T Wignesan

T Wignesan Poems

T Wignesan Biography

EDUCATION School-leaving certificates (SC: 1951: Grade One, HSC: 1953 (Cambridge University) , GCE: 4 A-levels and 1 subsidiary,1955 (London University) , Inns of Court School of Law (London: Certificate of Academic Standing, Bar Standards Board,1953-56) , Official School of Languages: 3rd Yr-Spanish Literature & Civilization (Madrid: 1970) , Diploma in Hispanic Studies (Madrid University: 1971: Extraordinary Prize) , Master's in Spanish Literature (Madrid: Instituto de Cultura Hispanica & University of Paris VIII: 1972-73: Très Bien/Distinction) , Doctorat d'Etat ès lettres et sciences humaines (Sorbonne-Pantheon; 1983-87: Très Honorable à l'unanimité- Magna-cum-laude) . CAREER ex-private tutor (Malaysia, Germany, Spain: to doctors in teaching hospitals: La Paz, Puerta de Hierro, La Conception et Ciudad Francisco Franco,1967-72) ex-School teacher (Malaysia: St. Aloysius School, Mantin, Vivekananda English School, Chung Hwa Middle School in Seremban, Malaya; Colegio Claret, Spain) , Lecturer (England: Commonwealth Institute, Germany: University of Maryland, European Division, Heidelberg; France: University of Sorbonne-Nouvelle at the doctoral level/DEA) , Adjunct- Professor at AGSIRD-American Graduate School of International Relations and Diplomacy, and Research Fellow: Chargé de recherches with the French National Centre for Scientific Research (CNRS: 1973-1998) . Ex-Journalist (Malaysia: 'Malay Mail',1954; 'Malayan Times',1962) , London, England 'Straits Times Press Group' of Singapore(1964-65) ; 'Guidepost', Spain (1967)) Publisher's editor: Rayirath Raybooks Publications (Kuala Lumpur/London) ,1961-64. Founder-Editor of the 'Revue de Poïétique Comparée' and 'Asianists' ASIA'. For publications-books, check: www.authorsden.com/twignesan3 www.poetrysoup.com/me/t_wignesan www.cyberwit.net/authors/twignesan Translation of Autumn Leaves-Les feuilles mortes de Jacques Prevert by T Wignesan Autumn Leaves/Les feuilles mortes de Jacques PREVERT (1900-77) Translated by T. Wignesan (Note: As far as I can make out, this poem is at the heart of all versions of « The Autumn Leaves ' - Sung by Edith Piaf, Juliette Gréco, Yves Montand, Nat King Cole, Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby and the like…) T. Wignesan https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=DJZtOwaizjE Mix - Chet Baker & Paul Desmond: 'Autumn Leaves' https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=Gsz3mrnIBd0 Oh! Je voudrais tant que tu te souviennes Oh! How I wish you'd remember des jours heureux où nous étions amis the joyous days when we were friends En ce temps-là la vie était plus belle In those days life was more beautiful et le soleil plus brûlant qu'aujourd'hui and the sun shone brighter than nowadays Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle Dead leaves one gathered by shovels Tu vois je n'ai pas oublié You see I have not forgotten Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle Fallen leaves one shoveled at will les souvenirs et les regrets aussi memories and regrets as well et le vent du nord les emporte and the wind from the north swept them dans la nuit froide de l'oubli into the cold night of forgetfulness Tu vois je n'ai pas oublié You see I have not forgotten la chanson que tu me chantais the song you sang to me C'est une chanson qui nous ressemble It was a song likened to ourselves Toi tu m'aimais You who loved me et je t'aimais and I likewise repaid Et nous vivions tous deux ensemble And we lived each with the other toi qui m'aimais you who loved me et que j'aimais and you I likewise loved Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment But life puts apart those in love tout doucement with infinite care sans faire de bruit without much ado et la mer efface sur le sable and sea waves efface on the sands les pas des amants désunis the footprints of lovers put asunder Les feuilles mortes se ramassent à la pelle Loads of dead leaves one shovels les souvenirs et les regrets aussi memories and regrets as well Mais mon amour silencieux et fidèle But my love silent and steadfast sourit toujours et remercie la vie always smiles and gives thanks to life Je t'aimais tant tu étais si jolie I loved you so much for your beauty Comment veux-tu que je t'oublie How could you wish that I forget you En ce temps-là la vie était plus belle In those days when living was far more joyous et le soleil plus brûlant qu'aujourd'hui and the sun burnt brighter than nowadays Tu étais ma plus douce amie… You were my sweetest friend… Mais je n'ai que faire des regrets But all I can do is to feel regretful Et la chanson que tu chantais And the song you sang toujours toujours je l'entendrai forever forever rings in my ears C'est une chanson qui nous ressemble It's a song akin to us Toi tu m'aimais et je t'aimais You who loved me and I likewise you Et nous vivions tous deux ensemble And the two of us lived together toi qui m'aimais que j'aimais you who loved me and I likewise you Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment But life puts apart those in love tout doucement with infinite care sans faire de bruit without much ado et la mer efface sur le sable and sea waves efface on the sands les pas des amants désunis. the footprints of lovers put asunder. (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, December 14,2020 Criss-Cross Acrostic: Ai My Eye and Ai Ai My Sore Eyes Criss-Cross Acrostic: Ai My Eye Criss-Cross Acrostic: Note: *Construe as " words" not as " letters" : Lines 1 and 3 read alike reversed; Lines 2 and 4 read alike reversed; likewise vertically and diagonally from updown or down-up mode. 'Ai Ai My Eye! ' I Was Saw Eye Eye Saw Was I Eye Was Saw I I Saw Was Eye Another Permutation: « Ai Ai My Sore Eye! ' I Sore Was I Saw I Sore Eye Sore I Saw Eye I Was Sore I FURTHER PERMUTATIONS for SORE EYES Eye Sore Saw I Saw I Sore Eye I Saw Sore Eye Sore Eye Saw I Saw I Sore Eye Eye Sore Saw I Sore Eye Saw I I Saw Sore Eye Eye Sore Saw I Sore Eye Saw I Saw I Sore Eye I Saw Sore Eye* This last quatrain diagonally reads as: 'Ai Ai Sore Eye' (phonetically) : « Ai Ai Saw I' Never Never ever will I query by T Wignesan Never Never ever will I query…by T Wignesan For Andrea MOTIS and the Joan CHAMORRO Jazz Band's version of Nancy Wilson's « Never Never will I marry » (Original lyrics by Frank Loesser) https: //music.youtube.com/watch? v=mKCdi71MRi4&list=RDAMVMmKCdi71MRi4 Never Never ever will I query What lies beyond the Dead No race No religion not Country I will blindly not be duped or led Born to one Mother and lone Father Long bred from Dark Ancestor Neanderthal or Fontéchevade Brother Will I let some god put asunder No doubts No fears nor Myths To keep this World in one Family Never Never will I ever blunt Truths Split countries to foist ethnic party One father-mother One brother-sister No nose No chin No brow Nor skull One from the other higher or better What Just god would want us Hell No more wars to boost economy No more lurid lies to breed enmity No more priests dividing Almighty No more excuses to halt equality Never Never ever will I bury The Dead in shrouds blood red Gone to worlds far from envy Gone to worlds where gods aren't bred… (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, December 7,2020 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXXII - 82 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - LXXXII for Carlos Bousoño, the eminent Spanish critic, poet and professor who maintained that if you don't like the 'humorist', you're not likely to find much to laugh at in/with his (sense of) 'humour' IF ever I had a country, a country where every TOM-Cat, Dirty-DICK and Royal HARRY wrote what his fellows called POESY And if ever I were the only SON of a GUNny Sack-Bag incapable of pouting lines to an astronomically non-sensical degree And as punishment thereof - sans appeal - if I were to be appointed by the Supreme Inter-Galactico-Cosmo-IL-logical Council of the Arbiters of Tyrannic Taste the one and only ARBITER and JURY And should my fellow-poets ever so much as utter or let escape a squeak on, relating to or about what they cook-up as stew or porridge of un-hermeneutical ETERNAL VERITIES which they print publish post (ne'er you mind: plagiarize) and/or pander to their pridefully painted images potpourri I would first and foremost issue an EDICT - nay, even a DECREE - to CONFINE each and every one of my bumble-bee constantly buzzing comrade BARDS, purveyors and promotors of mutually unintelligible verse within their own ivory PENTHOUSES of phantasmagorical (a) musings under pain of summary banishment - should they ever so much as 'peine in poiein » - to the GREAT ATTRACTOR WALL of GALAXIES and so be it, I pray thee And this, even if I were to be confined to my very own solitary dungeon and be condemned to listen to - against my will, day and night, for ever and ever - the ethereally soul-uplifting poutings of the Poetasters of Isphahan in their wordy giddy swirls of SUFI And even if I never ever had no country where POETRY had need of mutually EGOBOOSTING commentary (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, April 5,2020 Villanelle: Alright Guys: Heave and Ho And let it go Villanelle: Alright guys: Heave and Ho! And let it go (Confinement to one's home though fines during « outings' add to revenue, private companies take orders from far-flung lands for masks, gloves and ventilators and protective surgical equipment when the Chinese already informed The WHO of the epidemic on December 16,2019 and the South Koreans manufactured the 'testing-gear » from artificial genes in February while tourists returning from the East were freely landing - without being tested - all over the West: « Pointless closing the barn door when the horse has bolted! ») Alright guys: Heave & Ho! And let it go ...No need to fear the Coast's wide open clear Ne'er Hem & Haw! Wash hands ere ye go Bind hands behind backs Lick face or blow …No need to worry Be not sorry, 'Dear' Alright guys: Heave & Ho! And let it go Guys on top say it feels good to row …Knudge elbows and spit on nose and ear Ne'er Hem & Haw! Wash hands ere ye go Masks and ventilators sell for much more …Than war-time manufactured cheap ware Alright guys: Heave & Ho! And let it go The guy who pays is the guy who's pinned low …The Guy at the Top rows free from fear Ne'er Hem & Haw! Wash hands ere ye go Stay home and watch Top Dogs whinge O! Woe! …Take-aways with cooks' sneeze good with beer Alright guys: Heave & Ho! And let it go Ne'er Hem & Haw! Wash hands ere ye go (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, March 23,2020 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXXI-81 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - LXXXI - 81 IF ever I had a country, a country without even a single Shredding Machine And if ever I were elected/nominated/appointed by the powers that be SPEAKER of the Lower House of Parliament whose power to shine however were to be curtailed by the Upper House's sheen A country where all laws were enacted without much heed to the rhyme nor reason of the Bard's Stratford-upon-Avon's mellifluous flow of theme Where every legal analyst: Professor of law Attorney-at-Law entertained his or her own opinion as to what the Laws of the State: relating to the Chief Executive, Rules and Regulations of Proceedings in or out of officialdom: libels, torts, crimes, misdemeanours or even what the Constitution may mean And if ever any elected official or foreign dignitary were to be invited or chose to invite himself whether by rights or not to address the House and read from a « tele-prompter » or printed text that was obviously Ghost-written, I'd shred the Speech with my front-teeth and unkempt nails and jump up and down with glee as though I were dancing the polka on the printed pages as they most certainly blatantly comport ideas, words and expressions of some heinous GHOST come to tease, torture, detract, confound, contradict and condemn all that is decent in the human being which is not mean And all this, so be it, I swear before the populace I can never be GUILTY of breaking the LAW should I shred the words of some GHOST who lies, distorts, turns on head some or all the TRUTHS held to be sacred in my Nation's History since no ghost may rightfully sue me (Sleep tight, Peach of a Teach!) for having even stolen a measly red, yellow or green pea, pod or bean And this, even if I were to be put through the piranha jaws of the Republic's Shredding-Immigration-Machine Even if I never ever had no country worthy of being shredded and pulverized in the Wall of Black Holes's grinding-machine (c) T. Wignesan, Paris, February 8,2020 IMP-EACH-MENT-AIR-DITTY: IV IMP-EACH-MENT-AIR-DITTY - IV Leer on face droning phony his Speech Coast-Guard nasal-ed win bareback on Leech Triumph of Demo-Crazy World aghast by Lunacy DEMOCRACY strappado-ed on staid Beach Lone Life-Saver shed ONE tear on lost Beach While Leech kicked bareback biting hand of Teach Peach tore to shreds SOTU Corona-Virus-ed YAHOO! Now POTUS sons romp and riot on Beach! POTUS Son-in-Law Prophet Peace Preach! Indicted Jockey borne aloft by Leech: Gold-grab Land-grab God-grab! Blow this World up so drab! Let the Self-CHOSEN-Few reign with Leech! Shame! Shame on US! Last bastion of Speech! The World held its breath hoping YOU'd us teach! Your sons laid their lives down To uphold righteous Crown: Empty words rot on Omaha Beach! (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, February 3,2020 IMP-Each-Ment-Air-Ditty III IMP-EACH-MENT-AIR-DITTY III! Holy Smoke! Odour of incense on Beach! Trainers marched with saddles to straddle Leech! « SILENCE! » Dull as Thunder! « Under pain of locker! » Grave mist hung low on Life-Savers each! CJOTUS kept clock arms for each to preach Who summoned Founding Fathers onto Beach! « This race is no Trial! Draw horse blood in phial! Drink! » said Chief Life-Saver Nation to teach! Coast-Guard in Cloak-Rooms begged bets to reach The magic number to put to sleep Teach « Hold back horses until All bets are in the till! I'll let none throw law-books on my Leech! » Indicted Jockey rode-off bareback on Leech! To save face while saddled Life-Savers preach: « No Nuts 'n Bolts-on, please! This fake Trial must cease! » Come November who'll lose this race on Beach? (c) T. Wignesan, Paris, January 29,2020 Imp-Each-Ment-Air-Ditty II IMP-EACH-MENT-AIR-DITTY - II Coast-Guard droned and whined striding on Beach « Who dares to teach me how to close breach? Hand over the saddles! I'll dump them in puddles! No-one, I say, rides bareback on Leech! » Peach of a Teach lay bareback on Beach Counting on four bets to counter Leech « What if Coast-Guard turns coat? Calls no bets after vote? » Who's to reach for reins to saddle Leech? Hocus-Pocus! POTUS! Teach Impeach! Who rules as Leech trots on beyond reach? Now we have hung Jury ImPeachMentAlIty No more bets, please! Beseech not Teach to preach! Leech filly chairs G-20! O! Screech! Vice-POTUS heifer draws 50G bleach! High stakes family fun The World is a top spun! Will POTUS filly rule from the new breach? (c) T.Wignesan - Paris, January 15,2020 Imp-Each-Ment-Air-Ditty Imp-Each-Ment-Air-Ditty Once peach of a Teach on beach tried to preach The art of closing the reach in a breach The Coast-Guard drew his gun Shot a hole in the bun Now Teach leaks through breeches during Speech Teach then placed bets on a horse called Leech Before Whistle-Blower could cry « Impeach! » Leech took off in anger To smite Whistle-Blower House closed down for lack of bets on Leech Whistle-Blower held breath to teach impeach Upper House closed the breach to foist Leech Said Teach: « No more bets, please! » Leech learned to trot with ease Then Teach rode Leech without a screech Teach then said: « Place all bets out-of-reach! This race will take first place: Each-to-Each! » Twenty-two trillion debt The pit is full and wet Whose finger will dam dike in the breach? (to be continued) © T. Wignesan - Paris, December 17,2019 Villanelle: Never political but spiritual the ancient Indo-Chinese pilgrim ties Villanelle: Never political but spiritual the ancient Indo-Chinese pilgrim ties In Memory of the late pathologist (and amateur Astronomer) Associate Professor CHONG Siew Meng, National University of Singapore* Never political but spiritual the ancient Indo-Chinese pilgrim ties Which pierce through skin and bone and the cryptic genetic code Friends hatched from the same mould needn't rely on vice nor lies Wu Ch'eng-en's « Monkey » didn't waft down Monsoon winds for spice But to imbibe Siddhartha* Truth: the Golden Mean* at Nalanda* abode Never political but spiritual the ancient Indo-Chinese pilgrim ties And took back to the Middle Kingdom « Eight-Fold Path* » wise That neither « ancestral worship » nor Taoist logic sought to exclude Friends hatched from the same mould needn't rely on vice nor lies Then the fierce Boddhidharma* stared down the Emperor Chinese And from « Four Noble Truths* » sprang Chan/Zen in enigmatic mode Never political but spiritual the ancient Indo-Chinese pilgrim ties Whilst in deserts iconoclast prophets tore down the sacred edifice The Essenic Tribe traced the descent from Tusita Heaven to Mary mode Friends hatched from the same mould needn't rely on vice nor lies The Dead Sea Scrolls lie buried in some hidden vault full of lice and mice While Crusaders drive Saracens from the Holy Land onto the migrant road Never political but spiritual the ancient Indo-Chinese pilgrim ties Friends hatched from the same mould needn't rely on vice nor lies Notes •An ex-Victoria Institution pupil from Kuala Lumpur. In Malaysia and Singapore, it is not uncommon to find many Chinese and Tamils forming quite close relationships, the most renowned of such friendships thrived between the late Prime Minister LEE KUAN YEW and the late Senior Vice-Premier S. RAJARATNAM, the latter born and raised in Malay(si) a. Lee Kuan Yew shed tears in public at Rajaratnam's funeral. •Siddhartha: « he who achieves his aim » •Golden Mean (the Middle Way) : « away from all self-indulgence and selfmortification » •Nalanda: ancient university (in the present-day State of Bihar) to which several Chinese pilgrims like the renowned Yi-jing or I-tsing (635-713 CE) made their way to learn Sanskrit and Pali in order to translate Buddhist works to take back home. On the way, they stopped at SriVijaya in Sumatra for the very same reason. •Eight-Fold Path: right view; right intention; right speech; right action; right livelihood; right effort; right mindfulness; right concentration. •Bhodhidharma: a Tamil « Brahmin » who took the Buddha's teaching to China and there meditated for years facing a wall in a cave until followers sought his knowledge which gave birth to Chan in China and Zen in Japan. It is also said that he initiated the martial arts at Shao-lin. •Four Noble Truths: « Suffering as part and parcel of Life »; « Sensual craving as the cause of suffering »; « Acquisition of identity »; « Suffering can be eradicated by following the Eight-Fold Path » © T. Wignesan - Paris, October 10,2019 Beyond the Heart, the Head and the Soul reigns unsullied Belief Beyond the Heart, the Head and the Soul reigns unsulleable Belief How he blurted in a moment of self-lacerating glory-be pique Who will in a thousand years retrieve my poems from digital rot A thousand years grind grim in fermenting ocean-filth freak Rather think in terms of a hundred or two twisted tight in knot By then no scales may balance conflicting efforts set adrift Wild tsunamis would have raged over lands and cities lying low And the mighty and the rich abandon ports to set up amont aloft And none will seek to extend meaning beyond the beclouded glow None will batter brains split hairs over words poets proudly sow No conniving committees allocate prizes as at musical-chairs play Past the highest achievements scientific excellence on us bestow For neither love nor purity of soul will be Man's cultural mainstay For the stunted Psyché still wallows in the Doldrums of Belief By what we impute to holy Prophets Popes and Poets' mischief © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 7,2019 Translation of Mat POKORA's Je suis tombe by T Wignesan Translation of Mathieu POKORA's « Je suis tombé, tombé, tombé » by T Wignesan (NOTE: I just thought I'd translate the lyrics (see the French original herebelow) of this lilting catchy tune not just because of its self-mocking candid insouciance and playful seriousness, but also for the way the melody clings and swings all on its own - in the least expected of moments - in the hinterlands of one's leisureliness. There is something endearing about a guy who chants about himself being a victim of his « head-over-heels » love for a girl to the extent he feels he ought - in his confounded opinion - to be interned in a lunatic asylum (just imagine enduring strait-jackets, electroencephalograms, high-voltage charges to the brain and frontal lobotomy - all for his LOVE!) . Won't you agree?) Laid Low Am I, Fallen, Fallen If ever you forget The day our eyes first met All that we said to each other In the dim back of the bar If ever Life were To lend me no hand Abandon us both, no Wishing not to dally with us We'd be lost, that's for sure But not for very long We'd meet up again, I'm certain Even as it were a game for children Likely as not, we'd be lost But as time goes by Making it together again, for sure Like in those games of ours of yore (REFRAIN) : Fallen low am I, Fallen, Fallen Wounded Kudos, My Queen, you have won I've lost my bearings and ought to be interned Crushed low am I, crushed, crushed Low, low, mighty low Hurt in the heart am I All Hail, Liege! Your lowly subject am I Naught but a madman, a madman to be put away Have hit rock bottom, floundering down in the dumps If ever you take fright Trust in me I'll bear all your pain You'll see how things mend If ever you're given to doubt This promise I'll keep To keep you on a safe course With words of tenderness (REFRAIN) If ever you forget If ever you are afraid Know, never will it all end, no The joy in our hearts will never set If ever you forget If ever you are afraid It'll never be over, never Never (REFRAIN) © T. Wignesan - Paris, October 25,2019 Click on this un-official version of the song: https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=n0UC1ymzfnw 'Tombé' Si jamais t'oublies Nos premiers regards Tout ce qu'on s'est dit Dans le fond du bar Si jamais la vie N'est pas d'mon côté Ne veut pas de nous, non Ne veut plus jouer On se perdra, c'est sûr Mais jamais longtemps On se retrouvera, j'suis sûr Comme un jeu d'enfants On se perdra pour sûr Mais avec le temps On se donnera, c'est sûr Comme dans nos jeux d'antan Je suis tombé, tombé, tombé Je suis touché, bravo ma reine tu as gagné Je n'suis qu'un fou, un fou à enfermer Je suis tombé, je suis tombé Je suis tombé, tombé, tombé Je suis touché, bravo ma reine tu as gagné Je n'suis qu'un fou, un fou à enfermer Je suis tombé, je suis tombé Si jamais t'as peur Aies confiance en moi J'prendrai ta douleur Tu verras, ça ira Si jamais tu doutes J'te fais la promesse De garder sur ta route Les mots, la tendresse On se perdra, c'est sûr Mais jamais longtemps On se retrouvera, j'suis sûr Comme un jeu d'enfants On se perdra pour sûr Mais avec le temps On se donnera, c'est sûr Comme dans nos jeux d'antan Je suis tombé, tombé, tombé Je suis touché, bravo ma reine tu as gagné Je n'suis qu'un fou, un fou à enfermer Je suis tombé, je suis tombé Je suis tombé, tombé, tombé Je suis touché, bravo ma reine tu as gagné Je n'suis qu'un fou, un fou à enfermer Je suis tombé, je suis tombé Si jamais t'oublies Si jamais t'as peur C'est jamais fini, non Il est là le bonheur Si jamais t'oublies Si jamais t'as peur C'est jamais fini, non Non Je suis tombé, tombé, tombé Je suis touché, bravo ma reine tu as gagné Je n'suis qu'un fou, un fou à enfermer Je suis tombé, je suis tombé Je suis tombé, tombé, tombé Je suis touché, bravo ma reine tu as gagné Je n'suis qu'un fou, un fou à enfermer Je suis tombé, je suis tombé Je suis tombé, tombé, tombé Je suis touché, bravo ma reine tu as gagné Je n'suis qu'un fou, un fou à enfermer Je suis tombé, je suis tombé Published on June 30,2019 - Original lyrics by Mat POKORA. IF YOU PULL A LONG BREXITING FACE: XLIV IF YOU PULL A LONG BREXITING FACE: XLIV - 44 IF you pull a long-twisted Brexiting face Pulled three more years by Santa Theresa May « Eyes » to the Right and « Nose » to the Left gaze Is the fate of phase after Letwin amendment delay If you pull a long-pained Brexit-fixit-now face Deal or No-Deal come yet what the Devil may Scoff at Benn Act to be torn apart in court case Set then precedence in Case Law if PM won't obey If you still keep pulling that long Back-Stop face Stick foot in the slamming EURO door to stay Le Vieux Continent put-off by antique grimace Would Mary Queen of Scots excise Henry VIII's UK If you then pull the long borderless Irish face Migrant mice will grow fat on illicit trade mellée Till the microbiote in the innerns all borders efface And the Brexit Isles will split asunder in dismay Then if you pull the long put-together fallen face Towed across the Atlantic moored as the 51st to allay The fears of Norman Conquests taking over the States Guess who foists upon the World the Union Jack - Hurray! © T. Wignesan - Paris, October 19,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: XLIII - the Embalmed Mona Lisa under the Glass Pyramid IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: XLIII- the Embalmed Mona Lisa in the Glass Pyramid If you pull a long stymied face Make certain you peel eyes that do not stray Or else the faces you make will make-up put out-of-place Yet the legions who march past portrait make for dire prey If you keep pulling that mock long-pulled enigmatic face Not even oil on poplar buttressed by beech oak sycamore or maple Nor butterfly braces lock Mona Lisa's back-warping brace Sfumato style phase out smile eyelashes eyebrows from wood panel If you must pull that long neither nor face Two faces