself alone I bloom, in isolation! Et ta soeur solitaire, 6 ma sceur eternelle, Mon reve montera vers toi: O charme dernier, oui! Madame, allez-vous done mourir? As for you — woman born in crafty centuries suiting the wickedness of some Sibylline lair, who speaks about a man and says the calyces of my skirts, fragrant with ferocious ecstasies, would bring forth the white shudder of my nakedness — now prophesy that if the warm blue summer sky, toward which women naturally will undress, should see me in my shame, shivering, starlike, I shall die!
I love the horror of being virgin and wish to live with the terror that my hair gives me so that, retiring to my bed at night, inviolate reptile, in my useless flesh I might feel the chill scintillation of your pallid glow, you that die to yourself and burn with chastity, white sleepless night of icicles and cruel snow! Your lone sister, my dream will rise toward you, O my everlasting sister: O final charm, O yes! I am alone, I know. Are you then going to die, Madame? No; as you go, forgive this hard heart, poor old creature, and be calm; but first close all the shutters, if you please, seraphic blue sky smiles in each deep windowpane, 38 Poesies Et je deteste, moi, le bel azur!
Des ondes Se bercent et, la-bas, sais-tu pas un pays Ou le sinistre ciel ait les regards hais De Venus qui, le soir, brule dans le feuillage: Allume encore, enfantillage, Dis-tu, ces flambeaux ou la cire au feu leger Pleure parmi For vain quelque pleur etranger Et. I2 5 there I would go. One more, childish you say, desire: You are speaking a lie, naked flower of my lips.
I wait an unknown thing or possibly, not knowing the mystery and your screams, you may be flinging out the last and wounded groans wept by a childhood feeling its cold precious stones finally separate in the midst of the dreams. So fair, their frail incarnate, that it flutters in the air drowsy with tousled slumbers. Did I love a dream? My doubt, hoard of old darkness, ends in a whole stream of subtle branches which, remaining as the true 40 Poesies Bois memes, prouve, helas!
Illusion flows out of the chilly blue eyes of the chaster one, like a fountain in tears: O fringes of a placid mere in Sicily thus plundered by my sun-rivalling vanity, silent beneath the blooms of brilliant light, proclaim 'how I was cropping here the hollow reeds made tame hy talent , when, across the blue-green gold of things far off— verdures devoting their vines to the springs — came shimmering to rest a pallid animal glow ; and when the pipes were brought to birth, how at their slow prelude this flight of swans — no!
- Carottal | FanFiction.
- BUY ON AMAZON'S NEVER EASY.
- Nostra Signora della solitudine (Universale economica) (Italian Edition).
- Animaniacs!
- La France jugée par l’Allemagne (French Edition).
- The Black Poodle And Other Tales.
- Natural Products from Plants, Second Edition;
All things burn in the fulvid time of day, inert, failing to show by what art it dispersed, that nuptial excess craved by someone seeking A natural; and then I must waken to the first passion, erect, alone, beneath an age-old light, lilies! O nymphes, regonflons des souvenirs divers. Try, then, to flower again, organ of flights, malign syrinx, across the lake-flats where you wait for me!
Proud of these sounds of mine. Je tiens la reine! Non, mais Pame De paroles vacante et ce corps alourdi Tard succombent au fier silence de midi: Poetical Works where roses dry up all their fragrance in the sun and where our frolics may he squandered like the light. I love these virgin angers, this untamed delight of nude and sacred burdens slipping away to shun my burning lips that drink in, as a lightning-sheet quivers! Other nymphs will draw me nonetheless, their tresses tangled on my horns, to happiness: Among the dead leaves, at times when the forest glows with gold and ashen tints, there rises up a feast: The punishment is certain.
Couple, adieu; je vais voir Pombre que tu devins. Saint At the window that veils her old sandalwood viol voiding gold which used to cast its glitter in the past with flute or mandolin is the pale Saint displaying that old volume the Magnificat unfolded, from which compline or vespersong used to stream before: Toast funebre O de notre bonheur, toi, le fatal embleme! Ton apparition ne va pas me suffire: Nous sommes La triste opacite de nos spectres futurs. Funerary Toast You fatal emblem of our happiness! Your apparition is not enough for me: Est-il de ce destin rien qui demeure, non?
Poetical Works 5i into the virgin hero of posthumous expectation. Is none of this destiny enduring?
Buy for others
Forget so dark a credo, everyone. Radiant eternal genius leaves no shade. Nous promenions notre visage Nous fumes deux, je le maintiens Sur maints charmes de paysage, O soeur, y comparant les tiens. Sister, we strolled and set our faces we were two, so my mind declares toward various scenic places, comparing your own charms with theirs. The reign of confidence grows troubled when, for no reason, it is stated of this noon region, which our doubled unconsciousness has penetrated, that its site, soil of hundredfold irises was it real? Yes, in an isle the air had charged not with mere visions but with sight every flower spread out enlarged at no word that we could recite.
And so immense they were, that each was usually garlanded with a clear contour, and this breach parted it from the garden bed. Cache par le trop grand glaieul. Poetical Works Ideas, glory of long desire, all within me rejoiced to see the irid family aspire to this new responsibility, but Sister, a wise comforter, carried her glance no further than a smile and, as if heeding her, I labour on my ancient plan.
