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MUSIC

HARDLY ANYTHING, BY FRANCIS CABREL: When poetry feel into musical notes

“So here is all I am good at some wind blowing through bamboo chests, pieces of sky to be put on your eyelids and some more hung to your neck. It’s nothing but usual sky, some blue you can see everywhere, still I have put all my craft into it, on top of our whole story. You see, it’s hardly ...

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JE L’AIME A MOURIR, BY FRANCIS CABREL: When poetry feel into musical notes

“Moi je n’étais rien, mais voilà qu’aujourd’hui. Je suis le gardien du sommeil de ses nuits. Je l’aime à mourir. Vous pouvez détruire tout ce qu’il vous plaira, elle n’aura qu’à ouvrir l’espace de ses bras pour tout reconstruire, pour tout reconstruire. Je l’aime à mourir. Elle a gommé les chiffres des horloges du quartier. Elle a fait de ma ...

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I SING I SWIM, BY SEABEAR: When poetry feel into musical notes

“When the birds are sleeping, that’s when the trees sing, you left your winter clothes, and your teeth marks in my skin. So shake the leaves off the trees, watch them float down the stream. Your son, your daughter swimming in the water, and I miss you, even when you’re around, I’m a black cloud, sending lightning to the ground. ...

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BILLIARDS PLAYER: A game from the complex variants, like your life

An ancient game, with its strict discipline, the game of billiards. Four sides and a soft rectangular field, softly green. Inside it run colored marbles, those that the player hits with an auction – the stick – or throwing with his hands, trying to understand the point to hit. Tic-tac, above the color of grass, the imagination of the possible ...

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LES AMOREUX DES BANCS PUBLIC: By Georges Brassens

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