fused in one while in the family way Dumbfounded tourists be trampled under divisive gaze Did not Leonardo cross-eyed dab paint in reverie gay If you then insist on pulling a long-painted face Own mocking glances at François 1er's La Gioconda, nay Count yourself among millions Lady Gherardini's to praise Think of the billions it takes to care for her image and so pay Yet if you then keep pulling that long-amused face Watching myriad eyes searching the reasons for your precious sway Pied-Piper armies come trampling trapped in a momentary craze The pent-up pilgrims in your glass sanctum-sanctorum catharsis obey © T. Wignesan - Paris, September 25,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XLII - 42 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: 42 If you pull a long-bored acrimonious face Looking hardly at anyone passing your way Your sunken cheeks spiting your own face But those bitter bitten lips will give you away If you keep pulling that long forsaken-look face Wondering why each face will not own mask betray Slop around in slippers not deigning to tie shoe-lace Know that « la caque sent toujours le hareng »* all day If you then must keep pulling your long sagging face To thwart all and everything not going your way The noble Fa-Ling lines stop at the mouth without grace: The « Flying Serpent enters the mouth', the Chinese say If you still insist on pulling that long worsted face Since no-one will miss you once you're gone, you say Just think how many have not even by « contumace' Pulled a long lost face some weary dreary day So if you're the kind to pull a put-up pleasant face See no smile lurking in within the Sun's awakening ray Hear no Garden Warbler trill livening up the pace Know then, Friend, you're loose change in the cash tray Note: * Literally, in French, means: 'the herring barrel always stinks of herring », but figuratively, as in this instance, means: « you can't hide your origins ». (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, September 18,2019 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXX - Bang Bang Who Shot Me Down Like A Pariah Dog - Follow Up IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXX - Bang! Bang! Who Shot Me Down like an Unlicensed Pariah Dog! Follow Up! IF ever I had a country, a country without a dim shadow of a doubt not subject to the whistle of a Woman Referee nor of a Video Assistant Referee where bullets whistle supersonic from trigger-happy automatic weaponry And where, as you already know, I was unanimously called upon by common consent of the Congress and the Chief Executive - yes, including the ever-recalcitrant Senate to a no-decision-taking thwarting degree - to take into my sole healing hands the duty of imposing holy SILENCE in the pistol-packing « bang-bang » Land of the Free Where, most regrettably the Powers-that-Be, it appears, have failed to hark to the hints, innuendoes and warnings overtly embodied in our ULTIMATUM and humbly addressed to their Royal Highnesses who somewhat obliviously ignore the fate of some 50,000 of their compatriot-citizen subjects being held as « hostages » at the mercy of the bloodthirsty NRA Army crying out for some « human » BLOOD instead of the insipid Polar Bear and Ermine blood-stained ICE CREAM cones they are obliged to suck on to assuage their insatiable lust for splitting and spilling the contents of skulls in orgies And while we hear from our Dirty-Tricks-Department whose intrepid sions had infiltrated - not just for the pleasure cruise - the PACQUEBOTS during the initial pell-mell boarding spree THAT Admiral Greta THUNBERG has been nursing (yet to be verified) her own plans for annexing Hans Anderson territory for the greater glory of Greta Garbo country with an eye on the Nobel Peace Prize gratuity Even if we find it painfully difficult to understand how in the Hamlet Court no sign nor response is yet forthcoming to agree to the maximum of 10%(NOTE: we have raised the bar from well-under to the top!) of the $100 million buying fee offered by Harry S. Truman in his ATOMIC FOLLY for a mere chunk of useless GREEN-less rock with the icing thinning by the day everyone can see So, the QUESTION here is not just one of TO BE or NOT TO BE but one of what's brewing in Macbeth's WITCHES' CAULDRONS? -stoked by the NRA Army - the 50,000 Danes? who have no right to « be bloody, bold, and resolute » or « laugh to scorn » the apocalyptic fire and brimstone about to be unleashed on the WHOLE WORLD with one push on the remote control button whether SILENCE of late reigns in the You-Knighted Country YES, Siree! That's what I'd do - press the button - if ever I were appointed the SOLE REFEREE by Congressional decree And this, even if I never ever had no country ruled by the moule à gaufre/waffle iron of mighty musketry (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, September 11,2019 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXIX - Bang Bang Who Shot Me Down Like An Un-Licensed Dog IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXIX - Bang! Bang! Who Shot Me Down like an Unlicensed Dog! IF ever I had a country, a country certainly not subject to the whistle of a Woman Referee -- even of a Video Assistant Referee - where bullets whistle supersonic from trigger-happy automatic weaponry And if ever I were called upon by common consent of the House of Reps, the Senate and the Chief Executive - yes all three - to take into my sole healing hands the duty of imposing SILENCE in the pistolpacking « bang-bang » Land of the Free I would first and foremost send a Special Envoy - well-trained in the art of extracting gold from rotten teeth - to persuade the Nobel Committee (with besides a caveat to pressure the Swedish PM and Chief Justice from issuing a « non-ingérence » edict) to stay forthwith the conferment of the Nobel Prize to authors and poets for a century (writers who in any case would have secured by attaining their senior age ALL the principal publisher-controlled and mutuallyrotated prizes and who would have by that pinnacle-age amassed gigantesque illgotten gains through royalties) and instead implore the Nob-Com to let my country have the equivalent in weight of DYNAMITE in the care and production of the Alfred Nobel family Next, I'll charter all PAQUEBOTS, such as, the Queen Mary, the Queen Elizabeth - even the newly-salvaged and to be refurbished Titanic - and then I'll have their hulls loaded and packed to the brim with the Nobel Dynamite, and will I not then appoint? the fifteen-year-old THUNBERG as the Admiral-of-the-Fleet and will I not let it out? to ALL 300-million or more gun-owners yearning for some much-needed target practice the right to free-passage on these luxury liners together with their legally-acquired NRA-authorized automatic « manmowers » — all for the noble cause of annihilating from Europe thick, stumpy teens or hags who block all passages, side-walks, mall-halls, zebra-crossings, railway and airport entrances, y comprise « la plus belle avenue du Monde: les Champs-Elysées » with their 'ambling-rambling » gait - for a hard-to-miss target-drilling spree And then, when the licensed gun-owners trample over one another and their trillion-strong hunting-gear to get on board, all itching-ready to pump moltenlead into bulging, pulpy and thick-tough flesh, I'll order Admiral Thunberg to set course for GREENLAND under the pretext of getting and honing-in some target practice while sampling the local brand of ICE-CREAM laced with polar-bear and ermine blood, while all 50,000 Danish citizens line the shores to welcome the NRA-supporters with their automatics, I'd issue an ultimatum to His/Her Royal Danish Majesty once the hunting-corps take up strategic positions on Danish iced-soil to SELL the ISLE for less than 10% of the sum offered by Harry TRUMAN after WWII or ELSE face up to the aurora borealis detonation - through remote satellite control - of solid Swedish Nobel dynamite and face up to the fury of my NRA-Army YES, Siree! That's what I'd do if ever I were appointed the SOLE REFEREE by Congressional decree And this, even if I never ever had no country ruled by the moule à gaufre/waffle iron of mighty musketry (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, August 17,2019 UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: LV - Mind unwinding tweezers UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: LV - Mind unwinding tweezers If you let « bygones be bygones », there'll be no FUTURE left, and since we can't always live in the EVER PRESENT (yet that's what we all do) , WHAT are we living for? By the same token, if we « followed » the above dictum 'to the letter », there'd be no more WARS nor VENDETTAS, no more DIVORCES nor PATERNITY SUITS or even personal slights…. even if you don't know what I really mean! IF « It's an ill wind that brings/blows no one any good! », wherever you go, ensure that you have a thermometre on you, for the instant you feel the faintest breeze grace your temples, whip out your « thermo » and check your temperature, and if it's « normal », rush home and keep the windows and doors wide open in anticipation of PRESENTS (hope the apertures are wide enough to permit the passage of a shining Ferrari, for instance) that are bound to tumble into your lucky lap! You lucky Devil! This's a 'guessing game ». Someone once said: « Ich bin ein Berliner! » at the Brandenburg Gate to a large cheering crowd. Yet, no one bothered to check his birth certificate! When you know who called into question his predecessor's inalienable birth rights, he didn't doubt the veracity of the secret-valise codes he received from the man. Now, what would the President say in similar circumstances? « Ich bin ein Zzzzz..….! (fill in the blank space) « … the ball is in your court now » says the guy who has run out of words… not so the Coco girl who said - after winning - « I gave my Mom a heart attack! ' What's so 'rotten in Denmark' to keep « buyers » away… « No ifs and buts, I'll bet the shirt on my back » that we'd leave by October 31st. Will the EU buy that! « The British royalty will have to go if ever there were traffic jams » (due to the royal processions on London's streets) , said a Prince who still loves the rides attired in full regalia and refuses to go... « To a Poet, Who would have me praise certain bad poets, imitators of his and mine You say, as I have often given tongue In praise of what another's said or sung, ‘Twere politic to do the like by these; But was there ever dog that praised his fleas. « W. B. Yeats,1865 - 1939 Sir, mighty Nobel pen drunk on Gaelic langue 'Twere more politic to cut the dog's tongue And let the saliva drool on festering fleas Than to scratch with claws in joyful ease! T. Wignesan,19— - 20— (c) T. Wignesan, Paris, August 8,2019 UNQUOTABLE QUOTES - LIV: Swatting flies in Buckingham Palace from the White House UNQUOTABLE QUOTES - LIV: Swatting flies in Buckingham Palace from the White House When Bianca Nobilissima, the statuesque Sea Anne-Anne anchor in her Star-Trek heat-wave get-up exposing her sculptured architectural buoy spaces from head to heel (even Mr. Spock would raise eyebrows wishing he were human) disclosed - with the riotous rowdy Westminster Parliament for a backdrop - that she would give « anything » (? ? ?) to be (not necessarily verbatim) « a fly on the wall » during the British premiership « changing-of-the-guard » at Buckingham Palace just to see if the new Brexit-PM would actually « kiss » Her Majesty's graciously proffered hand or just merely « sniff » at it, to say the least, she must have had no inkling whatsoever of the grave danger she was courting for right in those phantasmagoric surroundings resides a DUDE who is a past-master at « swatting » flies whether on, against or behind the wall or, for that matter, even through the wall! Guess WHO was watching the same emission? for HE, too, proclaimed how he would love to be « a fly on the wall » just to listen to growls and growses in Democratic corridors of power on impeachment designs after the Senate Mueller hearings! ! ! The Teutonic strains in the principally Norman royal household might reverberate to the chilling ribaldry of the Koninklijke Chorale Caecilia -- (under the baton of Paul DINNEWETH and the ethereally uplifting voices: Martine REYNERS (soprano) , Philip DEFRANCQ (tenor) and Joris DERDER (baritone) -- through Carl ORFF's care-may-the-Devil-be: CARMINA BURANA performance: http: www.al-production.be Would that the newly-ordained PM recall the medieval poet's Old-German in these lines: Were din werit alle min von deme mere unze an den Rin, des weht ih mih darben, daz diu chunegin von Engellant lege an minen armen. Translation (taken from the internet without credits) : Were all the world mine from the sea to the Rhine, I would starve myself of it so that the Queen of England might lie in my arms. © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 29,2019 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXVIII IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXVIII for Suzanne DELANEY, in appreciation (Prelude: CAN THE WRONG MAN BE RIGHT? ABSOLUTELY! If only he were NOT guilty of the self-same crime! For instance, here in Europe, acceding to « nationality» status can be quite ludicrously irrational: those migrants even 'totally ignorant' of the host country's culture and official tongue obtain their 'citizenship papers » sooner or later, while clinging desperately to their own culture and country to the exclusion of their hosts'- some more fortunatethough enjoy « dual nationality » and therefore DUAL rights to LOYALTY ! And talk tough once they take over responsibile positions in society. And the ones on whom the latter prey most of all are precisely those « other» less fortunate migrants at their mercy!) IF ever I had a country, a country NOT « wholly' put together by either IMMIGRANTS or REFUGEES, you see, but by conquering IMPERIAL ENSLAVERS on the backs of blacks and on those fleeing from hunger, from religious intolerance as 'indentured-labourers », mainly, you'll agree WHERE the indigene was routed and rounded up into RESERVES through superior 'fire-power' by the COLONIAL and local ARISTOCRACY AND where TAXES and LEVIES imposed by the « Foreign Power » drove the locally-born MASTER to revolt against the MOTHER COUNTRY Until the whole CONTINENT united « nation » after « nation » to become the foremost mid-twentieth century « COLONIAL » SAVIOUR of the WORLD country Only to find its internal structure and economic power usurped by other NON-NATION constituting ethnies AND one-by-one take over from the original WASP founding PATER FAMILIAS confederacy Yes, then, I'd keep the NEW-COMER from wagging his/her tongue or shooting his/her mouth tout azimuth - despite the legislative mandate - as though he/she were the backbone of the nation or from attempting to take over my « dear » country as if it were their « god-given » patrimony Even if I never ever had no country stuck together with spit and elbow-grease to look like a pyrotechnically-powere Bollywoodian jamboree (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, July 22,2019 UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: LIII - Tongue Teasers UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: LIII - Tongue Teasers Whether the glass is « half full » or « half empty », what counts is WHO « drank' the 'other half », the « better half »? Lucky Devil! « By hook or by crook » always drag the virgin in to read your book while you devise ways to make her your life-long cook! This's probably what the French mean by the phrase: « défrayer un territoire vièrge » (i.e., « open up virgin territory ») , say, in reference to fundamental research. When preachers want you to be the epitome of « milk of human kindness », do they want you to suck or suckle breasts? Don't make a fuss about not wanting to receive presents of not much value, for you can always give them away to the poorer cousin clan residing in hutments down the road. If you « croc-a-dile », even once in a while (depending on whether the tile was made of mud, concrete or platinum) , you risk being fed for the rest of your life with infusions via tubes. Why « make hay while the sun shines » when you can simply free all the caged herbivorous animals we raise to feed ourselves, and after they would have supped to their hearts' content, just shoot and slaughter and devour them? True, « the dog is Man's best friend », but only so long as he continues to feed the dog; otherwise, as in the recent case of a dying recluse in the States, dogs will feed themselves on the Master (it's not clear whether he was alive or dead) — clothes, flesh and bones to boot! (Anthony Burgess described in one of his novels a case of having to traverse at one's own risk a monkeyinfested forest. One great big-hearted man carried bags of nuts to appease their hunger whenever he had to gain the other side of the forest. One fine day, he clean forgot to haul the bags of nuts, and he just dldn't make it across the wild in one piece!) If you « cast pearls before swine », know that they would lap it up without compunction and expel the same with the habitual choruses of grunts, together with the abominable swill husbandmen feed them, and you would have a hard — if not a beastly - time extracting them from the nauseating quagmire of sties, that is, if the abattoir-butchers would not contest your rights to the pearls! If you don't believe me, go see 'The Texas Chain Saw Massacre' (1974) : you, too might get your head caved in with a sledge-hammer, your twitching body dumped in the deep-freeze or hung on a steel hook against the wall awaiting carving to supply the local butcher right round the corner! To catch a monkey, all you have to do is to bore a small hole in a coconut for it to get its hand through to the luscious kernel: the monkey will grab as much of the kernel in its submerged hand and be trapped. It wouldn't occur to the monkey to let go of the kernel to extract its hand free! The case of « Freedom Fighters » always wanting more territory than they know they can legitimately aspire or lay claim to. And what do « freedom fighters », who have been defeated by the overwhelming forces of the State, do after the rebellion or revolution? The few surviving leaders will write poetry or cultivate their philosophic image for posterity; the rest - the rank and file and cadres - deprived of civil-life training or upbringing and a general education turn to « organized » crime for a living, to wit, theft, drug-dealing, sexual exploitation for personal gain, money-lending and the nefarious international remittance business, trafficking in the lucrative migrant « slave-trade » and also the legitimate catering and grocery trade — all coming under the umbrella of the respectable IMPORT-EXPORT business nomenclature! After the lost revolution Even the failed rebellion Remain collected funds bullion Cash stashed by the? ? ? million Make 'them' bourgeois onion To pay politicking henchmen- minion! (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, July 17,2019 UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: LII 52 - Tongue-Tweezers UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: LII - Tongue Tweezers Tit for Tat Butter for Fat Rat for Cat Left for Right Day for Night Might for Right Tick for Tack Lick for Lack Lice for Sack Rice for Mice Dice for Vice Nice for Voice Sap for Lap Cap for Gap Rap for Nap Loose for Tight Pound for Bite Penny for Wight Lord for Light Black for White Diddle for Riddle Fiddle for Middle Horse for Sadle Stable for Fable Jingle for Jangle Bungle for Wrangle Mingle for Mangle Single for Double Goble for Gamble Mumble for Rumble Lass for Dad Had for Glad Mom for Mad Laid for Paid Brother for Maid Died for Raid Bow for Wow Row for Sow Slew for Brow Seed for Reed Need for Weed Greed for Deed Pine for Mine Brine for Wine Sign for Line Whine for Dine Groin for Loin Grind for Join Bread for Würst Butter for Toast Steak for Roast Trumpet for Boast Storms for Coast Armour for Joust Bat for Mat Ball for Bat Hole for Rat Den for Lion House for Sion World for Zion Tit for Tat Gutter for Rat Rap for VAT Flour for Oven Levure for Leaven Govern for Heaven! Sign by Sign Line by Line Words di-vine? (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, July 14,2019 UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: LI 51 - Tongue-Teasing Epigrams UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: LI - Tongue-Teasers If you want to give someone a « taste of his own medicine', you must first obtain sufficient quantities of the same medicine in the market, and if it's out-of-stock - TOUGH LUCK! - you have to employ some pharmaceutical company to manufacture it for you! GOOD LUCK! If you write « poetry » without first acquainting yourself with what has already been put out in the field over the ages - which might take/cost you a few « lifetimes » wholly devoted to the task - you might only be « beating the dead horse » over and over again, severally in theme, tone and style. TANT PIS ! If, on the other hand, someone or some school (might even be a « publisher ») tells you they can « teach » you how to write « great poetry », you should first try them out by asking them to write it themselves and win all the coveted prizes available (and they are legion!) in the field, y compris the NOBEL, before obviously following their advice, though they might not take kindly to hearing this from you, especially if you are a poet, yourself! « Poetry' can be a very lucrative commodity bandied about by businessmen! If, by common consent of all the governments in the world, LAWYERS/SOLLICITORS and their ilk are put on « salary » - financed through appropriation of one $ or one € from every wage-earner (the latter wouldn't mind at all!) - there is little doubt for conjecture, before the end of the present generation ALL LAW FACULTIES all over the world will close down for good! Likewise, if all governments paid so-called CHARITABLE ORGANIZATIONS (with some notable exceptions like, perhaps, UNICEF, AMNESTY INTERNATIONAL, INSTITUT PASTEUR, MEDECINS SANS FRONTIER, to name just a few) to keep them from producing highly expensive publications in glossy techni-colour print (which no one ever reads, I'm certain, and which stokes the colossal « waste disposal » industry) , the « lungs » of the world like the Brazilian jungles won't be suffering from DEEP VEINOUS THROMBOSIS! True, « CRIME DOES (NOT) PAY », yet it's the « criminal » who gets richer and richer at the expense of his victims, and, as everybody already knows, the « best » and richest lawyers are at the rich man's beck and call to keep the LAW at bay! LEGISLATION is almost always written by lawyer-politicians who provide « loopholes » for those who know how to look for them! Whoever said: 'JUSTICE is blind' is him/her-self « purblind »! Back to Aurélien BARRAU, the young French Astrophysicist and Philosopher-Poet (he obtained with the highest academic honours « doctorates » in astro-physics and philosophy from the best French academic establishments) - is right now the foremost « advocate » most eloquently campaigning against « climate change » issues in France and has publicly declared, with proof in hand, that « climate change » is IRREVERSIBLE and its catastrophic consequences will occur in the lives of our children. (See his book out this year: LE PLUS GRAND DEFI de l'HISTOIRE de l'HUMANITE: Face à la catastrophe écologique et sociale. Paris: Ed. Michel Lafon,2019, 145p.) Here are relevant quotes from this book: « Certain trends in the excesses of consumerism will by necessity result in economic decline. Perhaps even, sometimes, in the loss of comfort. But, if the (detrimental ecologic) situation were to become « lethal » - and this's the case today - economic growth cannot make any sense or be of any interest. The means defeats the end. » (p.34) (…) « To migrate towards a vegetarian regime of dieting would be very beneficial for ecology: the industry devoted to meat production is one of the most pollution prone imaginable. One kilogram of beef requires 10,000 litres of water, even a calory of meat requires 4 to 11 calories of vegetable matter, animal husbandry emits more green-house gas than all other human activity - including transport - and, in 2050, this will be the primary cause of penury in food in the world. » And he goes on to say that the avoidance of meat consumption will reduce the incidence of cardio-vascular, diabetic and cancer-inducing diseases. (pp.35- 36) (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, July 12,2019 UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: L 50 - Tongue-Teasing Epigrams UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: L (50) - Tongue-Teasers The « early bird catches the worm » only because the worm has not woken up yet. « I don't love you! I hated your father! » - must be the real reason why « Mother F.….r » is so popular a swear-word (correct me if I'm wrong) In the USA. Is being « down and out » just a passing condition of being « broke and depressed » or the more serious predicament of being « technically knocked out » cold on your back? ? ? ? « Time and time again » the Church or Temple bells toll to keep the worshipper away by reminding him of the « hidden » trap about to be sprung. The 'true believer' follows his own « conditioned reflexes' which don't wring his conscience. If you grow tired of the wife's cooking, invite friends to dinner, and they'll be honour-bound to let you sample theirs. But, if you grow averse to the wife's jokes in bed, best to invite your enemies to share the conjugal bed. You'll soon make lots of friends, followed by lots of dinner parties with the promise of delicious post-prandial desserts. Generally, « shooting Stars » shoot themselves while sliding down slippery holly wood or hanging from the holly tree when the agent overlooks the Star for some one more « willing » and younger. The Manager-Trainer who « chucks in the towel » even before the final countdown - despite the protesting affirmations of his « poulain » that he could go yet another dozen rounds - has to be the only humane soul in a sado-masochistic world of « bear-baiting » barbarity where two trained performers batter each other's brains to the accompaniment of wild screams and yells of blood-thirsty drunks insensitive to broken bleeding noses, caved-in swollen black-eyesockets, broken ribs and concussion - the image of Muhammad Ali's delirium tremens palsy! The « priceless jewel » is almost always a Classical Master's painting adorning « sfumato » most palatial buildings under high security guard, but a true poet's words merely string some broken pearly line in the fading memory of a sensitive soul to make him look out into the chirping chastening world! Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo were both illegitimate and both apprenticed to Masters at an early age at their own wilfull asking. Both showed genius at an early age and were the object of much envy from teacher as well as peers. Leonardo kept notes by writing backwards and was ambi-dextrous. He's remembered for 'Mona Lisa » and the « Last Supper » and for his anatomical and mathematical sketches and drawings. Michelangelo was compelled by patrons to paint, instead of working on sculpture which was his forté. Witness « David ». Yet, his paintings imbibed as he painted glorify the 'Cistine Chapel'. With compass through calculus With scalpel on 'stolen » corpses With paint in sfumato colours Thru back-neck-bending calouses With dreams of 'winged' opuses Frescoes or burial sculptures Wills of born and made geniuses When Megan was interviewed after the match and was asked to display her now famous « Bolt-like' stance, she obliged and said: « This's called the s..t-eating grin! » Now, what would her HAKKA look like on Inauguration Day! Hers! This's in response to Ronald Hull's comment on my Unquotable Quotes: XLIX in Authorsden.com, dated 6/7 July 2019: « According to the French Astrophysicist and philosopher-poet Aurélien BARRAU, b.19 May 1973, in Paris - a Senior Research Fellow (and Full Professor at the University of Grenoble-Alpes) with the French National Centre for Scientific Research (CNRS) , Honorary Member of the Institut Universitaire France, Visiing Professor at Stanford and Princeton, the 2006 Laureate of the Russian Bogoliubov Prize, among others - no scientific theory, apart from - for the moment - Einstein's Special and General Relativity theories - can be proven to be wholly valid or be taken definitely into account in the overall assessment and calculation of the COSMOS's underlying functional principles in all its detail be it the Big Bang or Big Crunch or BIG BOUNCE or the behaviour of the BLACK HOLES, etc., (though he somewhat defers to the « String Theory » and the « Multi-Verse » concept, and critiques Einstein's lack of foresight in the comprehension of the role of « particle physics » in the scheme of things entire. Here is a relevant quote: 'Que des génies absolus comme Newton ou Einstein (et d'autres) aient contribué de façon décisive est évidemment indéniable. Mais l'essentiel des progrès est dû à un magnifique effort collectif qui ne relève pas du « est-ce Monsieur A ou Madame B qui a raison? ». C'est beaucoup plus subtil et intriqué que cela. Nous ne sommes pas dans une arène de « parieurs » qui doivent miser sur le bon cheval. Le meilleurs choix est souvent un contrepoint de propositions qui s'entremêlent. ' My translation (take it for what it's worth) : 'That the great geniuses like NEWTON or EINSTEIN (and others) had contributed in a decisive way (to our knowledge) is undeniably evident. But the essence of progress is due to a laudable collective effort which does not depend on « whether it was Mister A or Madam B who was right? » It's much more subtle and involved than that. We are not in an arena of « bettors » who are called upon to bet on the winning horse. The best choice is often the counterpoint of propositions which intertwine. » (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, July 9,2019 UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: XLIX - Tongue Teasers UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: Tongue-Teasers - XLIX « Third Degree » is when you add « Insult to injury ». If you take everything everybody says with a « pinch of salt », we'll soon be able to drink ocean water free of charge - and eat plastic weeds and fish growing on the shores. A « sweet tooth » soon rots to the root. If you send coal to Newcastle, you'll feel the heat as far down in your muscles as/at Neuchatel or Machu Pichu castle! 'Think twice' before you jump but don't jump anyway, for thinking so is a « vice » and thinking « twice » won't make it any the more « wise » or « nice »! If you don't « listen' to what you normally « say', you risk having both your ears boxed-in tight! If SALSA is favela-bred « dirty-dancing », then TANGO is stylish, high-class but prudish titillating « teasing ». A « yawn » is a « yarn » about it being not so much a sign of insomnia or even boredom as an act of having lost the thread of the speech or argument in a debate on the stage. By « tightening the belt » when times get hard, the Wise Guy who coined the phrase really meant to say: « Don't « indulge » yourself or else you'd have an « extra mouth » to feed! A wrinkled brow is only « an unmade bed » at the end of the night - not a sign of wisdom or authority! A « scrum » in rugby is not so much an « head-on » clash as a « bum-stretching » exercise: the last anchor-man stifles snorting! Andalusian Flamenco dancers who are invariably women at most « palos », imitate/mimic the MALES of birds in the courting process through frisky headand- hind-jutting movements while their men - mostly - prefer to sit it out with « palmas » - clapping their women onto greater action. Who courts whom ? ? ? ? Do English football fans sing « Swing Low, Sweet Chariot… » at football matches because they want to be taken back to Africa without their « chains »? ? ? ? ? Who took them to the Americas in the first place? ? ? ? ? Are you having « sex » when you masturbate? Answer « Yes » and you are right! Answer « No » and you're right tight! Which girls are the best? Those who enjoy themselves? Or, those who let you enjoy yourself? Answer the « former » and you're ….. Answer the « latter » and you're equally….. The Child is Father of the Man, but Man is Father of any and of all the « gods », for not only he 'invented' them (as figments of his imagination) , but has been interfering with the Will of the Almighty ever since… What goes up must come down? ? ? Even if all objects « fall » at the same speed, owing to « gravity », the French astro-physicist and philosopher-poet maintains that it's the Earth that catapults itself to receive the falling objects (correct me if I'm wrong, Aurélien) . The question is, When thunder strikes down onto the earth, is it the Earth which produces and projects THUNDER from down under? ? ? Isn't it, then, rather a question of « What goes up, goes up and stays UP! » NOT « What comes down! » This's for Dr. Edward Phillips at Authorsden.com in response to his comment on UNQUOTABLE QUOTES XLVIII: Tongue-Teasers (Poetry) - 7/6/2019 5: 51: 28 AM 'Your are either wise beyond reason, or unreasonably wise. I haven't yet got you figured out. But I'm getting onto you..I think.': The response: « The LAST barrier to fall is still the INTELLECTUAL barrier, after the SKIN, HAIR, NOSE, CHIN, BROW and SEX barriers! » Happy hunting! (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, July 6/7,2019 UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: XLVIII - Tongue Teasers UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: XLVIII - Tongue Teasers If the « Yellow Race » could have invented the alphabet, they wouldn't still be seeing « Images » when they close their eyes. Picasso, Dadaism, Surrealist and Abstract painting (including Borroughs and Gysin's cut-up and fold-in techniques) is the art of representing Chinese characters upside down, backwards and upwards - all jumbled up in one frame at a time! Bad breath results from swearing; fragrant breath from not breathing while you are talking nonsense. If you tell no lies, you'll never be believed! He/She who rides pillion is a « tail-carrier »! Be choosy about making friends and you'll end up at Land's End! A missed « home-run » is when you get home just too late to catch the guy slipping out of the back-door! If you can't tell a « swallow » from a « bellow », that's because you've got your mouth full or is it because it's a mouthful? A Teetotaller is a « tea-taster » of tea cups on a golf course to see if they were laced with green-tea leaves or « grass »! Mountaineering is the art of endearing yourself to ZEUS in the hope of being promoted to the pantheon of Greek gods at Olympus Mountain. Mountaineers, therefore, should not be rescued at the expense of the taxpayers' money. Make ZEUS pay, if you can! Since you are at the top/head of the evolutionary ladder/table, eat what you can and « cane » what you can't to better digest them! Jack of 'all trades » couldn't make a living with spades, so he scaled Jack's Bean Stalk, stole and sold the « beans » to build a Castle in the Air, all to no purpose, for the Spanish authorities refused to provide the sewerage system; that's how building 'castles in the air » became an Iberian specialty. Witness whole new townships lying fallow in the Costa del Sol, for example! When « God » created Man, He made certain the inhabitants of the Land of the Rising Sun would never be able to trace their origins back to…. and condemned them to eating « whale » meat forever and ever! When HOMO ERECTUS on his long late trek from Africa, some 55,000 years ago, set out to seek a more durable partner, he met NEANDERTHAL MAN fleeing the Ice Age's rigours and ravages, and the two met and copulated in the Mid-East and gave Modern Man our common genome. The question is, How did they communicate? How do you say, in sign language, « Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir? » (Translated: « Do you want to ‘sleep' with me tonight?) French style, please! Here's an attempt: ? @ % # () $? €? = + X X X + X X X V §! = * * * * * * * * * * * * * Will you let my goats graze on your downy pastures? What if sharp horns get stuck in my deep dentures? That'll give our kids much gamboling pleasures. When Shirley MacLaine (Bless her cheeky Soul!) saw a great big golden-haired 'Atlantis Man » standing right behind her in the Canary Islands (where she went to film, I presume) , the same question crops up: in which tongue did they « rub » minds? Must be ante-Homer Uhr-Greek, of course! Or perhaps in Red-Indian sign language? (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, July 4/5,2019 THREE WAYS of Swiping the World Cup THREE WAYS of Swiping the World Cup 'It is sweet and fitting/glorious to lay your life down for your country » - from a poem by HORACE (See my story selected to represent France in the 2006 World Cup held in Germany, entitled: « ZERO - ZERO » and published in Everyone has a Good Story: football. Barcelona: caféDiverso,2006, pp.158-156. (Maximum length of stories: 1800 words.) Manager/Coach: …a well-aimed kick at the hamstring should do the trick Player: …what…where's the string anyway M: …you mutt head…don't you know anything outside of the G-string P: …you're asking me to do…to commit a crime M: …so…this's for your country…your nation's glory is at stake P: …right there in front of all the world watching M: …so what…when the invasion takes place, cameras are ready to report the glorious sacrifice of the patriot…think of the Normandy landings P: …you mean, this…this what you're asking me to do in broad limelight is excusable M: …what d'ya think…how many cups are won thru respect of the game's rules or even of other « allied » teams P: …I don't know if I really can expose myself in that fashion M: ….d'ya want to warm the reserves' bench all thru the cup knock-out stage P: …ai…ai…what if I miss and kick her calf or something M: …what if I put you out of the next stage lineup P: … you wouldn't do that…who'll replace me M: …you want to bet…look it's simple…keep your eyes on the referee…when she looks the other way, jab your boot right into her heel... from the back... P: …what about the crowd… M: …they'd be all roaring raucous mad, half out of joy, the other half in pain P: …what about the VAR guys M: …what about them…they'd be watching the action taking place elsewhere, besides all that festive flabbergast will dazzle their eyes and cripple their minds P: …you sure will put me in right from the start…no? ...not like that Dolphin Maccaroni gal forced to sit it out game after game… all for just a couple of minutes at the end… the best charger with the ball I've played against...when she bounces down the turf, it's like a shoal of dolphins riding the crest of a tsunami, I tellya M: …you agree to do this for your country and I'll guarantee ya full play-time but if you don't, your number will be up on the HUBLOT board before half the half-time P: …so I have no choice M: …you're a clever girl… so you agree…ok…just a couple of other chores, if ya don't mind… when there's a scramble for the ball right in front of our goal, just make sure you use both hands to deflect the ball away from the goal-posts P: …what d'ya mean…deflect with hands…that's a penalty for sure M: …not any more…the rules have been changed since before the quarter-finals… now you can handle… even fondle the ball or even berth it under your jersey an' Molly-coddle it an' walk right into the goal… no penalty… go right ahead and try… in fact, don't try…just do it OR P: …don't blame me if I get a RED card then M: … don't ya worry…just do what I tellya and you'll make it to the next World Cup safely bound P: …look, if that's what it is, I'll see what I can do M: … don't just 'see' what you can do…DO IT OR else P: … well, do you think you can put all this in writing and affix your signa… M: … the only thing you'll see if you don't agree to do what I want is the tv screen in your hotel room… don't ya see, the nation's honor is at stake P: …ok…ok since you put it that way M: ...bright girl….now there's just one other thing… you know that mastodon who drills unstoppable goals thru rat holes P: …you mean that champion with the short platinum mop M: …yeah, I mean the same alright… the rest of the time on the field, keep close to her…in fact, close enough to whisper your private number in her ears… soon enough she'll get the point, but stay stuck to her… so stuck so she can't keep her feet on the ball… make eyes at her... if she still doesn't take the hint...trip her up and fall right onto her an' don't get up till they carry both of you out on the same stretcher... P: …what ya trying to do…make me a … M: … remember this's for your country… dulce et decorum est pro patria mori… (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, June 30,2019 UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: XLVII - Tongue-Twisting Epigrams UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: XLVII - Tongue Twisters If you want to « have » your cake and « eat » it at one and the same time, simple enough, just split it into two equal parts like an isosceles triangle into two right-angle triangles; then « eat » (take a bite) at one half first, then « have » (another bite) at the other half of the cake and so on and so forth until there's nothing left. Correct me if I'm wrong, since the true value of PI - the circumference of a circle divided by its radius - can never be properly ascertained/calculated (damn the Roman soldiers for murdering Archimedes at Syracuse just when he was about to make the discovery) , how is it possible that NASA landed its spacecraft on the moon in 1969 and brought the astronauts back to Earth? A mere decimal point(s) difference in the trillions so far made available by highpowered computers could, I presume, land the spacecraft in Andromeda. Well, I'm exaggerating, of course! But, Aurélien Barrau, the French astrophysicist and philosopher poet, affirms that NO scientific theory is « exact' (barring Einstein's Relativity theories for the moment) for they can never be proven to be « exact » since they require an infinite number of experimental proof not just on Earth, but in the far-flung corners of the expanding Universe to be held true and verifiable forever… And Barrau is an honorable man! If you look into a mirror and see your left as your left, right as your right, top under bottom, and back to front, it simply means, My Friends, you're DEAD as doornails! ARS GRATIA MARTIA Women who ride horses astride should marry horses. No ordinary man can please them in their bumping élan stride. True, one « swallow » doesn't make for a « summer' of joy, but it could help you put the « pill » down before it gets stuck in the gullet and keeps you from raising yet another unwanted « feller ». Aim high in life and the harder you'd fall! - the story of politicians, tyrants and emperors, to cut the story short… We're all « losers » at one time or another, but the one who survives it all is the ONE who knows how to shove the blame onto others. Do those who suck up to the 'Perons' sell well their records to Gauchos in the Savanas (casting no aspersions on their innate talents, nor on the excellence of the lyrics and melodiy) being in « sixes and sevens » with them! Blow your own trumpet and you'll end up out-of-breath. « Blow » some one else's, and you'd likely end up choked to death! Why do tyrants, self-appointed emperors and other martial-minded « mentors » always want to get their butt's kicked by marching their men up to Moscow? ? ? A « cad » by any other name is still a CAD who must prey on some defenseless orphan. The latter from then on wishes/prays to have his name changed to hide his shame. If you take a « leak » in a puddle, it'll still look like a puddle, though much of a muddle owing to the mud in its gravel. STOP looking for the 'needle in the haystack' and reduce it to a hackneyed phrase of a metaphor by using instead a laser-detector. If you « lie in the bed you make », does it really matter who crowds you out for love's sake? ? ? Presidents and/or Prime Ministers Run their countries through speeches Written by obscure ghost-writers Who themselves plagiarise poetasters Who siphon punchlines from philosophers And poets shunned by publishers To reign as « Intellectual » preachers « A banana a day keeps the West Indian away (from England) », said the Trinidadian Nobel Literature laureate V.S. Naipaul in the fifties, but who would keep Brexit Britain from dancing to the tune of the Steel Bands when the British West Indian cricket batsmen knock the hell out of the West Indian fast bowlers when they charge down the Pavilion end on to the pitch at Lords? ? ? Perhaps the East Indian British? ? ? (One famed woman paramour claims they don't have the « staying power » required to keep her going even for a year!) (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, June 27,2019 UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: XLVI - Tongue-Twisting Epigrams UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: XLVI - Tongue-Twisting Epigrams An aborted foetus never stops growing in the mind of the aborted mother. She never tires of making more babies to nurture the memory of the aborted baby. The Heart and Soul are as close as the Foot and Sole: they are up to no good; they smell just as bad. Don't curry favour with a woman who likes it hot. Waste not, want not: you can neither not want water nor waste it and re-use it, immediately. It's an ill-wind that brings no-one any fragrant smells or scents. A tight-fisted man often dies intestate. Eat what you can and what you can't - slaughter them first before you can them. Think of the « Devil » and you bet he'll turn up for sure! If only the « Debtor » would do likewise! « Running Dogs » is the nickname of dogs whose muzzles never stop running while they are in the act of running. If you pay for sex, it would be wise not to « eat it » as well, though most of the « sex » offered for free is worse than the « bite' of the African Killer Bee. A square peg in a round hole makes the hole hissing hot, heaving and heavenly. Laws are made to be broken, so are hearts. Take a break and break the Laws first. Mind your own business and the Stock Market will go bust. A Tycoon in a Typhoon Fell into a swiveling swoon So he took a big spoon Shoveled enough of his boon And gave it all to a goon Who dumped it in a spittoon Typhoon blew him to the Moon. Uni-Verse is a one-line poem. Multi-Verse: infinite one-line poems. Free-Verse: maddening, chaotic non-sensical non-poems. If you pour oil on troubled waters, the Mid-East will go up in smoke and the rest of the World will live in relative peace throughout the millennium, but the Republican Party will then be tussling attempting to extirpate the Democratic spike in its hind quarters with nuclear pliers. Since, according to the astro-physicist philosopher-poet Aurélien Barrau, both Time and Space are like ourselves mere 'objects in evolution' in the Cosmos - in other words, mere « contents » not the « containers » - how is it possible that we have all a fixed and readable past somewhere on Earth? ? ? A loose tongue is a lost tongue. It usually hangs out long at the mouths of joints frequented by late night revelers. An Englishman's house is his castle, but he won't mind if you let him stay for centuries to run your country. In the Land of the Rising Sun, everybody rises with the sun and keeps it for himself for fun. The Sun never sets on those who rise with the sun. A Red Indian is a Denisovian Homo Erectus from Africa before he became a Chinese, crossed by the Neanderthal Heidelbergensis. Indians are not humans, but 'Superior Caste Hindus'. Since we are all genetically hybrids, what's the good in harping on the 'Nation» as a community or breed? ? ? Or on the United Nations of America? ? ? The way male trainers and managers handle and hug their wards in the Women's World Cup, it is plain they would have a hard time making it into the Oval Office, unless they also take to « twittering » with gusto on a daily basis. (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, June 25,2019 UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: XLV - Tongue-Teasing Epigrams UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: XLV - Tongue teasing epigrams A stitch in time can save an arranged marriage and stave off a family feud, not to mention everlasting vendettas. Still waters run deep in sleep. When the hens begin to crow, the cocks don't grow. A whipped dog bites not the whip that flails it, but the hand that feeds it just for the nonce. When in Rome do as Nero did, but watch out for Brutus's unkindest cut of all. Empty vessels often return from the Spice Isles laden with gold, cinnamon and measles. If you want to paint the town red, first make certain you have loads and loads of red paint. If the pot keeps calling the kettle « Black », well, just read the Charter of Human Rights to it; contrariwise « electrify » both. If it rains cats and dogs, just eat ‘em and save enough money for a trip to the Riviera to watch cats and dogs parading Stars in diamond-studded leashes. Want not, beg not, but choose the charities you give to. Beggars are not choosers but prostitutes are! ADULTery - What if the spouses were teenagers or even children! In which case, why not: « TEENAGery » or « CHILDery »? If you think in terms of « adulterate », then why not: « ADULTERATERY »? ? Cows that think that the other shore is always greener should wear glasses. Pies in the sky are reserved for astronauts and Mr. Spock's fleet crew. An apple a day can cost more than a doctor some day the way the Arctic is already melting. Forewarned is fore-damned. When lightning strikes you, it matters little whether you « hear » thunder near or far away. A woman who tango(e) s without a partner looks like a jigsaw-puzzle up-sidedown. Keep punching and you'll end up with tinnitus ringing in your later (y) ears. You don't need a lawyer to tell the « whole » and « nothing » but the TRUTH in a criminal court, but then the Jailor might not be particularly fussy about the truth; He/She only wants to know if you had broken the Law. A lawyer is a lire Salvaged from the mire Trample not its attire Subject of much satire Paragon of righteous fire In duty-bound entire Oh! What a lordly Sire! Since, according to the astro-physicist Aurélien Barrau, It's not the Earth's gravity which makes the Moon revolve round us - for it progresses like the Earth in a straight-curved line round the Sun - should not the Chinese take a second look at the Lunar Calendar on which the Yi Jing's « temps principle » is based? ? ? Parallel lives never greet! (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, June 23,2019 UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: XLIV - Tongue-Teasing Epigrams UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: XLIV Don't translate poems if you want yours read. A pain in the ass is a pain nevertheless. A « race' in any other language is still the shape of the nose. Every cloud hides shining gold that reveals the silver lining. It's the darkest cloak which keeps its silver from jingling in its lining. Every clout makes you see silver stars while lining up for more stout. It never rains but giggles. Don't put all your eggs in one basket; just lay them. The child is farther from the man. Spare the rod and drill the child (with electric…) The proof of the pudding is in the ridding Burn the candle at both ends and end up keeping midnight oil vigil in the igloo. Do tight-rope walkers eat only string hoppers? The Piped-Piper pipes a pitiful panegyric to Pan past the precipice… The « dachshund' trotting out on an outing with its master never fails to take its house - under the same roof - for an airing. Even a stitch in time cannot save the rhyme in the above run-on line. Rats tend to desert a ship full of lousy fat cats. The pot calling