Poetical Works SI Fan Belonging to Madame Mallarme With no language but a trace just a beating in the skies so the future verse will rise from its precious dwelling-place thus the herald its wing low 5 this fan if it has become that by which behind you some looking-glass has shed its glow limpidly where grain by grain some specks of invisible 10 scattered dust will surely fall which is all that gives me pain like this may it always stand in your never-idle hand Another Fan Belonging to Mademoiselle Mallarme Dreamer, that I may plunge in sweet and pathless pleasure, understand how, by ingenious deceit, to keep my wing within your hand.
A coolness of the evening air 5 is reaching you at every beat; its captive stroke with delicate care drives the horizon to retreat. Album Leaf Suddenly and as if in play Mademoiselle who wished to hear some of the wood of my array of varied flutes appear I feel this trial which took place in a pictorial vista tended to have some value when I ended and looked upon your face yes this vain breath limited as it was even in its final state by my poor crippled fingers has no power to imitate your crystalline utterly care- less childlike laugh that charms the air.
Chansons bas I Le Savetier Hors de la poix rien a faire, Le lys nait blanc, comme odeur Simplement je le prefere A ce bon raccommodeur. II recreerait des souliers, O pieds, si vous le vouliez! Cheap Songs I The Cobbler Lacking wax nothing to do, lilies are born white, as smell frankly I prefer them to this man who repairs so well. He will supplement my pair 5 with more leather than I had ever, driving to despair my demand for heels unclad.
His sure hammering impales the urge to be passing through 10 constantly with cheeky nails on the sole of this my shoe. Billet Pas les rafales a propos De rien comme occuper la rue Sujette au noir vol de chapeaux; Mais une danseuse apparue Tourbillon de mousseline ou Fureur eparses en ecumes Que souleve par son genou Celle meme dont nous vecumes Pour tout, hormis lui, rebattu Spirituelle, ivre, immobile Foudroyer avec le tutu, Sans se faire autrement de bile Poetical Works 63 II The Seller of Scented Herbs Your strawy lavender so blue, never believe that with those bold eyelashes it may be sold to me as to a hypocrite who would use it as a tapestry 5 in places most convenient so that the mocking bowels may be reborn to true blue sentiment.
Better to set it among these masses of overwhelming hair to and let the clean wisp perfume there Pamela like a little breeze or bring your spouse as sacrifice the virgin firstfruits of your lice. Note Not the irrelevant gusts that might seem to possess the broad highway subjected to black hats in flight; rather a dancer on display a swirl of muslin in a whirl 5 or fury scattered in the sprays which with her knee the very girl for whom we lived our lives might raise enraptured, witty, yet inert to blast every well-trodden thing to beyond it with her ballet skirt without otherwise blustering Poesies Sinon rieur que puisse Pair De sa jupe eventer Whistler.
Poetical Works unless perhaps in gay dismissal a breeze from her tutu may fan Whistler. Little Ditty II Utterly invincibly as my hopes seek it in flight must have burst lost on the height with silence and savagery alien to the thicket or with no echo left, the bird whose voice in this life is heard one time only and no more. Poesies Le hagard musicien, Cela dans le doute expire Si de mon sein pas du sien A jailli le sanglot pire Dechire va-t-il entier Rester sur quelque sentier!
Splendour — ebony hall where, to allure a king, illustrious wreaths writhe in their doom — you are merely a pride lied by the gloom to the faith-dazzled solitary viewer. Yes, Earth has cast into this night afar the startling mystery of sheer dazzlingness beneath dread aeons darkening it less. Space, its own peer, whether it fail or grow rolls in this tedium trivial fires to show the genius kindled by a festive star. Victorieusement fui le suicide beau Tison de gloire, sang par ecume, or, tempete! La tienne si toujours le delice! Poetical Works His neck will shake off this white throe that space has forced the bird denying it to face, but not the horror of earth that traps his wings.
The fine suicide fled victoriously blaze of fame, blood in foam, gold, storm and stress! If, below, regal purple is to dress only my absent tomb, what mockery! Du sol et de la nue hostiles, 6 grief! The Tomb of Edgar Allan Poe Changed to Himself at last by eternity, with a bare sword the Poet has bestirred his age terrified that it failed to see how death was glorying in that strange word. Enfouissez-le moi plutot dans une armoire. The old gay triumphs of our magic scrawl, hieroglyphs by the thousand scurrying to spread familiar flutters with their wing!
I Does every Pride in the evening smoke, a torch quenched by some sudden stroke without the divine pre-eminent cloud halting its abandonment! A rien expirer annonqant Une rose dans les tenebres. Poetical Works The ancient chamber of the heir to precious but outmoded ware would surely not be warmed at all if he should enter through the hall. II Arisen from the rump and bound of fleeting glassware, the distraught vigil is never flower-crowned, the unknown neck merely stops short.
I feel sure two mouths never fed, neither her lover nor my mother, on the same Fantasy as each other, I, sylph with cold eaves overhead! The vase pure of any drink save widowhood inexhaustibly suffers death but does not agree, a kiss naive and O how grave! Mais, chez qui du reve se dore Tristement dort une mandore Au creux neant musicien Telle que vers quelque fenetre Selon nul ventre que le sien, Filial on aurait pu naitre. This unanimous white affray fought by the garland with the same, fled to the pallid window-frame, rather floats than buries away. But in one gilded by his dreams there sleeps a mandolin forlorn musician of the void unknown so that toward some pane it seems one might filial have been born due to no belly but its own.
