After you've finished here, you may like to hear this folk-carol on myspace... Poem 230 of 230, WalkaboutsVerse (see my blog for details): CHRISTMAS SUNG SIMPLY
As gospellers have said, Beneath signalling skies, On land dusty to tread, A trough in a stable Was the strawy first-bed Of a divine baby - The forgiving Godhead.
A season for new hope - There then and here now; The yuletide of goodwill - There then and here now.
In respect of this chance, Beneath bright or dark skies, Faith's the star that we glance Attending Christ's churches And trying to enhance, With singing and ritual, Our God-loving stance.
Si cette griffure ride ton mur Ne sois pas triste, camarade On vit pour prouver qu’on existe A chacun de voir si c’est crade
Sur un recoin de ta façade Loin des grands cons qui nous assomment Ecoute ce petit conte d’hommes Eternels seconds Que nous sommes
SI tu veux rencontrer Rockwell, je ne saurais trop te conseYEAH SI tu veux entendre d’autres histoires, mon site que j’incite à épYEAH SINON, si mes fades salades t’ont définitivement rassasYEAH SI mes vers finissent par saouler, n’hésite pas à m’envoyer ch (plaît-il ?)
After you've finished here, you may like to hear this poem sung on myspace...
Poem 162 of 230, WalkaboutsVerse (please see my blog): TEES TO TYNE: FIRST IMPRESSIONS - SUMMER 2001
Where traditions are not so rare; Sea, country and works scent the air; A multitude of monuments, Planted tubs and patterned pavements.
The longish pedestrian malls; The remnants of defensive walls; Historic buildings are a gauge Of the respect for heritage.
Wheat, rape and pines in the fields; Estuaries guarded by shields; Long sandy beaches and wide scenes; Romantic-ruin go-betweens.
Rivers in parts licked by trees, Or fringed by boat clubs, wharfs, gantries, And crossed by practical delights - Varied spans, forming pleasing sights.
Fine churches headed at Durham; Football kits ad infinitum; Kept castles - one for study; Masonry behind masonry.
And, with moulding-works out that way, It’s somewhere for a longer stay..?
Regarde voir : Le mur se texture Ecoute, de derrière les fagots Un de ces ragots que murmurent Les graffiti-tis parigots Légendes urbaines de murs-vivants De coups de crasse, de crosses, De creux ... Sans doute ce qu'aurait pu y voir Jacques MC ? Poète ? Un peu des deux ...
Aux graffeurs, poètes emmurés A Artof Popof et à Psy, à wes21, à Banksy Un grand Big Up ! Un grand Merci ...
After you've finished here, you may like to hear this poem sung on myspace...
Poem 2 of 230, WalkaboutsVerse (please see my blog): WALKABOUT WITH MY PEN
Once drove an old sedan, up north, From a place in Sydney to Cairns; Then to Kuranda I went forth, By train, to look without set plans.
I browsed through the trendy market, With fresh fruits of tropical kind; Walked to the creek through lush thicket - Nature’s hand giving peace of mind.
I dined in a scenic cafe; Then, outside, as I wrote for yen, Some passing Kooris called-out: “Hey, You go walkabout with your pen.”
Request or question, I don’t know - Assured voices, elderly men. That’s now several years ago, And I’ve seen the world - with my pen.
...merci de nous avoir ouvert les portes... et ainsi, soutenir notre démarche artistique... au bord du monde...
belle fin de semaine à vous,
A. Laforge
It is always a pleasure listening to your music, and you were so important to me at Neuchatel. I will never forget this experience and i will try to carry on nurturing my body and soul with this (and other ones) music and dance... (i have already looked at various folk dancing courses in London..;) ) A big hug for you and all the rest of BOREAL crew, Hugs, Eli.
Merci pour la visite ! J'espère que ton été se passe bien. N'oublie pas le contact pour les Estivales du Canal, dès la fin septembre. La bise, Marc-Albéric
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