the wok: mad! The wok calling the kettle: cad! The kettle calling the pan: bad! The pan calling the cook: lad! The cook calling the « chef': Dad! All groggy agog and cooking glad! A chip of the old computer hard-disk block. All the World's a cage. An eye for an eye multiplies drives; tit for tat and that's that. Two and Two make Two times Two. 2 + Too make Two Toos. No? If you beat about the bush, the Bushes most likely'll not complain, but if you beat the Bushes, you would have nothing to gain. A State within a State (l'Etat dans l'Etat) , a Nation breeds a single State, yet no Nation or State rules those who secretly usurp the State. If you went and told it to the Marines every time somebody tells you to, you'll have precious little left to tell your psychoanalyst, psychiatrist or Priest, but fat chance the Church will close down even if you shut up for good. (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, June 21,2019 UNQUOTABLE QUOTES: XLIII - Tongue-Teasing Epigrams UNQUOTABLE QUOTES - XLIII(Continued) A black-listed writer tops every publisher's reading list. Half a loaf is better than no love. Don't dig your ears while tying your shoe laces. Just wear slippers. Eat only what's available in the stable if you're able to put it on the table. A friend in need is a friend who feeds your greed. Take care of the Ps and the wife will take good care to Pound you. A journey of a thousand miles ends with the last step, said Old Tse. Kill not the brother-in-law, not until the sister is dead. If you butter your bread on both sides, you'll better learn the art of licking hands. Hang not the hangman with his own noose. Make sure to shoot him before you hang him. Even a blind cat has to rat-race. Take the load off your own fat before you scat. Shoot to kill only if your will will not let you stand still. A marked man is the marksman's man. A dime a dozen always turns up when you're frozen. He who cries thief - even in mischief - is often the chief of the thieves. Turn coat and betray the holes in your shirt. A snake in the grass cannot tell leather souls from top brass. Early to bed makes the lass grow stealthy, squelchy and full of lice but nice. Immolate yourself and learn that you can moult your soul. Even if you're forced to burn your boats, you'll always stay afloat by eating oats. Where there's a will, there's no giving way/away. Run with the hares and you'll surely drop into snares. Hunt with the hounds and you'll surely make many kinds of sounds. Run with the hares and hunt with the hounds and you'll eat yourself out-ofbounds. Birds of a feather pay the same tailor. What goes up bursts into fireworks before it comes down in fluff and ash. All that glitters cannot be sold unless you run your own tv show. If you judge books by their torn covers, you'll probably end up singing Op(e) rah in Amanpour. If you kick the can down the street often enough, you'll end up in the Women's World Cup canned. (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, June 18,2019 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXVII IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - LXXVII IF ever I had a country proud of its wall-less porous boundary And if ever by no mistake of the Supreme High Command of the International Militaro-Business Conspiracy I were appointed the CHIEF TARIFF IMPOSER and Eminence Grise of and on all the self-righteous realms rocambolesque republics and renegade run-of-the-mill rotten rotting rostrum-raving riven ribald rascally rickety refugee-raised democracies Mark my words I'll put an end to the raping of my dearly-beloved national integrity by One, importing all available rutting Queen Bees of the 'Killer African Bees' and have them breed with local wasps of high pedigree in the front-line of battle along the Southern Border under every tree where I'd let Red Ant-Hills multiply free Two, import Myanmar Pythons with a taste for digesting young fresh human flesh, mixed with the local brand of Everglades alligators, down the Mississippi and the Colorado River sprinkled liberally with the Grand Canyon brand of the Rattle-Snake with their tell-tale warning-rattle nipped off, together with the silent army of Black Widows clad in their enticing mantilla webs, as a secondline of defense against the illegal refugee Next, if they still keep coming I'd roundup all the lazy good-for-nothing thick-maned Bisons of the prairies and have them lined up for a Charge-of-the- Heavy-Brigade stampede by whipping their asses to the sound of the Land of the Free And if this doesn't stem the tide of illegal immigrants, drug dealers and tourists with empty pockets, I'd call on the faithful Black and White striped Tribe of Appalachian SKUNKS with my tonitruant bugle, line them up so that their posteriors faced Tierra del Fuego and let them squirt to their hindhearts' desire even at the risk of driving the entire population out of the country Yes Siree, this's what I'd do as the Eminence Grise and Chief Imposer of Tariffs of My Beloved Contree And this even if I never ever had no country worth saving for the ennui of a penny (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, June 11,2019 Translation with Commentary of MAIS QUE DIEU ME PARDONNE by T Wignesan Translation of Kendji Girac and Claudio Capeo's Que Dieu me pardonne by T Wignesan Lyrics by Kendji Girac and Renaud REBILLAUD https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=xP2jp31jFMc (The two young French songsters' duet, now, yo-yo-ing in the upper echelons of c-Star charts rendered through guitar and acordeon in a spirit of respectful joie-de-vivre is a veritable lilting paeon to the unstinting heart, not to mention the reverence underlying the images. Some beguilingly simple but thoughtful truths do however spill out of their rhymed couplets and quatrains. The refrain that varies slightly through repetition could be, I admit, idiomatically re-phrased, but I'd rather not - in order to retain the unicity of the sweeping rhythm. Enjoy the low-key tour de force. T Wignesan) Il faudrait être des dieux, il faudrait être fort (One ought to be like the gods, ought to be strong) Comme si mouiller des yeux, c'est pour ceux qui ont tort (As if tears in one's eyes were a sign of one's wrongs) Il faudrait danser, et cacher sa douleur (One ought to keep dancing for fear of disclosing one's pain) Être le dernier à pleurer, jamais montrer sa peur (Be the very last to cry, never to reveal the fear in within) Il faudrait être des rois, il faudrait faire le fier (One ought to be like kings, ought to display one's pride) Comme si baisser les bras, c'est pour celui qui perd (As if to cower and hide be the lot of those woe-betide) Il faudrait cogner, et puis bomber le torse (One should hit hard and then puff up one's chest) Être le premier à crier plus fort (And be the very first to cry out one's best) Refrain: Mais que Dieu me pardonne (Beg I God for His pardon) J'ai tout fait à l'instinct (In everything I followed my instinct) Moi je ne suis qu'un homme (Me, I'm naught but human) Peut-être un bon à rien (Mayhaps a being good-for-nothing) Mais que Dieu me pardonne (Beg I God for His pardon) J'ai le coeur sur la main (I have never denied anyone a hand) Si parfois j'abandonne c'est pour faire mieux demain (If sometimes I withheld myself, it's only to make amends again) Il faudrait être un génie, être une ode à la joie (One should be a genius, be an ode to joy) À chaque fois qu'on nous dit 'et toi comment tu vas? » (Each time somebody queries: « and you, how goes it with you ») Il faudrait pousser tous ceux autour de soi (One should push aside all who crowd you out nigh) Être le premier à crier 'regardez-moi! » (Be the first to cry out: « look at me! » all eyes) Refrain: Mais que Dieu me pardonne J'ai tout fait à l'instinct Moi je ne suis qu'un homme Peut-être un bon à rien Mais que Dieu me pardonne J'ai le coeur sur la main Si parfois j'abandonne c'est pour faire mieux demain dans mes yeux, dans mes yeux tout m'étonne (as I see things, to my eyes everything astonishes me) J'ai le coeur, j'ai le coeur qui rayonne (In my heart, my very heart glitters free) Ce que j'ai, ce que j'ai je le donne, oh (Whatever I have, whatever I possess I give to all and sundry) Dans mes yeux, dans mes yeux tout m'étonne (Whatever my eyes espy, everything dazzles me) J'ai le coeur, j'ai le coeur qui rayonne (Within my heart, my very heart glitters free) Ce que j'ai, ce que j'ai je le donne (Whatever I have, whatever I possess I give to all and sundry) Refrain: Mais que Dieu me pardonne J'ai tout fait à l'instinct Moi je ne suis qu'un homme Peut-être un bon à rien Mais que Dieu me pardonne J'ai le coeur sur la main Si parfois j'abandonne c'est pour faire mieux demain Mais que Dieu me pardonne J'ai tout fait à l'instinct Moi je ne suis qu'un homme Peut-être un bon à rien Mais que Dieu me pardonne J'ai le coeur sur la main Si parfois j'abandonne c'est pour faire mieux demain Songwriters: Renaud Rebillaud / Kendji Girac Que Dieu me pardonne lyrics © Peermusic Publishing (c) Translation and commentary - T. Wignesan, Paris, May 27,2019 Translation with Commentary of ON EST LES OUBLIES by T Wignesan Translation of « On est les oubliés » (They/We are the neglected and forgotten lot) by the songster-poet Gauvin SERS (For the last two years, this young unassuming Frenchman, full of verve and disarming airs has been making his quiet ways around the provinces in Pas-de- Calais and Bretagne/Brittany. Now, this song is making its own way up the charts for his championing of a cause: the neglect of the far-flung regions from the French capital. The tone of the song is not patently and virulently demanding of reform; it merely resorts through an attitude of resignation to upholding and exposing a truth that cannot be denied. Four backup videos root the cause in Ponthoile village and the teacher Jean-Luc MASSALAN features in them with his students. T. Wignesan) Devant le portail vert de son école primaire (Standing in front of the green gate of his primary school) On l'reconnaît tout d'suite (It's easy to see at one glance) Toujours la même dégaine avec son pull en laine (Always looking oddly the same, clad in his woolen pullover) On sait qu'il est instit (Little the doubt he's the Teach') Il pleure la fermeture à la rentrée future (He laments the closing down when school resumes for the next year) De ses deux dernières classes (Of his two last/lowest classes) Il paraît qu'le motif c'est le manque d'effectif (It seems the reason's the lack of enough students) Mais on sait bien c'qui s'passe (But one knows in one's heart the real cause) Refrain: On est les oubliés (We are the forgotten lot) La campagne, les paumés (The countryside, those in want) Les trop loin de Paris (Those who live far too far from Paris) Le cadet d'leurs soucis (The ones who they hardly bother about) À vouloir regrouper les cantons d'à côté en 30 élèves par salle (By wanting to re-group in the districts nearby classes crammed with thirty children each) Cette même philosophie qui transforme le pays en un centre commercial (That same philosophy destined to convert the country into a grand shopping mall) Ça leur a pas suffit qu'on ait plus d'épicerie (It didn't make them happy enough to watch the only grocery pull down its shutters for good) Que les médecins se fassent la malle (Nor to see local doctors pack their bags to leave) Y a plus personne en ville, y a que les banques qui brillent dans la rue principale (There's hardly a soul moving about the vicinity, short of the banks which shine in the main road) Refrain: On est les oubliés (We are the forgotten lot) La campagne, les paumés (The countryside, those in want) Les trop loin de Paris (Those who live far too far from Paris) Le cadet d'leurs soucis (The ones who they hardly bother about) On est les oubliés (We are the forgotten lot) Qu'il est triste le patelin avec tous ces ronds-points (How sad it is to live in the back of beyond with all these roundabouts) Qui font tourner les têtes (Which make one's head reel around) Qu'il est triste le préau sans les cris des marmots (How depressing to find the covered school yard devoid of the cries of kids) Les ballons dans les fenêtres (Balls dashing on window-panes) Même la p'tite boulangère se demande c'qu'elle va faire (Even the little baker-woman wonders what would become of her) De ses bon-becs qui collent (Her sweet mouthfuls remain stuck one to the other) Même la voisine d'en face elle a peur, ça l'angoisse (Even the neighbour woman opposite takes fright, seized by anguish uptight) Ce silence dans l'école (Due to the silence reigning in the school) Refrain: On est les oubliés La campagne, les paumés Les trop loin de Paris Le cadet d'leurs soucis Quand dans les plus hautes sphères couloirs du ministère (When in the high echelons and corridors of ministerial power) Les élèves sont des chiffres (The students are but mere numbers) Y a des gens sur l'terrain, de la craie plein les mains (The people on the spot, their hands full of chalk dust) Qu'on prend pour des sous-fifres (Whom they consider mere underlings) Ceux qui ferment les écoles, les cravatés du col (Those who shut down schools, neck-ties around high-collars) Sont bien souvent de ceux (Oftentimes they are those) Ceux qui n'verront jamais ni de loin ni de près (Who'll never have whether close-up or from a distance) Un enfant dans les yeux (Ever looked a child in the eyes) Refrain: On est les oubliés La campagne, les paumés Les trop loin de Paris Le cadet de leur soucis On est troisième couteau (One's an absolute nobody) Dernière part du gâteau (The last to be served) La campagne, les paumés On est les oubliés Devant le portail vert de son école primaire (Standing there in front of the green school gate) Y a l'instit du village (You can espy the village Teach') Toute sa vie, des gamins (All his life, devoted to children) Leur construire un lendemain (In order to prepare for them a stolid future) Il doit tourner la page (Yet he has to turn the page) On est les oubliés (For his lot's too the forgotten lot) (c) Translation and comments: T. Wignesan - Paris, May 25,2019 Songwriters: Gauvain Thibaut Sers Les oubliés lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group Translation with Commentary of a Wild West Classic: SUMMER WINE by T Wignesan Translation with commentary of an archetypal Wild West Classic: ' Summer Wine ' (I'd wage my bottom diamond dime future generations will re-discover and treasure this true American classic like only a few others of its kind taken from the sixties. It may have only peaked at #49 in '67 when Nancy Sinatra's ' These boots are made for walking ' and ' Bang Bang My Baby shot me down ' topped the charts for understandably obvious reasons with its slick brillo melody and bravado sentiments backed by the maestro father and introduced by the King of Rock, yet Nancy comes of age on her own with some precious help from Lee Hazlewood's lyric compositional talents. One can never know if Lee consciously re-modeled Keat's ' La belle dame sans merci ' (' The beautiful lady without pity ') myth to produce the duo with himself in the role of the medieval ' Knight-at-Arms ', but the admixture of the seductively conniving in-between contralto-soprano voice with the masochistically victimized deadpan tone of the baritone leaves little doubt on what tugs at the heartstrings - the ironic display of ' male ' innocence being beguiled and betrayed by the enticing promise of ethereal ' nectar ' which, here, is ' summer wine ', an euphemism for what intoxicates the senses beyond one's control. The metre's however too irregular to make Hazlewood's ' poem ' fall within the common ballad measure, but the theme rests strictly transposed. ' I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful - a fairy child. ' ……………………………………….. ' She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept and sighed full sore, And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four. ' ……………………………………….. ' I saw pale kings, and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; // ……………………………………….. ' I saw their starved lips in the gloam With horrid warning gapèd wide, And I woke and found me here, On the cold hill's side. ' John Keats (1820) Oddly eough, in real life Hazlewood got his own back on Nancy by sailing off soon after - without a word - to make his own career in Sweden. If only the two extant video clips could have been re-styled within an ambience of libidinous non-chalance, say, in a one-horse one-saloon town with a haystacked barn and a corrall with the two love-birds playing their ticklish parts… perhaps the song could have topped the charts! Translation of ' SUMMER WINE ' by Lee Hazlewood (NANCY) : Des fraises des cerises et le baiser d'un ange au printemps Mon vin d'été est fait de toutes ces choses-là (LEE) : Je marchais dans la ville sur des éperons en argent dont le tintement s'accordait Avec une chanson que j'avais chanté uniquement à l'encontre de peu de gens Elle regarda les éperons argentés et elle m'invita à passer du temps avec elle Et elle m'a dit: ' Je te donnerai du vin de l'été Ohh-oh-oh du vin de l'été ' (NANCY) : Des fraises des cerises et le baiser d'un ange au printemps Mon vin d'été est fait de toutes ces choses-là Enlève-toi tes éperons en argent et aide-moi passer le temps Et elle m'a dit: ' Je te donnerai du vin de l'été Ohh-oh-oh du vin de l'été ' (LEE) : Mes yeux s'étaient alourdis et mes lèvres ne pouvant plus formuler point mot J'ai essayé de me lever et je ne pouvais plus rester debout (je ne pouvais plus trouver mes pieds) Elle me rassurera en utilisant des mots peu familiers Et puis elle me donna encore plus du vin de l'été Ohh-oh-oh du vin de l'été (NANCY) : Des fraises des cerises et le baiser d'un ange au printemps Mon vin d'été est fait de toutes ces choses-là Enlève-toi tes éperons en argent et aide-moi passer le temps Et elle m'a dit: ' Je te donnerai du vin de l'été Mmm-mm du vin de l'été ' (LEE) : Quand je me suis levé, le soleil brilla dans mes yeux Mes éperons en argent n'y étaient plus-là, ma tête me semblait gonflée à deux fois de sa taille Elle avait volé mes éperons argentés (et) un dollar plus un centime Et me laissa avec une envie pour consommer encore plus du vin de l'été Ohh-oh-oh du vin de l'été (NANCY) : Des fraises des cerises et le baiser d'un ange au printemps Mon vin d'été est fait de toutes ces choses-là Enlève-toi tes éperons en argent et aide-moi passer le temps Et elle m'a dit: ' Je te donnerai du vin de l'été Mmm-mm du vin de l'été ' © Translation and commentary - T. Wignesan, Paris, May 21,2019 NANCY SINATRA- 'SUMMER WINE' (LYRICS) 3,059 views LIKEDISLIKESHARESAVE Ron Wells Published on Dec 23,2017 SUBSCRIBE 5K 'SUMMER WINE' peaked at #49 on 4-8-1967. LYRICS: (NANCY) : Strawberries cherries and an angel's kiss in spring My summer wine is really made from all these things (LEE) : I walked in town on silver spurs that jingled to A song that I had only sang to just a few She saw my silver spurs and said let's pass some time And I will give to you summer wine Ohh-oh-oh summer wine (NANCY) Strawberries cherries and an angel's kiss in spring My summer wine is really made from all these things Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time And I will give to you summer wine Ohhh-oh summer wine (LEE) : My eyes grew heavy and my lips they could not speak I tried to get up but I couldn't find my feet She reassured me with an unfamiliar line And then she gave to me more summer wine Ohh-oh-oh summer wine (NANCY) : Strawberries cherries and an angel's kiss in spring My summer wine is really made from all these things Take off your silver spurs and help me pass the time And I will give to you summer wine Mmm-mm summer wine (LEE) : When I woke up the sun was shining in my eyes My silver spurs were gone, my head felt twice its size She took my silver spurs a dollar and a dime And left me cravin' for more summer wine Ohh-oh-oh summer wine (NANCY) : Strawberries cherries and an angel's kiss in spring My summer wine is really made from all these things Take off those silver spurs and help me pass the time And I will give to you my summer wine Mmm-mm summer wine The Night Soil Man - Part One The Night Soil Man I Nothing sticks to-get-her like turds No border line nor skin to cross Condescension's never a case for loss High birth's distilled from fermenting curds The day dawns where sleep reigns loud Where the pitchblack venomous karunagam* slithers out from its hideout in the ox-bow touch-me-not underbrush to make its hungry way into Vanar Kampung Sandal-less the coarse makeshift sweat-soaked thalappa* fits his disheveled scalp like some portrait halo yet to hang high Thodti* strides majestic loping down the mired mud gravel pathway (Who defers to whom: the ' cobra ' or the ' pariah '?) One is out to catch rats romping in the rafters zinc-roofed one-storeyed houses nailed planks on cement stump stilts The other to fetch slippery rubber pots laced with diarrhoeac splashes phlegm menstrual blood the day's un-read newsprint soaked with urine mixed with spermatozoic squirts The spent air breathes carbide dry on the back of the late-afternoon thunder storm the dense morass of foliage the taste of mashed mango leaf the scent of spermatozoa durian reek Late night cinema-goers lie clutching the blind Lata Mangeshkar hits piped-dreams spreadeagled on stained yarrow or atap mats The Sikh guard lays out his elaborate night-out at the Chinese saw-mill gate his un-used one-barrel rifle bedded down on his string-bed fast asleep while the hurricane lamp flickers dying by dawn Crackling frail cicada wings pizzicato symphonic milling frog harmonics organ jamming rapping bagpipes heaving A lone sentinel owl keeps base time stalked by panther pawed musang* in one crook of the sprawling rain-tree's over-arching ghostly lumber limbs The moon's full pallid sick for the earth Road lamps dim into their dull amber cocoons time out of time The jungle-green sanitary van throbs discreet on the overgrown tarmac under-brush sidetable the Malay driver eyes the quasi-un-clad nightsoil women their paps prurient in sack-coloured khadar* sari cloth as they hover on their hinds for the Night Souled Man to bring in the fresh-filled pots the leprous bleach of his hands and feet glint and glower as the whites of his never-opened eyes strain in the half moonlit dimness at every giant distracted step a trail of human dung streaming down his loin cloth Resources *karunagam (Tamil) : a variety of cobra; *thalappa (Tamil) : a variety of headwear; *Thodti (Tamil) : ' night soil man ' in common parlance; *musang (Malay) : wild ' undomesticated ' cat; *khadar (Tamil, from Hindi) : rough un-smoothed-out cloth. © T. Wignesan - Paris, May 17,2019 Villanelle: If you haven't had that, what have you had Villanelle: If you haven't had that, what have you had* If you haven't had your life, what have you had In fear of what lies beyond the locked safe-door Live you now the moment, not for what's ahead Fear of what others may think, nothing's more sad Yet if you abandoned all care, who'll forbear If you haven't had your life, what have you had Since James*, Mottram*, Barrau* live not a day dead Yet don't they live safe as Confucian State's heir Live you now the moment, not for what's ahead Or do they live safe to be thought Reason-bred The best of all the Worlds where Time's a mere snare If you haven't had your life, what have you had Walk Eternity back to Big-Bang zero-bed What has no Beginning cannot End-fruit bear Live you now the moment, not for what's ahead No Future's secret the Yi Jing* has not read Don't ephemeral hordes breed the Jün Tzu* to bear If you haven't had your life, what have you had Live you now the moment, not for what's ahead Resources/Notes 'Quotation from Henry James' Ambassadors: ' If you haven't had that (your life) , what have you had ' 'Henry James (American novelist) , Eric Mottram (British poet, professor, critic) , Aurélien Barrau (French astro-physicist, philosopher, poet) 'Yi Jing: the ancient Chinese Classic of Change 'Jün Tzu: the Noble or Superior Man, the advice given in the Yi Jing is meant primarily to distinguish the Superior Being, all the rest are mutatis mutandi ' ephemeral beings ' which makes one wonder if Life on Earth is not a mere breeding-ground experiment to produce the ' Superior Being ', the rest - if you believe in ' samsara ' or reincarnation - condemned to be born again and again until they make the grade. © T. Wignesan - Paris, May 14,2019 Translation of THE WINDMILLS OF YOUR MIND by T Wignesan Translation of Les Moulins de mon Coeur-THE WINDMILLS OF YOUR MIND by T. Wignesan (For the orignal text in French by Eddy MARNAY: see here below. The English version by Marilyn and Alan BERGMAN differs considerably from the French original, but arguably it could lay claim to originality of versification in its own right. The musical composition is by Michel LEGRAND, though his duet renditions in French and solo in English are not by far the most delectable. The always exquisite Barbra Streisand performance, which one intimately associates the words with, uses the the English version only. For these reasons, I felt it useful to translate the French original into English. I have not tried to keep to the rhyme scheme - neither does the Bergman version - of alternate rhymes mainly: ABCB/DCDC/EFE/FE(?) F// GHGH/IHIH/EFE/FEF// JKJK/CLCL/FMFM/DFDF//, with a discernible refrain repeated in the three stanzas of 14,14 and 16 lines respectively, followed by the refrain (Patricia Kass, however, ends with the refrain in English) , making the first two somewhat Petrarchan sonnets if they were iambic in tempo: that is, the octave formed of two quatrains, followed by a sextet in EFE/FEF, but then this assertion is quite un-called for here. One might note en passim the spiraling cascading images of the external world collapsing into the persona's vacant and desolate heart, the pathos brought about dexterously by the ' absence ' (or disappearance of a loved one) : ' The bird fell from its nest '// ' Like the songs which die/ As quickly