What silk with balm from advancing days in which Chimeras writhe and pass can match the tangled native haze you bring beyond your looking-glass! The holes of thoughtful banners rise triumphant in our avenue: I have your naked tresses through which to plunge my contented eyes. Satisfied by no fruits here, my starvation finds equal savour in their learned deprivation: My foot on some wyvern where our love flames afresh, I ponder longer, perhaps desperate, on the other, the seared breast of an ancient Amazon.
Anecdotes ou Poemes Le Phenomene futur Un ciel pale, sur le monde qui Unit de decrepitude, va peut-etre partir avec les nuages: A la place du vetement vain, elle a un corps; et les yeux, semblables aux pierres rares, ne valent pas ce regard qui sort de sa chair heureuse: Anecdotes or Poems The Future Phenomenon A pallid sky, above the world which is dying of its own decrepitude, may possibly be departing with the clouds: The trees are bored and ill at ease, and the tent of the Showman of Past Things rises beneath their whitened leaves whitened not with road- but with time-dust: In the troubled silence of all the eyes entreating the faraway sun, which plunges beneath the water with a despairing cry, here is his basic sales-pitch: I am bringing you, alive and preserved through- out the ages by the supreme power of science , a Woman of ancient times.
Instead of vain apparel, she has a body; and though her eyes are like precious gems, they cannot match the gaze that comes from her blissful flesh: II jouait dans la grande allee des peupliers dont les feuilles me paraissent mornes meme au printemps, depuis que Maria a passe la avec des cierges, une derniere fois. Orion, Altair, or possibly you, green Venus? How many long days I have spent alone with my cat! Thus my favourite time of year is the final languid phase of summer that comes immediately before autumn; and the time of day when I go for a walk is the time when the sun is resting just before it vanishes, when copper-yellow shafts are on the greyish walls and copper-red shafts on the windowpanes.
It was singing in the broad avenue of poplars, whose leaves seem dismal to me even in springtime, now that Maria has passed that way with candles for the last time. Truly an instrument for mourners: Now, when it was murmuring a cheap and cheerful tune, a tune that would gladden the heart of the suburbs, a banal old-fashioned thing, — why did its refrain penetrate my very soul and make me weep as romantic ballads do? De singulieres ombres pendent aux vitres usees. Notre bahut encore est tres vieux: Tu aimes tout cela et voila pourquoi je puis vivre aupres de toi.
Les objets neufs te deplaisent; a toi aussi, ils font peur avec leur hardiesse criarde, et tu te sentirais le besoin de les user, ce qui est bien difficile a faire pour ceux qui ne goutent pas Paction. Just think how it came from Saxony by the slow stagecoaches of olden days. Curious shadows are hanging from the wornout windowpanes. And your Venetian mirror, deep as a cold spring of water, with once-gilt wyverns on its shore — who has gazed at herself in it? I am sure that more than one woman has bathed the sin of her beauty in those waters; and perhaps, if I looked for a long time, I might see a naked wraith.
Our travelling chest is also very old: You love all such things, which is why I can live in your company. Is your mind wandering? Those spiderwebs are shivering atop the tall casements. The Demon of Analogy Have unknown words ever sung on your lips — accursed tatters of some meaningless phrase? I left my apartment with exactly the sensation of a wing sliding over the strings of a musical instrument, lightly and lingeringly; this was replaced by a voice that uttered the following words in descend- ing tones: Back came the phrase — virtual, released from some previous fall of a feather or branch — henceforth heard through the voice, until at last it articulated itself alone, alive with its own personality.
Pauvre Enfant pale Pauvre enfant pale, pourquoi crier a tue-tete dans la rue ta chanson aigue et insolente, qui se perd parmi les chats, seigneurs des toits? I fled — an oddity, someone probably doomed to wear mourning for the inexplicable Penultimate. Poor Pale Child You poor pale child, why are you bawling your shrill and impertinent song at the top of your voice in the street, where it vanishes among the cats, those lords of the rooftops?
As-tu jamais eu un pere? Mais tu travailles pour toi: Et ta complainte est si haute, si haute, que ta tete nue qui se leve en Fair a mesure que ta voix monte, semble vouloir partir de tes petites epaules. Ta petit figure est energique. Elle te dira adieu quand tu paieras pour moi, pour ceux qui valent moins que moi. Tu vins probablement au monde vers cela et tu jeunes des maintenant, nous te verrons dans les journaux.
Anecdotes or Poems 93 Yet, inexorably, fatally, you keep singing, with the tenacious con- fidence of a little man who is making his way through life alone, relying on no one, and working only for himself. Did you ever have a father? No, you are working only for yourself: And your plaintive song is so high, so high, that your bare head, rising in the air as your voice rises, seems on the point of taking off from your little shoulders.