as one forgets them '//, the quintessential sentiment held together and underlined by the image of how autumn leaves turn to the colour of the absent one's hair. The entire ' poem ' (I prefer to call it so) constructs itself on a cascading sequence of similies twirling in a maelstrom of natural objects and eddying into the persona's lonely heart: ' stream ', ' rain ', ' snow ', ' ocean ' (water) , ' wind ' (air) , ' sand ', ' moon ', ' stars ' (made up of the same constituent particles as earth) , ' leaves ', ' flowers ', ' sea-gulls ', (living ' creatures ') , ' heart ' (self or soul) , ' summer ', ' autumn ', 'hours ' (time: yes, both time and space in cosmological terms are ' objects ' like us in the uni-or-multi-verse) , etc. Enjoy the music. T. Wignesan) Like a stone one throws In the running waters of a stream And which provokes in its trail Thousands of swirling circles Like a carousel round the moon With the manes of horses as stars Like a ring of particles around Saturn A carnival baloon Like the concentric movement of circles Which define the course of the hours The voyage around the earth (Like) the sunflower worshipping the sun You succeed in turning with your breath All the windmills of my heart Like the tangle of wool Inextricably confounding a child's hands (Like) the words of a corny tune Caught within the harpstrings of the wind Like a swirling avalanche of snow Like the startling flight of sea-gulls Over the forests of Norway Over oceans of woolly lambs Like the concentric movement of circles Which define the course of the hours The voyage around the earth (Like) the sunflower worshipping the sun You succeed in turning with your breath All the windmills of my heart Remember that day close by the summit Only God knows what you said But the summer by then nearly at an end The bird fell from its nest And, like it or not, on the beach Our footprints already leave no trace And I'm left alone at table Which resounds unde my fingers Like a tambourine in a lament Under raindrops which pound Like the songs which simply extinguish As quickly as they are forgotten And the leaves of trees in autumn Find themselves under skies less blue And your absence taints them The aging colour of your hair © Translation and comments: T. Wignesan - Paris, May 12,2019 Les Moulins De Mon Coeur (The Windmills Of Your Mind) This song is by Patricia Kaas and appears on the album Piano Bar (2002) . Comme une pierre que l'on jette Dans l'eau vive d'un ruisseau Et qui laisse derrière elle Des milliers de ronds dans l'eau Comme un manège de lune Avec ses chevaux d'étoiles Comme un anneau de Saturne Un ballon de carnaval Comme le chemin de ronde Que font sans cesse les heures Le voyage autour du monde D'un tournesol dans sa fleur Tu fais tourner de ton nom Tous les moulins de mon coeur Comme un écheveau de laine Entre les mains d'un enfant Ou les mots d'une rengaine Pris dans les harpes du vent Comme un tourbillon de neige Comme un vol de goélands Sur des forêts de Norvège Sur des moutons d'océan Comme le chemin de ronde Que font sans cesse les heures Le voyage autour du monde D'un tournesol dans sa fleur Tu fais tourner de ton nom Tous les moulins de mon coeur Ce jour là près de la source Dieu sait ce que tu m'as dit Mais l'été finit sa course L'oiseau tomba de son nid Et voilà que sur le sable Nos pas s'effacent déjà Et je suis seul à la table Qui résonne sous mes doigts Comme un tambourin qui pleure Sous les gouttes de la pluie Comme les chansons qui meurent Aussitôt qu'on les oublie Et les feuilles de l'automne Rencontrent des ciels moins bleus Et ton absence leur donne La couleur de tes cheveux Like a circle in a spiral Like a wheel within a wheel Never ending or beginning On an ever spinning reel As the images on wind Like the circles that you find In the remainds of your mind Credits Music by: Michel Legrand Lyrics by: Eddy Marnay (original French text) , Marilyn Bergman & Alan Bergman (English text) Lyrics licensed by LyricFind ARE YE GOIN' TO MARRY THAT WITCH OF A DAME - Counterfeiting the CANTICLE by T Wignesan ARE YE GOING TO MARRY THAT WITCH OF A DAME - Counterfeiting the CANTICLE by T. Wignesan (With self-lacerating apologies and scathing penance to that great troubador medieval English poet who longed for his lovely lass during expunging pilgrimages to Scarborough Fair. T. Wignesan) Are ye going to marry that b**ch of a dame Peanuts quail venison on lime Remember what she did to make you so lame For she's bound to ditch ye if you hardly rhyme Tell her to stop painting her leathery face Peanuts quail venison on lime Without no mud nor slime on lewd grimace She's bound to ditch ye if you're stumped for a rhyme Have her stripped in yon dark desert lithium mine Peanuts quail venison on lime Remember how good she's at the roller-coaster grind She's bound to ditch ye if you feminine rhyme Have her read to ye Gulliver's Travels in bed Peanuts quail venison on lime And ride all Yahoos till their butt-ends turn red Then she's bound to stitch vowels in your rhyme Have her show ye all her unkempt drawers Peanuts quail venison on lime In between her sonorous sighs and rough coughs in tatters Then she'll witch her wiles for the guile of a dime © T. Wignesan - Paris, May 8,2019 YESTERDAY WHEN I WAS DUMB - A Benign Parody by T Wignesan YESTERDAY WHEN I WAS DUMB - A Benign Parody (with sincere enough apologies and more to those who made the original composition an all-time great. T. Wignesan) Refrain: Yesterday when I was dumb I couldn't tell a song from any sore thumb All the tunes I hummed with my silent tongue Were but tinnitus on my ear-drums sweet songs I sung All the pretty frisky girls passed me quickly by Yet I don't know why I couldn't even cry I couldn't remember the sounds made by warbling birds Nor the thunderous laughter I heard bursting from the clouds All the songs I learnt line by line by heart Kept mocking me in the stillness of my thoughts (Refrain) The wintry winds I weathered in my feathered bed Warmed by lilting melodies in my love-sick head All the words of songs lame casualties on my tongue I could not sleep nights heaving on one lone lung In my dreams I tussled with girls sticking out their tongues I lisped some sounds like grunts to appease their wrongs But I'd as lief be made a clown sans papier-mâché crown Than be mocked by childhood girls I rolled atop meadow down (Refrain) Each full day I prayed for the right word to come to mind Nothing doing! I always mixed and twisted words on the line Then I always drop shut the shutters, drew the curtains tight Shut myself up in the shower to croon some line just right ' No bloody use ' the misted mirror said: ' You cannot win a Grammy ' ' Oh! What use is a tongue if it cannot taste the kiss of melody! ' I've lived so long to know there's only one way to say: ' Goodbye! ' No words on lines nor tunes, just a look, a wave of a hand and a sigh! (Refrain) Yesterday I was dumb but today I have my own pounding tom-tom With signs and signals to speak the language of the drum And the orchestra sweeps over strings and the smiling moon And I no longer seek to put words on line to croon Oooh! Yesterday! I felt the stings in the cockles of my heart Yet today I sing blood red the sounds surging through the chart Oooooh Oooooh…. Yesterdaaay…. © T. Wignesan - Paris, May 3,2019 Translation of YESTERDAY WHEN I WAS YOUNG by T Wignesan Translation of YESTERDAY WHEN I WAS YOUNG By T. Wignesan (Written by: Herbert Kretzmer) (Variously sung in a host of styles, moods and orchestration by exquisite soul-movers like Roberta Flack, Shirley Bassey, Charles Aznavour, Glen Campbell, Andy Williams, Roy Clark and others (?) , but shouldn't one not raise a glass to the DUSTY SPRINGFIELD version even if the orchestration somewhat bullies and drowns her pathetic intimate tones somewhat ' maladroitly '?) Yesterday when I was young the taste of life was sweet as rain upon my tongue. I teased at life as if it were a foolish game, the way the evening breeze may tease a candle flame. The thousand dreams I dreamed, the splendid things I planned I always built alas on weak and shifting sand. I lived by night and shunned the naked light of the day and only now I see how the years ran away. (Hier quand je ne fus qu'un jeune homme La joie de vivre n'était que comme la pluie douce sur ma langue. Je me moquais de la vie comme s'il ne fut qu'un jeu Comme la brise du soir taquinait la flamme de chandelle nue. Des milliers de rêves que je songeais, les choses merveilleuses que je réaliserais, Mais hélas j'ai fondé sur des sables poreux et mouvementées. Je me fus cloîtré dans la nuit fuyant la lumière du jour Et juste aujourd'hui que je me rends compte comment les années passaient sans retour.) Yesterday when I was young so many drinking songs were waiting to be sung, so many wayward pleasures lay in store for me and so much pain my dazzled eyes refused to see. I ran so fast that time and youth at last ran out, I never stopped to think what life was all about and every conversation I can now recall concerned itself with me and nothing else at all. (Hier quand je ne fus qu'un jeune homme Encore à chanter tant des chansons de la taverne, Tant de plaisirs inespérés m'attendaient pour jouir Et tant de peine encore mes yeux glacés refusaient à voir venir. Je courrais si vite que je ne voyais comment le temps et la jeunesse se vidaient au pire Je n'arrêtais jamais pour réfléchir sur le but de la vie, Et toutes les conversations que je puisse m'en souvenir Ne fussent que sur mon propre personne et rien d'autre de la vie.) Yesterday the moon was blue and every crazy day brought something new to do. I used my magic age as if it were a wand and never saw the waste and emptiness beyond. The game of love I played with arrogance and pride and every flame I lit too quickly quickly died. The friends I made all seemed somehow to drift away and only I am left on stage to end the play. There are so many songs in me that won't be sung; I feel the bitter taste of tears upon my tongue. The time has come for me to pay for yesterday when I was young. (Hier encore la lune brillait bleu Et tous les jours promettaient quelques choses folles de nouveau. J'utilisais mon âge magique comme s'il fut une baguette Et je ne me prévoyais jamais le gâchis et le néant qui me guettent. Le jeu d'amour dont je pratiquais avec arrogance et fierté Et chaque flamme j'allumais n'avait éteint qu'avec trop d'alacrité. Les amitiés que j'avais nouées toutes semblaient avec l'aise à dissiper Et je me trouve tout seul sur la scène la pièce à achever. Il y reste tant des chansons en mon soi sans qu'on prête de voix de personne; Je ressens le goût amer des larmes sur ma langue. Le temps est déjà arrivé pour que je paie pour l'hier quand je fus jeune.) © Translation: T. Wignesan - Paris, April 29,2019 Translation of Roberta Flack's Killing Me Softly with his Song by T Wignesan Translation of Roberta Flack's Killing Me Softly with his Song by T Wignesan https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=kgl-VRdXr7I Refrain: Strumming my pain with his fingers Singing my life with his words Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song (Ses doigts piquaient les nerfs de ma douleur comme sur un guitare les cordes En chantant ma vie avec ses paroles En m'assassinant doucement avec sa chanson En m'assassinant doucement avec sa chanson En racontant ma vie avec ses paroles En m'assassinant doucement avec sa chanson) I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style And so I came to see him to listen for a while And there he was this young boy, a stranger to my eyes (J'ai entendu parler qu'il chantait bien et qu'il était doté d'un style particulier Ainsi je me suis allé lui voir un peu pour lui écouter Et là ce jeune gars me semblait à mes yeux une étrange vision) Strumming my pain with his fingers Singing my life with his words Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud I prayed that he would finish but he just kept right on (Je me suis senti sur le coup d'une fièvre accablante devant la foule dans l'embarras Je pensais qu'il ait trouvé mes lettres et les lisait chacune à voix haute-là Je priais que la lecture soit achevée mais il continuait sa récitation) Strumming my pain with his fingers Singing my life with his words Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song He sang as if he knew me in all my dark despair And then he looked right through me as if I wasn't there But he just carried on singing, singing clear and strong (Il chantait comme s'il ait eu connaissance de l'abîme de mon désespoir Et puis son regarde posa sur moi comme si je n'y fusse pas là Mais il n'arrêta pas à chanter, chantant à voix haute avec détermination) Strumming my pain with his fingers Singing my life with his words Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song Songwriters: Norman GImbel / Charles Fox Killing Me Softly lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc Artist: Roberta Flack Album: Killing Me Softly Released: 1973 Genre: Classic Soul Awards: Grammy Award for Record of the Year, Grammy Hall of Fame, Grammy Award for Best Female Pop Vocal Performance © Translation: T. Wignesan - Paris, April 23,2019 Translation of Those were the Days, My Friend by T Wignesan Translation of ' Those were the Days, My Friend ' by T. Wignesan Ces jours éloignés que nous avions partagés, Mon Ami (A re-make of an earlier Russian song, produced by Paul McCartenay and sung by Mary HOPKIN in 1968. I have not tried to stick to the original rhyme scheme for obvious reasons, preferring to compensate by adhering to internal rhyme: ABCB/Refrain: DDEFFE/Refrain/GEHE/Refrain/Refrain/AIAI/Refrain/JKJK/Refrain. Slight variations occur in the refrain, though, together with the substitution of the refrain by onomatopoetic repetition of the refrain's rhythm with ' La la…dai…dai..) Il fut un temps il existait une taverne Où nous trinquions un à l'autre avec un verre ou deux Souviens-tu nos rires aux éclats pour faire passer le temps Et les grandes choses nous songeons pouvoir accomplir plus tard Refrain Ces jours éloignés que nous avions partagés, Mon Ami Lesquels nous pensions alors ne prendraient jamais fin Nous chantions et dansions pour toujours et encore un jour Nous vivions notre vie à notre guise Nous ferions face aux difficultés sans s'y perdre nos vises Puisque nous étions jeunes et sûrs de pouvoir mener à bien notre vie La la…dai…dai…. Puis les années chargées de souci coulaient si vites Nous perdions nos précieux idéals pendant ce temps-là Et si par hasard je te rencontrerais à la taverne Ne sourions-nous pas un comme l'autre et ne dirions pas: Refrain Justement ce soir-ci je me suis trouvé devant la taverne Ni une chose semblait d'habitude d'être comme auparavant Dans les vitres je voyais une étrange réflexion D'une vieille femme délaissée - fut-elle vraiment moi Refrain A travers la cloison des rires aux éclats familiers J'aperçu ton visage et entendu ta voix prononçant mon nom Hélas! Mon Ami! Nous sommes plus âgés mais à peine plus sages Car dans nos coeurs les idéals rêvés restent toujours les mêmes Refrain Those were the days, My Friend Once upon a time there was a tavern Where we used to raise a glass or two Remember how we laughed away the hours And dreamed of all the great things we would do Refrain: Those were the days, My Friend We thought they'd never end We'd sing and dance forever and a day We'd live the life we choose We'd fight and never lose For we were young and sure to have our way Refrain Then the busy years rushing by us We lost our starry notions on the way If by chance I'd see you in the tavern We'd smile at one another and we'd say: Refrain Just tonight I stood before the tavern Nothing seemed the way it used to be In the glass I saw a strange reflection Was that lonely woman really me Refrain Through the door there came familier laughter I saw your face and heard you call my name Oh, My Friend! We're older but no wiser For in our hearts the dreams are still the same © Translation: T. Wignesan - Paris, April 19,2019 Villanelle: Who dares to doubt must he questions address Fate Villanelle: Who dares to doubt must he questions address Fate Who dares to doubt must he questions address Fate Let tears on High Holy Mass spill down the Seine Would one propose to the Lord what's not innate Is the Lord's mise en scène an act desperate A dire call to fill Church benches lone vain Who dares to doubt must he questions address Fate Who'd wish the Crown of Thorns be crushed under weight Aging oak high rafter timbers tumble rain Would one propose to the Lord what's not innate Witness the Lord's will red-hot Spire irate Whose felo de se the Flèche pierced heart in pain Who dares to doubt must he questions address Fate Montmartre's severed head Saint Denis lugged Frankish hate Who'll don Louis IX Tunic to rule Louvre brain Would one propose to the Lord what's not innate Could Man his collapsing structure rebuild to date Lord's Agent be or manage the mise en scène Who dares to doubt must he questions address Fate Would one propose to the Lord what's not innate © T. Wignesan - Paris, April 17,2019 Translation of the COMPLETE VERSION of Scarborough Fair by T Wignesan La Fête foraine de Scarborough (La Version complète) For the medieval English poet and Simon and Garfunkel -In admiration - Allez-vous à Scarborough fête foraine? (Sur la côte d'une colline dans le vert intense d'une forêt) Persil, sauge, romarin et thym Parlez de moi à une fille d'antan (Suivant un passereau sur la terre comblée de la neige) Elle fut jadis mon amie intime Dites-lui de me coudre un Cambric chemise (Couvertures et linge du lit l'enfant de la montagne) Persil, sauge, romarin et thym Sans bordure ni de la finesse (Dormait-il ne rendant pas compte de l'appel du clarion) Et sûr elle restera mon amie intime Dites: faites-le dans une ruelle de sycomore/recoltez-le dans une faucille en cuir* (Sur la côte d'une colline, les feuilles des arbres éparpillées) Persil, sauge, romarin et thym Et le recueillir dans un panier des fleurs/dans un bouquet de bruyère** (En lavant la tombe avec des larmes en argent) Ainsi elle restera mon amie intime Dites: lavez-le dans ce puit sec (Un soldat nettoie et fait briller son fusil) Persil, sauge, romarin et thym Où l'eau ne monte pas ni pluie tombe raide (La guerre résonne, éclatant parmi des bataillons sanglantes) Ainsi elle restera mon amie intime Dites: trouvez-lui un acre de terre (Les généraux requirent leurs soldats de tuer) Persil, sauge, romarin et thym Entre les flots et sur le rivage sableux (Et de batailler pour une cause dont ils avaient depuis longtemps bien oublié) Ainsi soit-elle mon amie intime NOTES *Variant version of the line: ' Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather ' ** Variant version: ' And gather it all in a bunch of heather ' Persil/Parsley stands for ' comfort '; sauge/sage for ' strength '; romarin/rosemary for ' love ' and thym/thyme for ' courage ' Scarborough Fair Are you going to Scarborough Fair? (On the side of a hill in the deep forest green) Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme Remember me to one who lives there (Tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground) For once she was a true love of mine Have her make me a cambric shirt (Blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain) Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme Without no seam nor fine needle work (Sleeps unaware of the clarion call) And then she'll be a true love of mine Tell her to weave it in a sycamore wood lane (On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves) Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme And gather it all with a basket of flowers (Washes the grave with silvery tears) And then she'll be a true love of mine Have her wash it in yonder dry well (A soldier cleans and polishes a gun) Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme Where water ne'er sprung nor drop of rain fell (War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions) And then she'll be a true love of mine Have her find me an acre of land (Generals order their soldiers to kill) Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme Between the sea foam and over the sand (And fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten) And then she'll be a true love of mine © Translation: T. Wignesan - Paris, April 12,2019 Translation of the Canticle: Scarborough Fair by T Wignesan La Fête foraine de Scarborough For the anonymous medieval poet and Simon & Garfunkel - in admiration ************ Allez-vous à Scarborough fête foraine? Persil, sauge, romarin et thym Parlez de moi à une fille d'antan Elle fut jadis mon amie intime Dites-lui de me coudre un Cambric chemise Persil, sauge, romarin et thym Sans bordure ni de la finesse Et sûr elle restera mon amie intime Dites: faites-le dans une ruelle de sycomore Persil, sauge, romarin et thym Et le recueillir dans un panier des fleurs Ainsi elle restera mon amie intime Dites: lavez-le dans ce puit sec Persil, sauge, romarin et thym Où l'eau ne monte pas ni pluie tombe raide Ainsi elle restera mon amie intime Dites: trouvez-lui un acre de terre Persil, sauge, romarin et thym Entre les flots et sur le rivage sableux Ainsi soit-elle mon amie intime Scarborough Fair Are you going to Scarborough Fair? Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme Remember me to one who lives there For once she was a true love of mine Have her make me a cambric shirt Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme Without no seam nor fine needle work And then she'll be a true love of mine Tell her to weave it in a sycamore wood lane Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme And gather it all with a basket of flowers And then she'll be a true love of mine Have her wash it in yonder dry well Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme where water ne'er sprung nor drop of rain fell And then she'll be a true love of mine Have her find me an acre of land Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme Between the sea foam and over the sand And then she'll be a true love of mine © Translation: T. Wignesan - Paris, April 12,2019 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXVI IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXVI IF ever I had a Country with or without any ' Wood ' in the aching aping Film Industry And if ever (you know the refrain by now) I were NOMINATED - not hoodwinked into assuming the role of the Chief FILM CENSOR by every paid-up (most likely not) member of the millions of ciné-clubs, cinémathèques, Actors' Studios, Film-Workers' Unions, Cinema- Makers and Cinema peddlers' and Distributors' sororities and fraternities The first thing you bet I'll do is to issue an Irrefutable Command to burn every spool or reel of film (excepting one of each as evidence in case of litigation) made after the Year Elia Kazan stopped filming ' America! America! ' and ' Viva Zapata! ' - not to mention documentaries And then proceed forthwith and/or thenceforth without any hesitation whatsoever to ban all films based on the undeviating formula of extended excruciating display of VIOLENCE for the sake of relishing VIOLENCE in the name of our children watching with us into the latenight on the sofa including the repeated RAPE against the wall on the kitchentable astride the toilet-seat of poor but heavily-snorting apparently DEFENCELESS but willingly-ripped actresses on scene leading to the apochryphal MURDER of the hero or heroin with electric-saws and choppers à la ' Massacre à la Tronçonneuse ' butcheries Then shut out of my chaste and highly-principled patrie ALL box-office breaking films especially those crowned with Oscars and Ceasars Grammies and Bears which encourage and advocate the use of pernicious drugs and hard liquor while the cameras O! so casually! pick up the eternal ' bar ' scene of the Western giving us what they really want to: the lewd swaying of nakedlyclad lithesome nubile dames in the distance - the lazy loose car-screen wipers - the ' porno ' of nunneries You bet also invite ALL ME-TOO gals and Orphaned-Boy Cubs victims of Paedophilic Preachers and Priests and Professors posing as Critics to rip up cinema seats and leave behind just enough methane gas to blow up theatre halls after being subject against their will to watch copy-cat Hollywood Bollywood Chollywood Nollywood versions of Michael Jackson's beyondthe- grave calesthenics even while being attired in ' Prince in New York ' Eddy Murphy fineries And this, if ever I were appointed the Chief Film Censor of my highlyprincipled moral Philistinic Country spurning aping Bolly-Cholly-Nolly antics of Miss Holly in the pantry And even if I never ever had no country worth acting out in the wild woods of the Imaginary © T. Wignesan - Paris, April 10,2019 Translation of Pablo Neruda's IN YOU THE EARTH by T Wignesan Si de pronto no existes, (If of a sudden you were no more,) si de pronto no vives, (if of a sudden you live no more,) yo seguiré viviendo. (I'll continue to live.) No me atrevo, (I do not dare,) no me atrevo a escribirlo, (hardly will I find the courage to write this) si te mueres.(if you were to die.) Yo seguiré viviendo. (I'll go on living.) Porque donde no tiene voz un hombre(Since there where a man be not invested with a voice) allí, mi voz. (there, my voice will be heard.) Donde los negros sean apaleados, (There where Negros be skinned,) yo no puedo estar muerto.(I cannot be counted among the dead.) Cuando entren en la cárcel mis hermanos(When my brothers are put in prison) entraré yo con ellos.(I'll be in their ranks.) Cuando la victoria, (When victory,) no mi victoria, (not my triumph,) sino la gran Victoria llegue, (when the great Victory is attained,) aunque esté mudo debo hablar: (even if I were dumb, I'll open my mouth to speak :) yo la veré llegar aunque esté ciego.