Your little face is full of energy. Not a single penny falls into the wicker basket held by your scrawny hand as it dangles hopelessly over your trousers: Your head is still uplifted and wanting to leave you, as if it knew in advance, while you keep singing in a way that is starting to seem ominous. It will bid you farewell when you pay for me — and for those who are worth less than I am. Probably you came into the world for that very reason, and from this moment on you will fast, we shall see you in the papers. O poor little head! Mon tabac sentait une chambre sombre aux meubles de cuir saupoudres par la poussiere du charbon sur lesquels se roulait le maigre chat noir; les grands feux!
Un spectacle interrompu Que la civilisation est loin de procurer les jouissances attribuables a cet etat! Away went my cigarettes with all the child- ish joys of summer, into the past illumined by foliage blue with sunlight, muslins; and back came my solemn pipe, into the hand of a serious man who wants a good long smoke in peace and quiet so that he can work better: My tobacco used to smell of a dark room on whose leather furniture, sprinkled with coal dust, the scrawny black cat would curl itself up; the big fires!
Around her neck was wound the terrible handkerchief that you wave when saying goodbye to each other for evermore. An Interrupted Performance How far civilization is from supplying the delights attributable to such a state! Je veux, en vue de moi seul, ecrire comme elle frappa mon regard de poete, telle Anecdote, avant que la divulguent des reporters par la foule dresses a assigner a chaque chose son caractere commun.
Que se passait-il devant moi? Etranger a mainte reminiscence de pareilles soirees, Pac- cident le plus neuf! Tout oreilles, il fallut etre tout yeux. Personne qui ne haletat, tant Anecdotes or Poems 97 in every major city never form an association to support a journal that reports events in the light peculiar to dreams. Reality is a mere artifice, good for providing the average intellect with stability amid the mirages of a fact; but for that very reason, it does rest on some universal understanding: What was happening in front of me?
An accident of the most novel kind! All ears, one really needed to be all eyes. Spectacle clair, plus que les treteaux vaste, avec ce don, propre a Part, de durer longtemps: Authentiquons, par cette embrassade etroite, devant la multitude siegeant a cette fin, le pacte de notre reconciliation. Le charme se rompit: Loque substitute saignant aupres de Pours qui, ses instincts retrouves anterieurement a Anecdotes or Poems 99 ribbons of the human shoulder.
The other paw dropped slackly onto an arm that hung down against the tights; and you could see — a couple who had secretly been drawn closer together — something like a man, a lowly, stocky, kindly man, standing on two wide-apart furry legs, embrace the bust of his radiant supernatural brother in order to learn the practices of genius there, and his skull with the black muzzle only half reaching it: My request is urgent and just, as, in an anguish that is merely feigned, launched into the realms of wisdom, subtle elder!
Let us seal the pact of our reconciliation with this close embrace, in the presence of the multitude who have assembled for that very purpose. The crowd was vanishing altogether, magnifying the stage as the emblem of its own spiritual condition: The spell was broken: A bleeding tatter was substituted next to the bear who, having rediscovered the instincts that he had Anecdotes ou Poemes une curiosite plus haute dont le dotait le rayonnement theatral, retomba a quatre pattes et, comme emportant parmi soi le Silence, alia de la marche etouffee de Fespece, flairer, pour y appliquer les dents, cette proie.
Un soupir, exempt presque de deception, soulagea incomprehensiblement Fassemblee: La toile, hesitant jusque-la a accroitre le danger ou Femotion, abattit subitement son journal de tarifs et de lieux communs.
A sigh, virtually free of disappointment, incomprehensibly relieved the assembly: The curtain, having hesitated until then to increase the danger or the emotion, suddenly lowered its announcements of prices and trifles. Reminiscence I, an orphan, was roaming in black and with an eye devoid of any family: I would have asked him to admit me to his superior meal, which he quickly shared with some illustrious older boy who had sprung up against a nearby tent and was engaged in feats of strength and banalities consistent with the day.
Naked, he pirouetted in the to my mind surprising nim- bleness of his tights; in addition, he began: Tu ne sais rien, des parents sont des gens droles, qui font rire. La Declaration foraine Le Silence!
les silences romans trangers french edition Manual
Mine eats bits of string and everyone claps. The Announcement at the Fair Silence! Without any compensation for this shock except the need for some figurative explanation plausible to my mind, like a series of gradually illuminated lamps symmetrically arranged in garlands and symbols. A qui ce matelas decousu pour improviser ici, comme les voiles dans tous les temps et les temples, Parcane! After the onslaughts of a mediocre licentiousness aimed at diverting in any way whatever our stagnation entertained by the sunset, a touching human spectacle detained us no less than the fiery cloud in the background, strange and purple: Whoever may have owned this mattress, which had been ripped apart in order to improvise here, like the veils in all times and temples, Mystery itself!
Or, rather more prosaically, perhaps the trained rat — unless the beggar himself was counting on the athletic vigour of his muscles to estab- lish himself as a popular craze — was missing at that particular moment, as so often results when man is given an ultimatum by general circumstances. A hauteur du genou, elle emergeait, sur une table, des cent tetes. Anecdotes or Poems uncrossed as evidence that it was useless to approach his marvel-less theatre, an old man whom this companionship with an instrument of noise and invitation may have seduced to her unspecified scheme; then, as if, because of what could instantly be imagined here as most beautiful, the enigma glittered!
Knee high, on a table, she was emerging from a hundred heads. The hair flight of a flame to the extreme west of desire if it should all unlace settles a diadem dying it would seem near the crowned brow its former fireplace but without sighing for more gold than this live cloud kindling the fire ever within at first the only one continues in the jewel of the eye true or remiss a tender naked hero would degrade her who stirring no star or fire would just condensing with glory womanhood flashing with her head wreak the escapade of strewing rubies on the doubt she would scorch like a joyous and tutelary torch.
As I supported the waist of the living allegory who was already resigning her post, perhaps because of a failure on my part to emit any further stream of words and gracefully cushioned her arrival on the ground: Usite a la Renaissance anglaise. Anecdotes or Poems hi or any of the other standard theatrical accessories to impress you with her charm. As you, Madame, would not have grasped so decisively, in spite of its duplicated rhyme on the final stroke, my little spiel based on a primitive form of the sonnet 1 , if each term had not echoed to you from various drums, to charm a mind open to multiplicities of meaning.
Je me rendis compte. Simplement le pare de Madame. Anecdotes or Poems ii3 The White Water Lily I had been rowing for a long time, with a strong, clean, soporific motion, my eyes turned inward and utterly oblivious of my journey, as the laughter of the hour was flowing all around. So much motion- lessness was idling away the time that, brushed by a dull sound into which my skiff half slid, I was able to confirm that it had come to a stop only by the steady glittering of initials on the bared oars, which reminded me of my worldly identity.
What was happening, where was I? To understand the episode properly, I had to remember my early departure, on this flaming July day, through the lively gap between the drowsing vegetation of a persistently narrow and wayward stream, in search of water flowers and with the intention of explor- ing a property that belonged to the friend of a friend, to whom I should say hello on the spur of the moment.
Without having been detained by any strip of grass before one vista more than another, as all alike were borne away with their reflections in the water by the same impartial oar-strokes, I had just run aground and mysteriously ended my little voyage on some clump of reeds in the middle of the stream: Detailed inspection showed me that this obstacle of tapering greenery in the current masked the single arch of a bridge that was extended on land, in both directions, by a hedge enclosing a series of lawns.
BUY ON AMAZON'S NEVER EASY
Merely the gardens of Madame , the unknown lady whom I was to greet. A pretty enough neighbourhood during the season; the character of a person who had chosen so watery and impenetrable a retreat for herself could only be in harmony with my own tastes. Surely she had formed this crystal into an internal mirror to shelter her from the brilliant tactlessness of the afternoons; she would come there, and the silvery mist icing the willows would soon be only the limpidity of her gaze familiar with every leaf.
Anecdotes ou Poemes Toute je Fevoquais lustrale. Quand un imperceptible bruit me fit douter si Fhabitante du bord hantait mon loisir, ou inesperement le bassin. Le pas cessa, pourquoi? Connait-elle un motif a sa station, elle-meme la promeneuse: Bent forward in the sporting posture in which curiosity held me, as if beneath the spacious silence through which the stranger would announce herself, I smiled at this dawn of a slavery released by a feminine possibility: I was going to conclude.
When an imperceptible noise made me wonder whether the inhabitant of the shore was haunting my leisure time or, unexpect- edly, the pond. The footsteps stopped, why? Subtle secret of feet that come and go, leading the mind wherever she may choose, dear shadow buried in cambric and the lace of a skirt flowing down over the ground as if to surround from heel to toe, floatingly, this initiative by walking opens up a transient space with its knowing double arrow, very low and with the folds thrown back in a train.
Has she some conscious reason for standing still, this walker: Si vague concept se suffit: Separes, on est ensemble: La pause se mesure au temps de ma determination. Conseille, 6 mon reve, que faire? So vague an idea is enough: Apart, we are together: I merge into her obscure intimacy, in this moment suspended on the water where my dream is delaying the indecisive creature, better than any visit followed by others could do. How many trivial conversations there would have to be, in com- parison with this one which I have made in order not to be heard, before we could regain an understanding as intuitive as our present one, my ear flat against the mahogany and facing all the now-silent sand!
The pause is measured by the time it takes me to decide. Tell me, my dream, what shall I do? Sum up in a glance the virgin absence dispersed in this solitude and depart with it, as, to remember a certain place, you pluck one of the magical closed water lilies that suddenly rise up, enveloping nothing in their hollow whiteness, made of untouched dreams, from a happiness that will never be realized, and from the breath that I am now holding for fear of some apparition: If, drawn by some unusual feeling, that Pensive or Haughty, Cruel or Happy creature appeared, so much the worse for the indescribable face that I shall never know!
The Ecclesiastic Springtime incites an organism to actions which, in any other sea- son, are alien to it, and many a natural history treatise teems with descriptions of this phenomenon among animals. How much more plausibly interesting it would be to list some of the changes caused by this climactic moment in the behaviour of individuals who have been created for spirituality!
In my own instance, when the irony of winter has barely left me, I still cling to some of its ambivalent condition, until it is replaced by a naive or absolute naturalism cap- able of seeking pleasure in the differentiation of various blades of grass. Nothing in the present case could bring profit to the crowd, so I escape, in order to meditate on it, I escape beneath some shade trees lately surrounding the town: Keen was my surprise just now when, in a seldom-frequented corner of the Bois de Boulogne, I saw a lowly sombre commotion through the chinks within the myriad bushes that are no good for hiding anything: Tout, se frictionner ou jeter les membres, se rouler, glisser, aboutissait a une satisfaction: La Gloire La Gloire!