(yes, I'll see it arrive even if I were blind.) No, perdóname. (No, do pardon me.) Si tú no vives, (If you are no longer of this earth,) si tú, querida, amor mío, si tú(if you, sweetheart, My Love, if you) te has muerto, (were dead,) todas las hojas caerán en mi pecho, (all the leaves will fall on my chest,) lloverá sobre mi alma noche y día, (they will rain on my soul day and night,) la nieve quemará mi corazón, (snow will consume my heart,) andaré con frío y fuego(through the cold and fire, I'll continue to walk) y muerte y nieve, (and through death and snow,) mis pies querrán marchar hacia donde tú duermes, pero(my feet will want to walk on towards the place where you sleep, but) seguiré vivo, (I'll go on living,) porque tú me quisiste sobre(because you wished that I were) todas las cosas indomable, (over all things not to be trampled upon,) y, amor, porque tú sabes que soy no sólo un hombre (and, My Love, because you know that I am not just a/one man) sino todos los hombres(but he who stands with/for/among all men) Pablo Neruda (c) T. Wignesan - Paris, April 10,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part IXL IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: IXL IF you pull a long dopey face E'en if it were in your own bloody way Stick two sore thumbs in your own nose To spite your snubbed mug and blast bray If you pulled a long resigned face 'Who put me here' you're not allowed to say Now 'I don't want to go yet' there's the choice You can neither at will come nor go or e'en stay If you pull a long recalcitrant face Whether you feel down and out or e'en gay In the confines of your own private place That won't do take you must part in global play If you pull a long stumped face There's little to be happy about much as you lay Whichever way you face damned be the case Think you then you can make your own pay If you then must pull a long damned face Take the final curtain call and bow out of play None'll let you keep your own face in this human race Vow to suck up to man-made gods dent not their sway © T. Wignesan - Paris, March 31,2019 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXV IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXV IF ever I had a country with flaming flags flying on every lamp-post weathercock and tree And if ever I were by my highest degree qualification appointed the Director- General of Museums Zoos Botanico-Ornithological Gardens Parks and Cemetries I would make it a point of the Most Urgent Order that every bird gaily chirping warbling shrieking or even grumbling in its own particular brand of cursing for free Either lone or in chorus or in competition with its own kind or in contempt of other feathered outlandish melodies Together with every howling hound bellowing beast croaking crocodile cursing cat or mocking monkey That they be taught and made to learn by rote under pain of plunder and pillage of their property to belt out the National anthem every dawn and at the crowing down of the Sun in its reverie Or else be banished tarred and feathered forthwith from My Dearly-Beloved Country after forfeiting their tongues never to sing again and this after coughing up an astronomical fine of a fee for the capital crime of Lèse Majesté That is, if ever I were appointed the Most Distinguished Protector of the Patrimony as the Director-General of Museums Zoos Botanico-Ornithological Gardens Parks and Cemetries Even if I never ever had no country where no birds trill tongues or beasts bellow bestialities and mockeries © T. Wignesan - Paris, March 26,2019 A Self-Tutoring Translation of Rimbaud's Final Version VOWELS in Contemporary Terms A Self-Tutoring Translation of RIMBAUD's Final Version ' Vowels ' in Contemporary Terms (' Vowels ' (final version, without the definite article, with the poet's corrections) in RIMBAUD OEuvres complètes. Ed. by Pierre Brunel. Paris: Livres de Poche/La Pochethèque,1999, pp.279-280. Please see notes following the translation. T. Wignesan) A, black; E, white; I, red; U, green; O, blue; vowels, I'll invoke true to day how your latent forms take shape A, velvety black corset shiny bluebottles armour-plate ape Pullule hovering over putrefying carrion stench gruels By leeway gulfs. E, glaring white sheets(1) of vapours and tents, Icy surges prideful, Oriental Potentates (2) , fluttering parasols umbellate, I, attires purple(3) , spat-out blood, laughter from Synchrotron(4) lips ondulate Through anger or from inebriate benumbing of penitents. U, cycles, the divine vibrations of emerald-green seas Peaceful grazing grounds teeming with animals, reposeful furrowed pleats Some alchemically concocted hand imprints on great foreheads studious; O! stentorian Bugle! the laden strident shriek deranges, The calmness pierced by disrupting Worlds and Angels… --- O! the ultimate Omega, the violet tincture of Her Eyes(5) ! Notes (1) ' frissons ' (word effaced by Rimbaud, according to Brunel's footnotes, to avoid repetitious recall of the same word in the next line and substitured by ' candeurs ' signifying ' ingenuousness ' though in its etymological sense: ' blancheur ', i.e; , ' whiteness or innocence '; (2) ' rois blancs ' (' White Kings ', according to Brunel's footnotes: ' souverains orientaux ', i.e., ' Oriental Monarchs ') ; (3) ' pourpres ' (now in the plural referring to ' accoutrements ' and hence I have used ' attires ' not to give it its pejorative sense in English; (4) ' belles ' (' beautiful ' is a hackneyed and meaningless epithet; by contrast, the CERN Synchrotron is the most daring, infinitesimally elegant and awe-inspiring human creation) ; (5) ' Ses Yeux ' (first letters capitalised by Rimbaud - from what I can gather from the notes and biographical information - refers to a ' violet-eyed damsel ' with whom Rimbaud turned up in Paris one fine day) . The colour ' violet ' also according to the notes is the last of the colours of the spectrum or ' prisme ' just as ' Omega ' is the last letter of the Greek alphabet. © T. Wignesan - Paris, March 23,2019 A Self-Tutoring Translation of Rimbaud's THE VOWELS in Contemporary Terms A Self-Tutoring Translation of RIMBAUD's ' The Vowels ' in Contemporary Terms (' The Vowels ' in the Paul Verlaine (first version) copy in RIMBAUD OEuvres complètes. Ed. by Pierre Brunel. Paris: Livres de Poche/La Pochethèque,1999, pp.279-280. Please see notes following the translation. T. Wignesan) A, black; E, white; I, red; U, green; O, blue; vowels, I'll invoke true to day how your latent forms take shape A, velvety black corset shiny bluebottles armour-plate ape Pullule hovering over putrefying carrion stench gruels By leeway gulfs. E, shimmering of vapours and tents, Icy surges prideful, white grapes*, fluttering parasols umbellate, I, purple, spat-out blood, laughter from Synchrotron** lips ondulate Through anger or from inebriate benumbing of penitents. U, cycles, the divine vibrations of emerald-green seas Peaceful grazing grounds teeming with animals, reposeful furrowed pleats Some alchemically concocted hand imprints on great foreheads studious; O! stentorian Bugle! the laden strident shriek deranges, The calmness pierced by disrupting Worlds and Angels… --- O! the ultimate Omega, the violet tincture of her eyes! Notes * ' rais blanc ' (' raisin blanc '? , hence: ' raisiné ': blood, claret) ; ** ' belles ' (' beautiful ' is hackneyed and meaningless; by contrast, the CERN Synchrotron is the most daring, infinitesimally elegant and awe-inspiring human creation) ; © T. Wignesan - Paris, March 21,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XL IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: XL IF you pull a long Quixotic face At your own mirror image en face at play Your Right from Left your Anti-Self confuse Myriad selves your chained Parallel Lives portray If you pull a long ironic face Your Right eye looks into your Left in dismay Who looks at whom to cock-eye whose gaze Who called out to whom to glimpse past Milky Way If you pull a long dispised face At each glance preen looks made of clay The more you look the more your face you raze How many torture your face like you do, pray If you pull a long insidious face Connive at ruses to make you the Other's prey Pretend you pass glass wall some Other face efface The insecure Twit calls out to the Other gay Jay If you pull a long auto-da-fé face E'en Hollywood Quasars collapse into Black-Holes some day The face is mirror of the heart not just the brain's Suffice it not to smile to win the heart of any Dame, nay, Gay © T. Wignesan - Paris, March 18,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXXIX IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: XXXIX For Aurélien BARRAU, the consummate millenial teacher IF you pull a long perplexed face At the way this World has come to stay Bad Guys always running the human race Good Guys have no recourse but to pray If you pull a long victimized face Hoping somehow the Meek will win out some day That all it takes is to lose meantime some face Now and then to those who make you unwilling pay If you pull a long anxious face Fretting every morn the issue of the day Which Frost road to take to avoid the pitfall place Bad Guys will revel to see you fritter energy away If you pull a long downcast face At the way Justice fails to pave the way For Truth to triumph while mediocre mettle prevails Does not Yang need the Yin to keep both at bay If you must then pull all kinds of face At, say, Pullitzers Bookers Goncourts all mainstay Nobels pariah Will the whored beggar Welles or the squealing Kazans they replace Be the Dantes erecting on quicksand grounds the Divina Comedia © T. Wignesan - Paris, March 16,2019 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXIV IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXIV IF ever I had a country proud of its sacred Soul Patrie And if ever by a long shot I was nominated - not spuriously elected - Chef Ministre d'Etat Plenipotentiary The first thing I'd do is to give the Minister of Justice the sack in a hurry I'll then take over his post and issue a long awaited (you'll agree) and needed decree That henceforth any razor-sharp lawyer and his erudite team appointed by a client for a very very high fee To defend protect and facilitate the ' escape ' of any known criminal whose ill-gotten gains burst bank-vaults to a brain-numbing degree That the lawyer and his team be given the DOUBLE of the sentence meted out to the criminal and be put away minus their licences to practise LAW in an Alcatrazlike penitentiary And this even if I never ever had no country to call my own with or without any patrimony (The late eminent Vietnamese-French lawyer, Maître JACQUES VERGES, renowned for among other feats the defence of KLAUS BARBIE, the NAZI ' chief ' under the French Vichy regime, was also the Secrétaire de la Conférence des Avocats/Examiner for those wishing to practise law in France. And yet, in a case where I was concerned with revolting Master's and Doctoral students at the Sorbonne-Nouvelle University, he subtly had my case scuttled to prop up mainly Muslim and African-origin students - openly backed by JAMES BALDWIN - who objected vehemently to being taught, besides numerous other Commonwealth authors, V. S. NAIPAUL's The Guerillas, together with Eva Peron and The Killings in Trinidad, students who also took exception to any comparison, by way of structural influence, of WOLE SOYINKA's The Road, with Greek tragedies.) © T. Wignesan - Paris, March 8,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXXVIII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: PART XXXVIII IF you pull a long vacant face Might be you just have nothing to say Which is not a crying disgrace Empty drums need be beaten to bellow away If you pull a long puzzled face Just read what poets have to say On their ilk and how they pretend to liaise Both thoughts and feelings rare they portray If you pull a long insensed face At the affronts you have to put up with all day Pull the shutters close round face Read - not repeat - those long inhumed ages away If you pull a long proud face Your evanescent words others must attention pay Have your ephemeral self bolstered through praise You deserve to inhabit Xanadu Laureat of all you survey If you must pull a long misunderstood face Little the use reading faces e'en the Chinese way A long unread face unveils e'en the masked ignoramus ace Don't Gecian myths enrich the Iliad and Odyssey © T. Wignesan - Paris, March 5,2019 Translation of Marcel Moreau's A L'Amour by T Wignesan Translation of the Elegy: On Marceline Desbordes-Valmore - À L'amour - Poem by Marcel Moreau Translated by T. Wignesan Reprends de ce bouquet les trompeuses couleurs, (Take back the dubious colours of this bouquet) Ces lettres qui font mon supplice, (These letters the cause of my calvaire) Ce portrait qui fut ton complice; (This portrait which once was your peer) Il te ressemble, il rit, tout baigné de mes pleurs. (It looks like you, it laughs, my tears full it bathe) Je te rends ce trésor funeste, (I let you take back this damnable treasure) Ce froid témoin de mon affreux ennui. (This cold reminder of my painful boredom.) Ton souvenir brûlant, que je déteste, (Your scorching memory which I cannot endure) Sera bientôt froid comme lui. (Will like the portrait turn cold soon) Oh! Reprends tout. Si ma main tremble encore, (Oh! Take all back. If my hand still trembles) C'est que j'ai cru te voir sous ces traits que j'abhorre. (It's probably due to the abhorrent underlying features) Oui, j'ai cru rencontrer le regard d'un trompeur; (Yes, I thought I perceived his looks treacherous) Ce fantôme a troublé mon courage timide. (This phantom has rendered my courage timid.) Ciel! On peut donc mourir à l'aspect d'un perfide, (Heavens! One can even die from a perfidious spectre) Si son ombre fait tant de peer (If his shadow does indeed cause much fear) Comme ces feux errants dont le reflet égare, (Like errant fires whose reflections disappear) La flamme de ses yeux a passé devant moi; (The flame of your eyes dance past me after) Je rougis d'oublier qu'enfin tout nous sépare; (I blush forgetting that in fact we have nothing in common) Mais je n'en rougis que pour toi. (But I only do so for your sake) Que mes froids sentiments s'expriment avec peine! (May my frozen sentiments be laboriously expressed!) Amour... que je te hais de m'apprendre la haine! (Love… I'm damned hating you teaching me how to hate!) Eloigne-toi, reprends ces trompeuses couleurs, (Take back the dubious colours of this bouquet) Ces lettres, qui font mon supplice, (These letters the cause of my calvaire) Ce portrait, qui fut ton complice; (This portrait which once was your peer) Il te ressemble, il rit, tout baigné de mes pleurs! (It looks like you, it laughs, my tears full it bathe) Cache au moins ma colère au cruel qui t'envoie, (Conceal at least my anger to the hard-hearted who this sends) Dis que j'ai tout brisé, sans larmes, sans efforts; (Say that I have destroyed all, without effort, without tears) En lui peignant mes douloureux transports, (By relating to him the anguish of my insufferable feelings) Tu lui donnerais trop de joie. (You will confer on him joy that never ends) Reprends aussi, reprends les écrits dangereux, (Take also back, take back your dangerous writings) Où, cachant sous des fleurs son premier artifice, (Where hiding beneath flowers his first artifice) Il voulut essayer sa cruauté novice (He had wanted to foist his cruelty as a novice) Sur un coeur simple et malheureux. (Over a simple heart doomed through pinings) Quand tu voudras encore égarer l'innocence, (When you might want to lose your innocence) Quand tu voudras voir brûler et languir, (When you might want to see it all burn and languish) Quand tu voudras faire aimer et mourir, (When you might wish to be loved and perish) N'emprunte pas d'autre éloquence. (Do not seek to use other forms of eloquence ) L'art de séduire est là, comme il est dans son coeur! (The art of seduction is there as it is in your heart!) Va! Tu n'as plus besoin d'étude. (Go! You have no need for advice.) Sois léger par penchant, ingrat par habitude, (Be frivolous by nature, ungrateful by practice) Donne la fièvre, amour, et garde ta froideur. (Proffer fever, love, but maintain the coldness of heart) Ne change rien aux aveux pleins de charmes. (Change nothing of the professions of love full of charm) Dont la magie entraîne au désespoir: (Since such magic leads one to despair :) Tu peux de chaque mot calculer le pouvoir, (You can with each word calculate its power) Et choisir ceux encore imprégnés de mes larmes... (And choose yet those words which with my tears swarm) Il n'ose me répondre, il s'envole... il est loin. (He dares to respond, he takes flight… he's far gone.) Puisse-t-il d'un ingrat éterniser l'absence! (Could he but such an ungrateful one forever feel the absence!) Il faudrait par fierté sourire en sa présence: (One should, emboldened with pride, smile in his presence :) J'aime mieux souffrir sans témoin. (I'd rather suffer all alone.) Il ne reviendra plus, il sait que je l'abhorre; (He will no more return, he knows how I abhor him) Je l'ai dit à l'amour, qui déjà s'est enfui. (I have with loving words told him, he has already gone away.) S'il osait revenir, je le dirais encore: (If he dares return, I'd tell him the same again :) Mais on approche, on parle... hélas! Ce n'est pas lui! (But one comes close, one talks… alas! It's not him!) Recueil: Élégies (1830) . Marceline Desbordes-Valmore From the collection: Élégies (1830) . Marceline Desbordes-Valmore © T. Wignesan - Paris, March 4,2019 Translation of Marcel Moreau's: A Paris by T Wignesan Translation of Marcel Moreau's ' A Paris ' by T. Wignesan IN PARIS Paris bores me no end without you My heart weighted down with melancholia The spleen given over to asthenia Empties its own sense of loss on to me, too. Sometimes I revisit this bistro Over a coffee I remain speechless Sweetened yet acerbic and joyless I recall the charm in your words true Then I amble through the boulevards The streets and alleys spoking out from thence Foraging for some spoor of your presence Some trace of you I find not hereabouts Those monuments I remember were so elegant Today I reject them as monstrous abominable Enveloped in dark coal shades below gables Robed in hideous scaffoldings repugnant Lyon Station pounded under a thousand feet The crowd surging in a hurry, most fearful Like ants storming plundering plentiful Beneath the clock tower no chiming bells treat Austerlitz Station, an insalubrious grinding battle Austere, wildly noisy and of a temperament savage Swallows and regurgitates a refluxing sludge Of people, its unending food-chain to trundle The Pyramid looms stripped of attention There before the Louvre now of faded stature In no way willing to own up to the exposure Of taking in the Joconde in fleeting succession Like Her, I too have become a fossil in every way So I set about moving up along the Champs Elysées To hang about the great museums of the avenue Like an unsung mortal of the Grand Palais Paris still bores me deprived of your presence From the Champs de Mars to the Notre Dame Everything looks morbid, I feel by all condemned During this month's lack of effervescence: ' November exudes a sentiment that's cruel You do wish to see me drown in the Seine! On which bridge might one picture the scene? Sully, Saint-Louis or Carrousel? ' © T. Wignesan - Paris, March 1st.,2019 The original in French re-produced with the written permission of the poet: À Paris - Poem by Marcel Moreau À Paris, je m'ennuie sans toi… Mon coeur tagué mélancolie, Ce spleen, sensible à l'asthénie, Vidant l'incertitude en moi… Je reviens parfois à ce bistro, Devant un café sans éloquence Sucré d'âcreté déplaisante Rêvant au charme de tes mots. Puis j'erre sur les boulevards, Rues et les voies adjacentes À l'enquête de l'évidence Que je ne trouve nulle part. Ces monuments étaient si beaux, Aujourd'hui je les abomine Dans la noirceur qui les domine Et les hideurs de l'échafaud. Gare de Lyon, mille piétons, Foule pressée et alarmante Comme des fourmis déroutantes, Sous l'horloge sans carillon. Gare Austerlitz, l'infect combat Austère, bruyante et sauvage Avale et vomit un breuvage De monde, son continuel repas. La pyramide sans attrait Devant ce Louvre humeur flétrie Ne partage guère l'envie De voir Joconde aux tirets tirés. Comme elle, j'ai les traits tirés À remonter les champs Élysées, Je me cramponne aux grands musées Comme un mortel du Grand Palais. A Paris, je m'ennuie sans toi Du Champ de Mars à Notre Dame, Tout est morne, tout me condamne Et ce mois qui s'attache au choix: ' Novembre au sentiment cruel, Tu veux me plonger dans le Seine! Sur quel pont conserver la scène? Sully, Saint-Louis ou Carrousel? ' (c) Marcel Moreau - Paris IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXXVII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXXVII IF you pull a long repentant face It avails you to pull it where no one sees you pray For forgiveness though not after being caught outright losing face A stricken conscience e'en coached by counsel may not pardon parley If you pull a fresh Wu Wang face Better pawn it to those who would the right price pay Such as a plea-bargain reduction in sentence Which could pave the way to a bestseller screen play But if you pull a long mea culpa earnest face Just when the Eldest Son Zhen spring awakens the Lunar Year The noble Fa-Ling lined Ganesha ' A Daniel come to Judgment ' may take offence And thunder quake: ' I'll nail you to the Cross ' if you lie this cleansing day If you yet could pull a long masked vengeful face For slights or stings being overlooked by the Master riding high in clover Then all exceptions undeleted none may plan to profit from this case Might not things right themselves before the year runs out and make villains pay If you must then pull a long Sacrificial Lamb face Note how even the Mid-East Patriarch's foundations tremble on the very same day No Saviour may lead his flock thrice out of the Walled Wilderness e'en into Outer Space For he ' who comes to Equity must come with clean hands ' or else the ultimate price pay © T. Wignesan - Paris, February 28,2019 Translation of Marcel Moreau's Je t'ecris by T Wignesan Translation of Marcel Moreau's ' Je t'écris ' by T. Wignesan I WRITE TO YOU I choose green ink to write to you For Love does not prescribe any one hue In the hope you might take shape When desire seizes me agape You, the enigma of my dreams Come, meet me when the day dawns To share but one solitary pillow Where we may entwine Love herebelow I pen these words in green ink For pleasure makes one think Of the patient sweetness of kisses Of the exalting ardour of passions I write to you in green ink taint For passion at dawn heralds no end To diverse phantasies that lie in wait At the edge of a bed left quite unmade I write one lone evening in autumn The green ink has lost its vibrant tone Sick my soul for the want of you The world split apart in more than two I write no more to you, dear Angel All colours of ink I have let spill Into the sea where currents collide Waiting hardly makes you come with the tide I shall write you no more my Sweetheart No more the flame lights up in my heart That flame I lit up when winds coursed through Like a tearing apart of emotions true Should I write to you again Of star-studded heavens you to win Even the body to embrace you now pales I have only my spirit left your Love inhales © T. Wignesan - Paris, February 25,2019 Je T'écris... - Poem by Marcel Moreau Je t'écris à l'encre verte, Car l'amour est une porte ouverte À l'espérance de te découvrir Dans des moments de désir. Toi, l'inconnue de mes rêves, Rencontre-moi au jour qui se lève Pour partager mon seul oreiller Sur lequel on peut s'aimer. Je t'écris à l'encre verte Car le plaisir est une pensée À la patience des doux baisers, À l'ardeur de s'exalter. Je t'écris à l'encre verte Car la passion est une aube ouverte À l'attente des fantasmes divers Au bord d'un lit découvert. Je t'écris un soir d'automne, L'encre verte devient monotone; Le mal de vivre, le manque de toi, Un monde de désarroi. Je ne t'écris plus mon ange, J'ai jeté toutes les couleurs d'encre Dans la mer aux flots récalcitrants, L'attente n'a plus de sens. Je ne t'écris plus mon âme, Mon coeur n'a plus cette jolie flamme Que j'attisais à l'heure des vents Comme un long déchirement. Dois-je encore t'écrire Du monde étoilé pour te séduire? Je n'ai plus de corps pour t'embrasser, Je n'ai que mon esprit pour t'aimer. (c) Marcel Moreau- Paris IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXXVI IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXXVI IF you pull a long-famished face Chances are you'd pull derisive looks your way Some might relent Others spite your face For not pulling your weight in every way If you pull a long symbolic face Your words no meaning profound convey Mallarmé's ill-armed ideas make poems fall on face Try E = mc2: Poem = idea + words2 to force poiea If you pull a long straight face The contradiction might show through the gap in the veil Sure as Rita Hayworth ' put the blame ' on Orson Welles If you're not sure of the signs in poems you use in braille If you yet pull a long-forsaken face Stymied by photons neutrinos criss-crossed by Cosmic Ray Stop wondering what happened to meaning words efface Just listen to rhythmic rhymes in the musical phrase at play So if you must pull that long-mutated face With time won't ideas coalesce words into Shakespearean play At will stream out of computer softwares at mind-boggling pace Leave neither poet nor poetaster critic nor customer with pay © T. Wignesan - Paris, February 25,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXXV IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXXV IF you pull a long croquet face While picking your teeth index and thumb over molar Canines will drip corrosive acids on knuckles and nails E'en if you lose anonymous self in a crowded alley If you pull a long twisted itching face All through childhood while making hay You risk being stung by bluebottles and fleas Right where you may not much like 'em to stay If you pull a long self-conscious face Guilt straining your under-your-wear during play Tell-tale signs beyond control those stains on lace Parents by Law only keep teens so long as they obey If you pull a long pre-maturé face E'en a Mahatma Gandhi married at puberté At 36 assumes Brahmacharya celibate sacrifice To libido's extra-marital experience falls prey If you must pull a long pedo-de-filed priestly face Pull it not on homeless orphan or pious nun gone astray Tussle all alone the Devil in you from pantry to pillow-case Or else the Man in Hu-Man would drive the Wo-Man gay © T. Wignesan - Paris, February 21,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXXIV IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXXIV For Mickey COTO and his PTS-ed cohorts IF you pull a long patriotic face ' My Country My God boundup in one alloyed essay The blood I spill for either in one compounded commonplace For Mother and Father begot me Soul and Body I let slay ' If you pull a long cramped face In galactic worlds speeding pell-mell trillion light years away The Glory of the Nation ancient History pure Superior conquering Race Will Voyager II blot out from the Carter message the stain in our DNA If you pull a long arrogant face Vying with one another your Party's Will to impose in mellée Loud yet dumb those who'll vain political power embrace Won't names on plaques and stiff statues with time decay If you pull a long populist face Confound callow youths' psychés through geo-political play The Enemy's the one with the ethnic-God's alien grimace Won't ' Demo-Cracy ' make ' People-Crazy ' Passionarias pray If you must pull a long pro-patria-mori face Then breed the orphaned cloned-robot grandes armées Mediativize the great onslaughts from Sun Tzu & Cong strategies Won't the Populace then exult betting on their revered contrées © T. Wignesan, Paris, February 16,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXXIII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXXIII IF you pull a long non-plussed face Astrophysicists declare Science no Absolute Truths underlay Big-Crunch might on Big-Bang back bounce about face Who'll say All-This's but mere hearsay If you pull a long heretical face Opt for accidentally ordered Life as did Hawking portray Almighty be a Barrau's ' tout comme ' Lord of Multiverse Who'll say All-This's but mere hearsay If you pull a long Question-Marked face Two brothers in '43 jumped into the Future to aver Great Lakes all make for one big sea surface Who'll say All-This's but mere hearsay If you pull a long besotted face Long walls of Black Holes tugging pulling us in disarray Andromeda throttle surge through our Milky Way interlace Who'll say All-This's but mere hearsay So if you must pull a long-lost inane face Light-propelled ET-ships visit us NASA-men say If you can the future tell e'en of one of the human race Then nothing anyone can ever do the FUTURE gainsay © T. Wignesan - Paris, February 14,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXXII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXXII IF you pull a long ME-TOO victimised face ' Look Mom! Dirty-Ol'-Sod oggles me carriage sway! ' ' Dear Girl! Of what use curves under pretty face? Be like Mona Lisa, look neither Louvre either way! ' If you pull a long ME-TOO martyred face ' Oh, Mom, look! He looks through under wear! ' ' Dear Child! Eyes are made for hills and dales On desert sands, looks stretch mirage bare! ' If you pull a long ME-TOO bothered face ' Oh, Mom, look! Light's changed we've right of way My Zebra thighs cross at every stride his lurid gaze! ' ' Oh! Ne'er you mind, for all you know he's gay! ' If you pull a long ME-TOO frenzied face ' Oh, Mom, look! The cad swims under my belly! ' ' Pretty Mome! Wish not he breaststrokes to spoil grace! The flip and the flop of diving: Not on my nelly! ' If you must pull a long ME-TOO sacrificed face ' Oh, Mom! That pedophile's looks drip lecherous leer! ' ' Sure, Baby! That's the look perpetuates the human race Yearn not for a YAHOO's horse to mate and rule us here! ' © T. Wignesan - Paris, February 9,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXXI IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXXI IF you pull a long lagging-behind face You deserve your copycat status in more than one way Marco Polo brought back cracker-power not to powder face Noble Savage Injuns and Indians shuddered and gave way Now if you pull a long WOG face Aping the Colonial Master in every bourgeois way No use straddling neck feet dangling front of face Giant still supports the Dwarf while striding away If you still will pull that long sullen ' heathen ' face Thinking how easy the tidal wave you'd turn back anyway Vasco's galleons rained broadside thunder balls on village place While your loin-clothed turbaned ancestors scurried in fear If you then pull your long self-satisfied face At your hosts' Midas touch riding main fleets of Raleigh To stud Crown lapis lazuli rubies opal spice and maize Needs he as much now you to beg fawn and yeah-say If you must then pull your long infra-dig face Hankering after titles prizes rubbing shoulders in hallowed hallway Colonial caste of mind gives exacting the Shylock pound of flesh Smites your integrity dignity breaks spirit robs merits if ' I YOU DARE! ' say © T. Wignesan - Paris, February 8,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXX IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXX IF you pull a long querulous face At the way Life makes you dire pay For doubts and questions slaps your face Fear keeps you from getting out-of-here If you pull a long-damned face Why woes and wails end not today At your meek efforts scoffs the face E'en Man-made-Laws prolong delay If you keep pulling that angst-long face Your duties to dear-ones holds you prey Hereunder parcours written on tortured face Corridor of Fortune mid Mother-Father ear If you then can pull this long-stretched face Cheek-bone nose shape Fa-ling lines down ear Snub-nosed Socrates quaffed hemlock in disgrace Contours of Fate circulate face year by lunar year So if you must pull a long DNA mirror-face Hide plastic surgery face under mask or clay How long Bushmen took to Chinese their race Yet let the few alter Nature through fore-play © T. Wignesan - Paris, February 6,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXIX IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXIX IF you pull a long pained face The kind poets affect and gladly display Throughout the ages with their lonely-heart feelings in lyrical grace You might end up Precious Pearl in harem of some Arabo-Turkish Bey If you then pull that longingly pained long face In verses thin and sweetened long to Your Lord and Master Bey All night long pulling at the tassels of your silken robes pyjama lace Your turn might never come to whisper rosy verses under moonlit ear Yet if you keep pulling that long lone-heart face Know that Eunuchs too might not averse be to your corvée And might listen close to every lilting line behind burka lace Unless in Looney Bin the Bey thinks fit to let you long stay Now if you pulled that long left-alone pale face During long-stricken nights while silken moon-shafts through casements stray Your face wan the tang of your pulled flesh less and less sinuous in bed-wise ways With luck you might at his table serve as a taster of macoronic verse play So if you must go on pulling that long Parson's face Pull it while chopping up pork ribs for crispy crunchy helpings à la Canard Lacqué None will miss appreciating the tango twists and twirls in your hurt-feelings vice-verse Everything's grist to the salmagundi soup the pot-pourri pulsed poem à la Chop Suey © T. Wignesan - Paris, February 5,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXVIII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXVIII IF you pull a long perplexed face You could be watching SUMO in Tokyo Bay Or reading this without a NIHONG-GUO dictionary in front of face Rather I'd say you were the victim of WATENAGE If you gasp at me pulling - pardon me - long dude face Most probably you landed on your head due to ****ANAGE Little use then pulling that long RISHIKISHI enigmatic poker face Even if you were a 400-pound local HEBI-KYU god YOKOZUNA Yet if you insist on pulling your long-slapped face It's your own funeral living stabled in a SUMOBEYA When all around GEISHA fans dream behind rice-paint face Of what use then 30,000 YEN KENSHOKIN PRIZE nets you each day If you can't help pulling that long-repressed face Think you can gouge eyes out kick grab groin pull hair Think again you had better throw salt to purify SHINTO DOHYO ring space Or else find your MAWASHI loincloth ripped-off your shame hair rare So if you must pull that 1500-year long SUMO face Make certain you perform KAMI salt-throwing ceremony First of all at TOKYO MEIJI SHRINE like all RISHIKISHIS Before you digest 5000 to 7000 calories of fried diabetic chow each thumping day © T. Wignesan - Paris, February 3,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXVII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXVII IF you pull a long poet's face All things you write go awry E'en fans who cuddle up offer no solace Remember Kipling's ' IF ' the price to pay If you pull a long deserted face E'en friends plot with club members to assail You lose will e'en to tie loose line shoe-lace Damn could e'en petty sins cause such travail If you go on pulling that long worsted face Lines you lilt and rhyme sound airy-fairy You push pen you powder verse till tears race Creative college rhetoric plunder words weary Yet if you pull this long-lined sick face Grinding teeth biting lips till red ink spray Ask who cut off Van Gogh's ear to spite his coal-mine face Will a Gauguin mock a Brando's South-Seas belles-ballet If you pull a long Art-for-Artifice sake face Ask whose Kafkayesque trials plagued a Welles's Moro-Jacobean play Holy-Wood chef-d'oeuvres dictate classic post-modern pace Kaleidoscopic formulae: rape batter murder on Tolstoyian vertebrae © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 31,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXVI IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXVI IF you pull that long-besieged face Back and forth to Brussels in Brexit bob-sleigh Deal or No-Deal backstop Customs excise nor phase EU patience and make jingle-bells rein deer neigh If you pull that plucky long face You risk boxing the Left's adamant Brexit-Deal ear ' EYES ' to the Right ' NOSE ' to the Left ' have it ' put Westminster grace out-of-place No argument on amendments ' PROSIT ' with Franco-German beer Then if you pull that long disfigured face The Celts will with Scots not in English parley To invite reigning Norman to fly in the face into Brexit space Not mind you on skis past Omaha Beach and Isle Guernsey Yet if you continue to pull that long-merited face Even Roman legions will over-run the Charlemagne Gaul face rightaway To watch Nero blitz-krieg London while May souffle sur les braises Won't even a Nobel Peace Prize entice a ditch-Brexit May If you must then pull a long-stymied face Carve Britain out add a STAR to the Star-Spangled pot-pourrée Let the Scots the Irish and the Welsh in gaelic discourse While gentlemanly Six Nations Cup supplant Super Bowl rough play © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 29,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXV IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXV IF you pull a long face Neither side in tug-of-war giving way Pull in the name of the Populace Neither side will lose face e'ven if they bray But if you pull a long surly face In fear your own clan might fall prey To the Squinting-Lady with the tilted balance Beware of saving face at the expense of the Lay If then you would pull a long-assured face Founding Fathers pull with me on my side today Tomorrow might usher in a benumbing sense of daze If you flout in the face the Law's mainstay: Egalité If you insist on pulling a long smug face House soul-White clean the House on the Hill guilt-grey Might Chosen Few bow to Ol' troubled Abe's wizened gaze Or scowl at the Capital Dome the Bill of Rights to flay So if you must the long face pull with grace Turn a deaf ear to those who at Wall Street pray The streets crawl with people losing ev'ryday a bit of face Futile efforts at making ends meet for their progeny at bay © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 26,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXIV IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXIV IF you pull that long martyred face While brake-disks hiss howl metal-doors click-clutch-cluck on railway No Tokyo masks nor hand darts to protect the homefront populace Breeding grounds Underground cooking love-cold soup bacteriae If you pull that damnit I've-caught-it again long distressed face Between fleeing Metro stations unable to turn your face away Holding breath in terror fumigating in deadly solipsistic silence Which year's vaccination failed to mutate and antidotes convey If you pull that long contorted villified face Sandwiched between leaking semen sweat coughing sonorous spray Bacteria exploding tout azimut in jolting standing wool-crammed space Smiles stuck in smart-phones fingers deftly messaging con-art display If you then pull that fully-drenched long face Face to face with guys who repress no more pent-up phlegm volley Adding to that splash short staccato sharp poop-stench promise Who nurses not nor lodges the germinating common denominator heir Yet if you must pull that long innoculated face Remember the doctor the nurse the pharmacist all give willing way To the vast multi-national over/under the counter panacea commerce To keep the influenza germ indoors at soaring fever pitch - Hurray! © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 25,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXIII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXIII IF you pull a long-pained face After tumbling down the Stairway Do not the blame put on loose shoe-lace The fault, pained-poet, may lie in gut-loose kidney Now if you still pull that pained-look victim face Watching others trip down whistling care-free gay Turn back the pages and ill-fraught lines replace With clippety-cloppy trained strides in horse-shoe gait Yet if you insist on parading your long-pulled face Draw not attention to the Maker of the Stairway Nor sit on High Horse of thorough-bred DNA race Most if not ALL will slip down the slippery Stairway If you go on pulling that long-dethroned face Know that ev'ry race-winner aloft long does not stay Be it White Brown Black Yellow or of mixed-race No use then claiming favoured-place with Potter of clay So if you must pull that long Pale Face Do it where you don't step on toes in any way Sunscreen melotinine paves not way to pride of place If you believe in One Maker why d'you to One Son pray © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 23,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXII IF you pull a long lonely face Standing all alone near or on a busy airport flyway Sans kith ni kin nor traffic police or friends en surplus Hell you'll be mowed down by plane's landing gear out-lay Now if you pull that lone long face Since with none you can co-habit you say Too true as that might be do as penance purchase A man-sized mouse-trap stick neck in and pray But if you pull long neck out to save long face Don't blame me if by chance the spring gives way Mouse-traps are made only for rats running in rat-race If you want out post (on this site) your sworn statement apostasié Yet if you pull your changed-mind long face Take vows of celibacy eat nor enjoy flesh either way Even as anthropophage Andromède chew on Ethiopian rock face None'll make a shrine out of bones buried under compost pourrée So if you must pull a lone long face Seek not other lone long faces who pray and flay Their backs and with cat-o'-nine-tails their face Lacerate till Antonioni films Sophia L. with St. Francois d'Assis in Mandalay © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 22,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XXI IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XXI IF you pull a long Moon face Watching our Earth clad in sparse swirling white sarée Her aqua-marine waters cuddling her reddish brown body-surface The dazzlingly rare Pearl now throttled by deadly débris If you then pull a long Other-Moon face Rolling weightless in a space-ship bathed in thermo-dynamic ray You turn your thoughts on the marvels of the man-made science race And then give the credit to Our-Nation GOD Is this really okay Then if you pull a long bright Sunny face And forget the reasons why this World of ours has gone astray Man's inhumanity to Man how warring nations destroy Nature's grace Pollute the depths of oceans cancer in the bowels flora and fauna sans say If you continue to pull a long self-satisfied face In the name of the Lord for every national achievement His blessings pray Then repeat non-sensical myths and rituals in His Honour according to race Reduce the United Nations to hypocritical inner politicking yeah-say Thus if you must pull a long-travestied face All through the Ages on the dictates of your incontrovertible DNA Seek by every economic ruse power of class and caste on skins of race Sing not of the beauty of this rare Pearl decorating space Put the blame squarely on Divine Lila play © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 20,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XX IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XX IF you pull a long-haughty face Some would not your game play What irks you most is not their voice But runs they chalk up during volley If you then pull this long face With those in the same métier Beware some might your castle raze Out of a need to debunk the phoney Yet if you pull that self-same long face Know it's your own face you sadistic flay Whoever for whatever reason takes offence Stretches his face beyond the Milky Way Now if you keep pulling that long-ridiculed face Despite what others do to keep us down I'd say Go on keep pulling that by now long irate face There's no better lesson you could give or take Olé So if you must pull your long-inured face For ages whipping on slave-ship galley Go on live in bliss with Moon-mirror face The Sun darkens skin with un-ending ray © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 19,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XIX IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XIX IF you pull a long plucky face Even when I-Ee-You let you have your way Placed no impediment for the divorce Let you keep key to backstop exit doorway You yet keep pulling that long stubborn face Yes you want out when I want you to stay House in utter disorder your comeuppance Mary Queen of Scots no tough Liz will obey If you keep pulling that long war-weary face What must I do or say your fears to allay The fault lies squarely on Henry the VIII's mace Even Papal Borgias did male heirs coolly lay Yet you keep pulling that long staunch face Again and again for you Excommunication I delay You want both: eat cake while pulling a long face Even Luther would think twice such customs waylay So if you must pull a long navel face Build yourself a Wall right round: call it Isles of May Expel your Blacks and Asians born with jus soli grace Turn Old Vic plays into Tower Terror bloody display © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 17,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XVIII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XVIII IF you pull a long dopey face The least one can in this case say You don't belong to the eskimo race Who lament the sun sunk in iced bay Now if you pull that long limp face Hoping someone will notice your dismay Best not to peek through burka-nikah lace Take the next flight out of tent on any airway Yet if you keep pulling that long hangdog face Ev'ry chance you'd be called upon to act in a play For who knows how to imitate Droopy's face Who has heard of a cartoon dog star on Broadway If you pulled hard at that long hangdog face Through wearisome rehearsals day after day Fat chance you'll be nominated to play Scarface No long-faced dogs allowed on stage in Broadway So if you must pull that long hangdog face Make certain the collar the leash does not betray The long-buried wolf in the dog might surface And actors feast on wolf sans ShutDown back pay © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 9,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XVII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XVII IF you pull a long bored face Oh What's the use no way to be gay Ev'ry effort gets bogged in rigged rat-race Some covert service blocks my way Yet you pull that long out-of-shape face Bored by the way things turn out every day No use turning out the lights in bed to efface Lessons learned during the day you must weigh If you go on pulling that long elongated face You risk also pulling your hair out I dare say Your eyes and ears too without using pliers End up as Moon pulling tides on Earth all day Then if you pull a long-pulled face Forced you say to grunt low bleat and neigh LIFE's not for sure a pleasure cruise in space Measure of grains aroma ensures in cup of café So if you must pull a long out-of-shape face Depressed by the way the skies turn gray Look straight ahead not downcast askance The END's believe it or not but a sly moment away © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 15,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XVI IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XVI IF you pull a long limp face Long as a mile of lies made of clay Little the wonder no kind of praise Can pull you out of utter dismay Then if you pulled that long clay face Right round the block up your driveway Complain not how your face you deface Your driveway's not a public pathway Now if you pull that long haughty face No matter how hard you worked to stay On top of the world's profit-trade chase Stache not losses onto the company's outlay For if you pull that long uppity face Walk you must the plank on Judgement Day Blindfolded waist and wrists bound in disgrace Ev'ry dog has its day since yes crime does pay So if you must pull that panicky long face No chauffered limousine to pave your way Corporate tax cuts do political parties brace High tit for tat makes for democratic sway © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 12,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XV IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XV IF you pull a long long aching face Thinking this's it the end of my heyday STOP think again stretch not an oval face To look rhomboid rubarb in triangular tray If you pulled a long winding road face And looped it round a rail-road cross-way And pulled it through its empty space You'd likely see many holes in your driveway If you pulled a long battered face Some might say that's in no way okay A battered look looks not long in the face Others that's alright who cares anyway Yet if you pulled a long soft lean face It could tear open some part of the way Leaving strands of matted hair in its place Stuff the skull to stop what it might say So if you must pull your worn-out long face Thinking what good there be beyond Milky Way Slam not the door on our teeny-weeny space Around which star must we ride in chained galley © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 11,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XIV IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XIV IF you pull a long stiff face Week after week while you parley You risk stoking the furnace Ill-chosen words all ending in nay If you keep pulling the long red face The Picador will puncture your vertebrae Blood-splashed mane from banderillas Beware you'll be the only felled prey If you keep pulling that long mane face The blood-thirsty chorus crowd cry Olé Eyes mist over ears dim to the populace Beware Beware the Torrero about to slay If you insist on pulling the long bull-face Horns flayed by muleta-faena coup d'épée The Torrero bucked up with rude applause Take heed the estocade's only an inch away Now if you must pull that long lost face Neither party willing to give some leeway No Wall can stop the People ALL debase Hell to pay in havoc-wreaked 2020's back pay © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 10,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XIII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: XIII If you pull a lean long face Each day in fear of the next Saturday Time to tone down High C voice in Elysée Palace Yellow Jackets are closing in on the Champs Elysées Then if you insist on pulling that lone long face Just think on what could happen on Bastille Day Guest of Honour Outre Atlantique might pull your face If sacré Fourteenth of July fell on a Yellow Saturday Now if you cannot prevent pulling that lone long face On the pretext your corporate tax cuts benefit the lay You should've first laid out your plans to the populace And obtained their consent by referendum if you may No use pulling a lone long lean face When Yellow Jackets choke the roads and railway Time to move house to the Versailles Palace And there reign as Monarch of all you survey But if you must keep pulling that lone long face Best to follow in footsteps of itchy-foot Corsican's Grande Armée Take to the Chunnel set up House in Buckingham Palace Before Brexit gets pulled off by plucky Santa Theresa May © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 8,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XII IF you pull a mighty long face Such as even Bollywood can't display Put not the blame on the mixed human race The fault most likely comes from animal DNA Now if you go on pulling that long long face People'll rightly think you're going out of your way To attract attention to your you-think handsome face And some might wish you'd look in the mirror right away Yet if you insist on pulling that long-gone face The kind Penelope pulled with suitors in Odyssey While Odysseus loped with sirens on Scylla & Charibdis You risk adorning some