Anecdotes or Poems temptation of a backward glance, to merely imagine the quasi- diabolical apparition who continued to rumple the new season right and left with his sides and stomach, thus achieving a chaste frenzy. Everything, rubbing himself or twitching his limbs, rolling, slither- ing, resulted in satisfaction: The frantic flappings of a cloth have been familiar to you, O solitude, cold silence strewn through the greenery, perceived by senses less subtle than troubled; as if the darkness hidden in its folds was finally shaken out of it!
Johannes et Marie Fankhauser, ch. Water part 2 dimanche 9 mars - 14h. Autre film sur la Palestine: Buffet de la gare, salle des Vignerons, Lausanne. Jeunes Palestiniens en chemin. Jeunes Palestiniens en Chemin. Jeunes Palestiens en Chemin. Francis Reusser 85' Suisse Langue: Halte au massacre en Palestine.
But yeah, when we publish our opinion, we know it can receive negative criticism as well, all the more if you're not just saying you love something. That's where debate comes. We wouldn't be able to go forward if we all thought the same way or if we didn't voice our opinion. However, I can't help thinking some people are forgetting what an opinion is. In particular, one criticism, or sentence about the coming review, makes me want to rant endlessly. When you look at comments, on YouTube always a source of fun , or here, sometimes, you may encounter someone saying " I'll try to be as objective as possible " or someone complain by saying " you're not being objective enough , if you were, you'd see how crappy or good this is!
I may even have done it sometimes! Sometimes, you just can't find the right word. Still, every time I read this, I don't know if I want to talk some sense into those people or if I should just laugh at them People pretending their judgement is objective are either extremely delusional about what it means to judge something, or they're just very vain and think they hold the one truth or that they're experts.
Even in court, the judge can't be objective. Even if you look for the one truth as hard as you can, as if you were in a Phoenix Wright game, once that truth is found out, you may still not pronounce the same sentence as another judge would. Thankfully, I believe that to prevent too much variation between judgements, there is the law. And the law is the one bringing in some sense of objectivity. And even with the rules given by the objective law, you have different ways of choosing the deserved sentence for someone.
The difference may come from the life the judge has, that may relate to what is happening or has happened in your life. If you're a very involved Feminist and you have to judge a conflict between an employee and her male boss, the outcome may be very different than if you are a macho man. So when it comes to judging writings, art, food When you don't have as many rules as there's in the law, how could you have an objective opinion?
I believe you can't. So, and that's my subjective conclusion, you can't have an objective opinion. However, you can have a credible opinion. I think the trials are not meant to be completely objective. We'd have to let a robot say the final word for it to work. They're meant to be fair , and to make sense. As much as possible. So judges are provided guidelines and then, they're free to judge. By reviewing, I'm appointing myself to be the judge to your writing. I have some implacable rules.
How good the grammar is, how coherent things are I have questions that I always try to answer. Originality of the plot, good characterization and character development, nice to read style, conveys emotions, I think about them and tick or not the boxes. The questions I ask about my reviews are always the same, and this structure may give my review a credibility that some would call "objective". Whether I tick the box is a subjective choice. I have my own story, my own taboos and my own expectations. They're mine, and are bound to bring differences in the way I judge some things.
But still, they help back up my opinion. Because there's not such thing as a bad opinion but there are poor opinions.
No customer reviews
The ones that can't be asked up with anything. And this maybe a political sentence here more than one about reviews. You can have any opinion you want, but once you state them, you have to be able to back them up because this is your opinion and you should have reasons for them. If those reasons come from ignorance of reality, then you'll have a hard time doing so without being seen as an idiot. Poor opinions are made while being ignorant of reality. On this website, the reality is your humility, that you don't hold the one truth of the story and can only speak for yourself.
Once you know that, once you take that into account, there's no reason for anyone to blame you for your opinion on the story. I believe that a humble review is usually a fair review. And humble doesn't mean that your opinion is worth nothing or that you should minimize your thoughts. It means you know you're not better than others.
Neither are you worse. In general, checking out in the dictionary what a word means is an interesting thing to do. And checking out some facts before stating them and I say facts, for instance, if you think something is not physically possible can help. So I try to be fair, I tick my boxes, I try to give advices on the points that weren't ticked. I sometimes provide some unrelated facts, about my life, about what I like, about philosophy Because in those are one thing that makes me and motivates the opinion I'm giving in my review. And as I struggle to always express credible opinions, I'm only trying to define and refine my opinion, understand what it is that echoed with myself to feel the way I did about the story I just read.
But yeah, I'd be happy if someone read a review of mine, disagreed with something, and told me, with arguments to bak them off, why they don't agree. I think it would be interesting! I'm on a ranting spree! I have a year of rants to get back after all Just to let you know, I think the ,ext several rants will be much more about writing than reviewing.
I do write sometimes. So, now, let me tell you about an exchange I had with an author, some months ago. I won't name anyone or any story. I won't put the whole talk, but here is the idea behind it. It started with a review, in which I complained about but I'm not sure I named it as such, I should have if I didn't the shallowness of the characters. My point among others was that the characters were doing morally questionable things, without any question from any characters.
To that, the author told me "I'm trying to show the dark side of humanity ". What an ambitious project! And it got me to think about it. How do you show "the dark side of humanity"? Did this author manage to do that in their story, and I'm just too ignorant, narrow-minded to take it as such? What story do I know in which I saw the dark side of humanity?
Or what other art work? And let's start like last time. What is "the dark side of humanity"? When I read this, I think about the bad side of humans. What leads us to murder, rape, war, harassment, discrimination, But no, it's not only that. I also think about drugs and prostitution. But what is annoying me in prostitution is that misery would bring someone to leave the control of their own body to someone else for money. What annoys me in drugs is that it can make people commit horrible things to other, make their family suffer, and that someone is getting money from it.
And yeah, I may sound like a prude christian right now: I think the one time I saw the worst side of humanity was when I saw the administrative paper for the killing of a Jew man who was in a camp. This paper show some awfully cold and unfeeling process to the killing. When you read "over numbered" for the reason why he is killed. Written and signed by a government.
Yeah, that's the most awful thing I saw to illustrate this. But now, what about art? What art work got me to think about the dark side of humanity? Short answer is, some art work that show those things. Obviously, Guernica where you see the horror of war. Most of the paintings where you see war actually I remember those paintings in Vietnam about the war there Lou Reed's songs too where he talks about drugs, murder brrr street hassle But when I get to books and writings, it's harder to find, all the more in English because my knowledge about American and British literature don't amount to much.
Shakespeare, obviously, but his works don't try to show the dark side of humanity and if you think I'm wrong, I'll explain why later. Edward Allan Poe maybe, but I only know the Raven and if this poetry is full of sadness, and could be a bit scary, I don't think humans can be monsters. But there's not much moral bias in them. She writes murder stories. But the good guy wins in the end, and there's no despair, no unease. Same with the few Sherlock Holmes stories I read.
Don't get me started on Harry Potter, that I like, but the dark side of humanity is a bit missing from it, unfortunately or not, I think it's one of the reasons there're so many fan fictions about it. Now, that's a question. I never read this book, didn't go to see the movie. But that's a question I have to ask.
Because I wonder if the way this author wanted to "show the dark side of humanity" is inspired by the way some would say 50 shades showed it. So yeah, the dark side of humanity , to me, is that some people can , knowingly so and with a level head , decide to cause harm to other people for their own interest. That we may take pleasure in hurting others. And here is the thing. Contrary to a song or a picture, novels and even theatre plays and movies have more time to develop an atmosphere, a universe with different sets of social rules.
A picture can just show you a moment, one thing, and it's the way you interpret it, find how it resonates with your world, that makes you able to give it a deeper meaning. Guernica is dark because you put yourself in the scene it depicts, you think about the war, you see the fragmented screaming bodies, it's horrible, it's violent, it's tragic, and it's our own world.
Same with a song. As they don't last much, a song will rarely expand on a whole new universe. So you know the value of the word in which the lyrics or a music are made to be seen. However, in a movie, a novel, a play, So what is normal in one universe may not be in another one. Which means that I can't project my own values so easily on the characters. Or more precisely, I will, until I'm given some signs I shouldn't because that's obviously not how they work.
So if I see something awful happen to a character, I will feel awful for them. If I see them doing awful things, I will blame them. Unless I see it seems completely normal and accepted by the other characters. Then, I will try to understand why. The character is not bad in fact, it should be the way the world works that is different. And I may end up wondering if this text I'm reading is trying to advocate for a different vision of the world , one in which some things may not be as bad as they are here.
It may be very hard to think so for a text about murdering your own mother who saved you, took care of you, loved you We don't have the same sensibility and what may be awful for me may not be so for the author. So, if they want to denounce something, they have to show me that it is wrong. And to show it, they have to, somehow, show what should be right , show in what way it makes others suffer, show people fighting it, complain about it, or at least question it. And that is why I believe that to show the dark side of humanity, you have to show the light side of humanity.
Don't focus on the dark side, show us everything, show us Humanity, plain simple humanity with the dark and the light side, always battling, always trying to find the right balance between our selfishness and laziness and our will to be better and hold true to our values. Show us fight of those temptations, give in to them, regret them, bask in them, hurt others, help others, But overall, let us relate with your characters, so that we share their pain, their regrets, and their joys.
This is not necessarily a rant, but a test per say. It's the first time I indulge in his kind of thing, but for the time being, it will remain here. I'll delete it at some point ;. Meaning of color and your birthday! The year will go very well for you and you will discover that you fall in love with someone totally unexpected. You will have a strong love relationship that will not last long but the memories will last forever. You will have a great year and will experience a major life-changing experience for the good.
Your life will take on a different direction, it will seem hard at the time but will be the best thing for you, and you will be glad for the change. You will have a friend who completely confides in you and would do anything for you, but you may not realize it. This wish will come true only if you re-post this in one hour as "Meaning of color and your birthday! XD And now let's get things started, why don't you get things started, It's time to get things started. I don't know if this was useful to you but I have to say something not to let this page desperately empty, don't I?
So goodbye, you're free now! Just In All Stories: Story Story Writer Forum Community. I decided to see how the poll tool works. And I have a question for you who came on my profile: What is your favourite way of looking for new stories? A Story of Mortality by this-bright-eyed-soul reviews Dark Lord Harry Potter was born , and was instrumental in defeating Grindelwald. A powerful force in politics, the rising Lord Voldemort cannot avoid him, but instead of the rivalry he wishes for, political circumstances force an alliance.
While both their similarities and differences clash, they cannot help but become closer over time, and both have lessons still to learn Harry Potter - Rated: Different Harry Potters visit Little Hangleton, and Voldemort's the only one with much sense around here. I almost feel sorry for him. Harry Potter - Rated: Hopeless and Heartless by LateNiteSlacker reviews You are Dirk Strider, charged with fighting off the demons of Derse in a world where everyone is supernatural. Can you keep up the fight and somehow make the oblivious Jake English realize your affections for him?
Et pourtant, se faire tirer les cartes risque de marquer un tournant dans leur vie. One Piece - Rated: M - French - Romance - Chapters: Fighting Gravity by CrazygurlMadness reviews The land of Hylia is being torn asunder by civil war, from the dunes of Twilight to the lush hills of Calatia. When Captain Link of the Hylian Alliance recovers the imperial princess in a crashed airship during a storm, he ends up embroiled in a situation no training could possibly prepare him for.
Body language by M-M's and Cigarettes reviews Matt is trapped inside his royal parents home, bound by rules and fear. After hiring him a personal bodyguard for his eighteenth birthday he begins to enjoy new found freedoms. Death Note - Rated: Aftermath by RockThaWriter reviews Kira is dead and Mello is left feeling empty, as if something is missing to complete the picture perfect ending.
Maybe it is Matt, his life long friend, and the only man he would ever lust after. Some days after the Kira case, Matt finally talks to the blond who has been avoiding him all this time. The outcome is simply beautiful. Infinite Loop by Shimegami reviews When one of Kaitou Kid's targets does a lot more than look pretty, Kid and newly-returned Shinichi find themselves facing a dark reality where they don't exist That Is the Question by the-cloud-whisperer reviews Life is for the living, but the living are also dying.
Matt's never really known the difference, at least, until the reaper comes for him in an unexpectedly heavenly guise. This is a story of transformation and rebirth.
A Tale of Two Cities (Webster's French Thesaurus Edition)
Please come to it with a serious but not too serious mindset. Erotomanic by Ambyrawrawr reviews 'I knew he loved me. His body language screamed it. Though he was just playing with me, always saying 'No, I don't love you. I don't love you. Why couldn't he admit it' Death Note - Rated: And the guests must undergo the dance with sin to see if what they're fighting for is truly worth it. To see if what they're fighting for is worth the change. AU Death Note - Rated: Matt just wanted to get over his break up with Mello.
When the two happened to meet at a club will they finally find what they've always wanted or will they just dig themselves deeper in depression? Hacker by ChocoPokkin reviews Matt and Mello have always been very close, well Their definition of close. When Matt starts showing a wild side, Mello had no idea what to do with his one and only friend.
Flatmate issues by mon. Things like fearing your friends will find out, doubting your mental stability and self value are common. That's why getting unaware flatmate may be a blessing and golden mean for all insecurities. Au and Matt's pov. Smoke and Bullets by harlequindreaming reviews You don't always choose who you fall in love with; you take what you get and it's enough. But between Gameboys and gunshots, chocolate and cinders, Mihael Keehl and Mail Jeevas find that sometimes, it isn't.
Not for people like them. Cooking Chaos by ForDemFeels reviews What do you get when you add two sexy drool-licious boys and a kitchen together? Trouble and dirty fun, that's what. Meet Matt and Mello as they fight obstacles to stay alive in the kitchen of terror Challenge of the Masquerade by CatatonicVanity reviews Mello wore the perfect masks at the perfect times. Enter Matt, who wore one perfect mask that Mello needed to shatter. Nebraska by Voishen reviews Matt never did get around to telling Mello how he feels.
So mello figured he wouldn't mind it if he slept around, brought guys home, and screwed in Matt's bed with Mr. Sexonthefly five times a week. Matt doesn't mind, he just dies inside a lot The Storm by Mauguine reviews The Storm. Bang by Shizuka no Taisho reviews The first time Matt and Mello came face to face, the redhead was backed against a wall with a cold muzzle pressed under his chin. He stared at the blond hellion holding him captive, quickly scanning his orbs for any sign of mercy.
K - English - Humor - Chapters: Distraction by orrien reviews The thing is, Mello's an Alpha. Matt knew it even before they hit puberty. Turns out he was wrong. Somebody had to amend that. M - English - Drama - Chapters: It was a brief fling that lasted much longer than it was supposed to. One a student and part-time forensic artist, the other the greatest detective in the world. When it ended, both were sure they'd never meet again. But fate had other plans.
But when they mature, they discover their true feelings and just how difficult, yet fun growing up can be. Their epic tale unfolds in a series of drabbles as they become the infamous duo we all know and love! Wreckage by Shadow Dancer reviews "Leaning back on my ankles, I watched to see if he would die, if that eye would dim in the final moments. If the light was snuffed out, would it still be as beautiful? Matt just strolled into his place casually, saying he'd be a better hacker then the one Mello's got. T - English - Chapters: Fortunately, Lord Voldemort is there to prevent Harry destroying it in the process.
Yes, an actual cannon!