niche at museums in decay If you can't resist pulling that long-tired face Whenever your siblings marry and are whisked away Remember Sita pining for Rama in Ravana's Palace Even if some still wonder at Hanuman's role in epic play So if you must still keep pulling that long face Favourite sport with chicks watching films from Bombay Just keep watching Beau-Boy Khan in tear-jerking DEVDAS The all-time record at pulling faces in every love-sick way © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 7,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part XI IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part XI If you pull a long face Not knowing whether it's Night or Day That may simply mean you lost your face You have gone past your very Last Day No use then pulling a long lost face For all the days you failed to pray High Up or Deep Down where you surface Angels or Devils note down crimes to pay Now if you keep pulling that wraith-long face Thinking WHO's to know whether your taxes you pay Remember Arch-Angel Collector of Taxes His Grace Reads every twitch on faces the mirror-image of DNA Yet if you still keep pulling that long face Hoping you can put off Tax Declaration Day Dictatorship out there needs no majority in Congress To impeach even Ultime Unction pardon on dying day So if you must pull a long long face Pull it wherever no one dares say Ill-gotten gains make for national disgrace Tho' trillions in debt pile up in You-Yes-Yeah © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 6,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part X IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: PART X IF you pull a long face For ten straight nights starting today You bet you'd look like Canada Bernache Though fat chance like swan in Norway But if you pull a very very long face Your rivals might not like it in the Sea-Ay-Yeah And might seek to shorten the nautical-mile face To a right and proper mile-long face all in a day Yet if you keep pulling that mile-long face The wilds of the Siberian Goulag would you slay After long lone nights the firing-squad to face Notes from the Underground your mind mainstay Then if you pull the lone long face In Algerian quarries Who will your ransom pay Thirty-thousand ducats El Manchot to brace Battling windmills in Castillian Quixotic disarray So if you must pull the longingly long face Your chef-d'oeuvre will-o'-the-wisp bright stay Your day of glory on the Internet mere pittance Think of all the great works slush piles overlay © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 5,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part IX IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: IX IF you pull a long face Being born with a long face bytheway Then you have at worst a problem face None will know if you're sad or gay Now if you keep pulling this long face Mostly at the dinner table, say Most would think it a commonplace To pull the leg off the mint sauce tray Yet if you keep pulling the same face Some mugs who thrive on mere hearsay Might try to pull your long aching face To pave the way for a new long Broadway And if you keep pulling that long face Long as Sphinxes' smirks look from far away Remember how Ol' Ceasar fell for Cleo's grace And Antony dragged half-sister to Rome as prey So if you must pull a long face Seeing who pulls spiteful faces in disarray At those faces being belittled for their race Put on balance long face and Sphinx to weigh © T. Wignesan - Paris, January 2nd,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part VIII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part VIII IF you pull a long face On 2019 New Year's Day While at 2018 stick tongue out of face You bade Her badbyes, everybody'd say But if you pulled a long face On the Eve of New Year's Day Your Belle at Ball slapped your face Leave her high and dry on Wedding Day Now if you pulled along face Thinking how 2018 made you pay Wait to see how the 2019 Mephisto chase Will mock cock eye and good ol' Faust slay If you yet pulled a long face All Eve-night with no-one to lay Stay condemned by contumace While plea-bargain culprits bray So if you must pull a long face Year in and year out up Calvary way Don't buy taser to ease disgrace Yama follows Atman just as June May (2+1+9=12=3 follows 2+1+8=11=2) © T. Wignesan, Paris, January 1st.,2019 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part VII IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: VII (Thoughts on a fast-receding fearful Me-Too Year) IF you pull a long face And you can't make it go away try as you may No use putting on a pretty smile on the face The smile will likely turn leer in a day If you pull a long face And it keeps coming back every other day Then it's an illness at the serious phase No doctor can tell you to call it a day Yet if you only pull a long face On certain days in the week like Sunday It might mean you're allergic to Holy Mary grace Not much Good will it do you to choose, say, Friday If you still keep pulling a long face No matter which church-going week day you pray No doctor can save you from losing face Best to wear a Monte Cristo mask all your livelong day So if you must pull a long face The sledge kind Santa Claus pulls on Xmas Day Make sure no Me-Too Gals your drinks lace You might live to regret it some far-off day © T. Wignesan - Paris, December 29,2018 Translation of Catherine Lara's Awesome Night by T Wignesan Nuit magique (Awesome Night) Catherine Lara (A lilting catchy French tune with a ' barbed ' message addressed to oneself or to any damsel in distress. Free translation by T. Wignesan) Okay Il n'y avait rien à faire (One felt free with nothing to do) Okay Dans cette ville étrangère (In that foreign outpost) Okay Tu étais solitaire (You were all alone) Okay J'avais l'coeur à l'envers (I was feeling quite out-of-sorts) Okay Tout ça n'était qu'un jeu (I felt there was nothing to lose) Okay On jouait avec le feu (Though one sensed danger approach) Okay On s'est pris au sérieux (Yet one couldn't help being in earnest) Okay Le rire au fond des yeux (Deep down though one kept feeling light-hearted) Nuit magique (Imagine) Une histoire d'humour qui tourne à l'amour (An humourous episode that gave way to romance) Quand vient le jour (When light thrust open the night) Nuit magique (Imagine) On perd la mémoire au fond d'un regard (One's thoughts grow blank in the depths of an absorbing glance) Histoire d'un soir (As the evening drifts by and takes its toll) Nuit magique (Imagine) Si loin de tout sans garde-fou (Way away from home with your defences down) Autour de nous (To keep us from harm) Nuit magique (Imagine) Nuit de hasard on se sépare (On an hazardous night one takes off) Sans trop y croire (Not quite convinced) Okay C'est une histoire de peau (It's a question of skin colour) Okay On repart à zéro (One tries to start all over again) Okay On oublie aussitôt (Yet one forgets it happened just as quickly) Okay Qu'on s'est tourné le dos (Turning one's back on it all) Nuit… (the Night…) (The song continues with these lines repeated thrice: Une histoire d'humour qui tourne à l'amour (An humourous episode that gave way to to romance) Quand vient le jour (When light thrust open the night) Nuit magique (Imagine) On perd la mémoire au fond d'un regard (One's thoughts grow blank in the depths of an absorbing glance) Histoire d'un soir (As the evening drifts by taking its toll) © T. Wignesan - Paris, December 28,2018 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part VI IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE: Part VI If you pull a long face On great Government Shut-Down Day Just think who'll replace The Walls of Jéricho on Shout-Down Day Yet if you pull a long face While Dow Jones on downward swing stay Just you wait to see how whose face Wails to pull Wall down Méjico Way If you then keep pulling a long face Captain pulls selfie-face in Mid-East mélée Never you mind the hotting-up furnace Ice-cubes in high-balls melt during any fray Yet if you pulled a long face All year long to New Year's Day You'd have pulled your pretty Rahab face Only from deaf ear to another Joshua'd say So if you must pull a long face While all around you the damned World boils away Just you keep on pulling that long face Never you mind what lies in store past Doomsday © T. Wignesan - Paris, December 28,2018 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part V IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part V IF you pull a long face Especially on Christmas Day You might put out-of-place Your face on every other day If you keep pulling a long face No matter what anyone might say Some faces might wear a grimace By contracting a long face each day Yet if you must pull a long face Just when darkness dims day by day Winter Solstice might lift the burka lace To show more of wanton autumn play Now if you go on pulling a long face On the Gran Via while Reyes Magos lead the way By comets and shooting cars in criss-crossing race Pontius Pilatus Police could you in gulgülta dismay So if you still must pull a long face On holy church-going psalm-rhyming day Make sure you confess all dirty-linen disgrace ' Eli Eli lama: Please don't lead me astray! ' © T. Wignesan - Paris, December 25,2018 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part IV IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part IV IF you pull a long face Just because no one will you lay Never you mind the disgrace Every body's bound day by day to decay But if you pull a long face At your own mirror image night or day Then you have to blame only your face For pulling a long face for no pay If you pull a long face While with your darling you sway Remember another would her embrace And likely put her in the family way Yet if you keep pulling a long face Your father mindless your mother did lay Through no fault of your own or race Put the blame on stars of your birthday So if you must pull a long face Every time a girl you want slips away Don't go chasing legs under loose lace Turn transvestite change sex or just go gay © T. Wignesan - Paris, December 21,2018 Villanelle: Paint no colours on plain words lest the poet stops writing Villanelle: Paint no colours on plain words lest the poet stop(s) writing Paint no colours on plain words lest the poet stop(s) writing Out of fear for what he writes makes no sense to the wise reader Can words of encouragement be best meted out unreviling Tell no white lies under the guise of covert praise inviting Better still no swill wallows under poems by suitor Paint no colours on plain words lest the poet stop(s) writing If you tell a poet what's wrong with his poetising You'll do him a greater service than any imposter Can words of encouragement be best meted out unreviling The kind of heedless praise gushing will longrun prove crippling That which soothes bolsters the ego comes from flatterer Paint no coiours on plain words lest the poet stop(s) writing Watch what the flatterer says it's self-compromising See how he lures you back to his page as cunning visitor Can words of encouragement be best meted out unreviling If you learn to write with conviction not by ruse conniving Two hoots will you give to thumbs up or down on what you proffer Paint no colours on plain words lest the poet stop(s) writing Can words of encouragement be best meted out unreviling © T. Wignesan - Paris, December 19,2018 Limerick crochetes: Once Bull-Frog of a French Syndic - Part One Limerick crochetes: Once a Bull-Frog of a French Syndic Part One Once a Bull-Frog of a French Syndic Croaked Janitress Porc-U-Pine music She found much in common With Janitress-Husband They sucked Co-Proprietors' Council sick Now Janitress had much lard to spare Front back cheeks belly thighs but spare hair So Bull-Frog humped her back To keep her hair intact Bull-Frog ate Porc-U-Pine falling hair Now Co-Proprietors' presidents Saved lots of hair-wilting rodents Pipes stuffed with hairs pubic Made proprietors sick Porc-U-Pine made pubic wig from rodents Yet Porc-U-Pine wailed all day and night ' How am I to keep flying my kite? Flying saucers see nought On my scalp lives no thought! ' Appealed to Town Hall Caïd for more might ' Porc-U-Pine, Dear, your sting I like best! Can you this Injun now put to rest? ' ' Yes, Sir! You know how well Your words make my lard swell! I'll put this Ol' Bum on acid test! ' ' I'll ask Syndic Bull-Frog to puff hard Through his WC pipe under board I'll stuff hoards of pubic hair Plus more from rodents' lair To force Ol' Bum to swim in building's turd! ' ' Now, My Darling Porc-U-Pine! How nice To know you and I share the same vice Ask Mason Brother Police To salute you, as-you-please Kiss your cheeks up or under likewise! ' Bull-Frog croaked: ' She's under my orders! No way I'll be made to suckle udders! Tell the Lord President I'm thick as she's cement Nothing less than top Republic's honours! ' © T. Wignesan - Paris, December 18,2018 Villanelle: Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire Villanelle: Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire Pull Pound down tear veil off event horizon holes All to make for one's own sacre the pur sang lyre Invent a machine feed it Homeric fire No enjambement perfect rhyme rhythm metre folds Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire Whoever tops the charts which poem's ire Shines through Apollo's defiant mien Zeus scolds All to make for one's own sacre the pur sang lyre Ne'er short the naive champion of the ephemère Paid up club member the mutual backscratcher roles Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire Machine that thinks can it rasa taste inspire Mete out criteria merit sound sense enfolds All to make for one's own sacre the pur sang lyre Art of artifice best profits business liar Poets at the stakes burn to free the poems' souls Should one reorder genuine vers libre entire All to make for one's own sacre the pur sang lyre © T. Wignesan - Paris, December 15,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXIII - Continued IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - LXXIII IF ever I had a country re-made by the Revolutionary And if ever I were that Corsican Napoleon who appropriated the Apollonian sanctuary ' gymnase ' and the ' lycée ' I'd let no fifteen-to-eighteen year old lycéen or lycéenne barricade the portals of their holier than holy Athenian lycée to camp on rubbish bins en grasse matinée Luscious objects of voyeurism for the highly titillated TV-public and the uniformed police and grande armée But, believe me, I'd stuff these nubile kids in the plastic garbage cans and seal them all air-tight with searing burners, yes, Sirée And then let their cohorts yellow-jacket teachers all products of the Sexual Revolution generation torch the bins and choke in the resulting chemical fumée Yes, Sirée, that's what the present Philosopher-King ought to do before he too joins or already joined the ranks of the revolutionary sexually-emancipated lycée And even if I never ever were tutored in no lycée blessed by Apollo of Lykeios in gaie migrant-purée Paris © T. Wignesan - Paris, December 8,2018 Villanelle: Who lies to defend his kind tells he no White Lies Villanelle: Who lies to defend his kind tells he no White Lies Who lies to defend his kind tells he no white lies Encircled by scheming vile wicked harmful people White lie harms no one not e'en those it underlies Tell me not authorities may at will spew lies For the higher purpose preserve State, not people Who lies to defend his kind tells he no white lies Can White lies be not lies without being Black lies Unless lies change colour from mouth to mouth at will White lie harms no one not e'en those it underlies Now he who embodies State on whose bed he lies Do bodies that stewed in his bed most lies sprinkle Who lies to defend his kind tells he no white lies If liars all came together to stop White lies Would Black lies undermine Truth to make lying simple White lie harms no one not e'en those it underlies Next time you tell a White lie make certain it dies The death of a Black lie in the mouth you stifle Who lies to defend his kind tells he no white lies White lie harms no one not e'en those it underlies © T. Wignesan, Paris, December 5,2018 My Recurrent Dream, Translation of Paul Verlaine's Sonnet: Mon Reve Familier My Recurrent Dream, Translation of Paul Verlaine's Sonnet: Mon Rêve Familier I'm often subject to a strange and invasive dream Of an elusive woman whom I love, and who loves me And who at every encounter might not the same be Nor altogether another be, yet forbearing in her love seem. For knowing how my open heart laid bare will confirm How for her alone it beats, helas! I can breathe free Yes, for her alone, the paleness of my brow dewy She alone knows how to relieve, her tears stream. Is she a brunette, blond or russet? - I ignore. Her name? I recall it sounds sweet, echoes in the ear Like those of lovers Life puts apart. Likewise her looks, the gaze of statues, And, as for her voice, distant and calm, and the art Of the gravity of cherished voices long since mutes. © T. Wignesan - Paris, December 1,2018 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part Three - Continued IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part III IF you pull a long face As long as two thousand years, you say Think someone looked after your place Now is he the one who must the price pay Now that you pull a long face Just because you lost your way Why shouldn't someone take your place For you're bound to lose face anyway Now if you pull a long face Forced, as you say, to go away Come not back to a land to say grace Turn not Allah away from Yahweh So if you must always pull a long face Pull not a gun to make him do as you say Pay him the rent you owe, ne'er him displace Share and share alike none will you slay Yet if you must pull a long face At some kin on whom you prey You should really fear losing face For, from you, the World'll turn away © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 28,2018 Villanelle: Those whom the Muses love die Martyrs' deaths at lone stockade Villanelle: Those whom the Muses love die Martyrs' deaths at lone Stockade Those whom the Muses love die martyrs' deaths at lone stockade Not yearning for success excuses each seek to elude Fame stops at no stranger's door the loafer to persuade Yet legions make it to the top in their time and period They pass their lives in adoration midst the multitude Those whom the Muses love die martyrs' deaths at lone stockade Yet rare the martyr who in his lifetime has it made Most die in misery and bear their lives in rectitude Fame stops at no stranger's door the loafer to persuade Can Art be some pursuit that brings joy to any renegade Rather the squeezed out sweat which makes much of Life's attitude Those whom the Muses love die martyrs' deaths at lone stockade At every turn of the spit their lives roast marinade The ephemeral breed contrive to block them through feud Fame stops at no stranger's door the loafer to persuade Perennial works all prove to us Life's lasting brocade Shines brighter down the ages as craftsmen toil in solitude Those whom the Muses love die martyrs' deaths at lone stockade Fame stops at no stranger's door the loafer to persuade © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 26,2018 Translation of Bury Me in a Free Land by Frances E W HARPER 1825 - 1911 Translation of ' Bury Me in a Free Land ' by Frances E. W. Harper (Homage to Frances Ellen Watkins HARPER, the First Black Lady of America,1825 - 1911, Orphan, Poet, Novelist, Civil Rights Activist, Public Speaker, Suffragette, whose memorable lines of subdued indignation arise from controlled passions of the never-daunted Soul.) Enterrez-moi dans un pays libre Enterrez-moi où que soit vous voulez Dans une plaine basse ou sur une colline élevée Faites en sorte que le tombeau soit parmi les plus simples Mais pas dans un pays où il y a d'esclaves Je ne pourrais pas m'endormir si autour de ma tombe J'entendais les pas d'un esclave tremblant Son ombre couvrant ma tombe silencieuse La fera un endroit où règnera une ambiance désastreuse Je ne pourrais pas me calmer si j'entendais les pas D'un coffle en train d'être conduit vers les corvées sans repas Et la crie d'une mère désespéramment sans espoir Montant comme une malédiction tremblant dans l'aire Je ne pourrais pas m'endormir si j'apercevais le fouet Buvant son sang dans chaque entaille qu'il faisait Et je voyais ses bébés arrachés de sa poitrine Comme des frémissantes colombes de leur nid d'origine Je me réveillerai secouée tout d'un coup si j'entendais le hurlement Des limiers en train de capturer leur proie humaine Et si j'entendais ensuite leurs cris de supplice en vaine Tandis qu'on rattachait de nouveau leurs pénibles chaines Si je voyais des jeunes filles arrachées des bras de leurs mères Et marchandaient et vendues pour leur jeunesse et beauté rare Mes yeux seront illuminés d'une flamme de tristesse Mes joues d'une pâleur de mort deviendront rouge sang de la détresse honteuse Je dormirais, chers amis, où le pouvoir arrogant Ne pouvait pas dérober aucun homme de son plus précieux droit existant Mon séjour dans n'importe quelle tombe serai en paix Là où personne peut dénommer ses frères des esclaves inégaux Je n'ai aucune envie pour qu'on se souvient de moi par un monument, fier et imposant, Pour attirer l'attention admirative des passants Tout ce que mon âme réclame avec soif Est qu'on ne m'enterre dans un pays d'esclaves © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 22,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXII - Continued- IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXII IF ever I had a country with or without nationality And if ever I were elected or nominated Chief Patriot of this God-forsaken miscarriaged country And if ever my country - minus the nation - were to be on the verge of being invaded by other countries which religiously subscribe to the notion of ' Godbless- us-first ' in all exclusivity I would make it the point of utmost urgence to challenge such insolent uppity countries on their concept of nationality by tabling a motion on the definition of patriotism as opposed to that of nationalism in the United Nations General Assembly All at the risk of being expelled from that august self-effacing ineffective body and my own blasted country in utter ignominy And I'd command all patriots to take up arms against and shoot at sight the back-thumping nationalists within my country for fear they may join hands with the invading xenophobic nationalists to enslave and throttle all patriots - y compris the Chief Patriot - in my dear old patrie And this, even if I were to be unconstitutionally nominated Chief Patriot by all die-hard nationalists in within my own country Even if I never ever had no country not legitimately sworn in at the United Nations General Assembly © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 20,2018 Villanelle: In what way has the Sexual Revolution freed Man Villanelle: In what way has the Sexual Revolution freed Man In what way has the Sexual Revolution freed Man One man's still at the helm where one woman pulls the purse strings Political structures still rest authoritarian Is Reich's Function of the O.ga.m lame duck also ran Do power struggles at all levels bounce bums on bed springs In what way has the Sexual Revolution freed Man Strikes protests manifestations mere excuses we ban Face-saving measures populist fire-brand broken wings Political structures still rest authoritarian Does kiss-tail orgasmic reflex replace sublime élan The chimère of suppressed masses condemned to strum heart strings In what way has the Sexual Revolution freed Man Who hoists family father-figure as revered top sultan No authority at home spells chaos at source well-springs Political structures still rest authoritarian Sans moral consciousness the substratum cracks in ev'ry man Abuse an innocent child he'll in turn abuse all beings In what way has the Sexual Revolution freed Man Political structures still rest authoritarian © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 17,2018 Villanelle: Nothing Human Insect Bird Animal is not Woman Villanelle: Nothing human insect bird animal is not woman Nothing human insect bird animal is not woman E'en animals lock horns to deserve right to propagate She's Man child daughter mother sister all that is human Kun the Earth brings forth Life when sired by Jian Lord Heaven Who toils the seed to succour cosette push forth cultivate Nothing human insect bird animal is not woman Men spurned them with half their pay yet none risked talk-back dungeon While men drank down beer in smoke-filled dens their women to mate She's Man child daughter mother sister all that is human Watch media wise women wonder how their lives they govern They do all that men do as much at home to pull their weight Nothing human insect bird animal is not woman From unpaid kitchen slave to nursemaid and bed to husband She bore ev'ry lewd abuse to rise now to manage State She's Man child daughter mother sister all that is human Who wants to be woman and bake Man's fun cake in oven Not until Jian the Creator turns transvestite mate Nothing human insect bird animal is not woman She's Man child daughter mother sister all that is human © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 17,2018 Villanelle: The Smell of Woman the Whiff of Chaste Nutmeg Cinnamon Villanelle: The Smell of Woman the Whiff of Chaste Nutmeg Cinnamon The smell of woman the whiff of chaste nutmeg cinnamon The lone mythic bird gone to sing in other dulcet climes She bathes in cloistered mountain streams tingling pearls diamond Her lips velvet unbuzzed petals dewy beds chrysanthemum Deep lost hidden chasms the taste of feminine rhymes The smell of woman the whiff of chaste nutmeg cinnamon Her looks demure proud eyes shy shades distant firmament Meadow cheeks where swath of lily and lilac swaying chimes She bathes in cloistered mountain streams tingling pearls diamond Her crown of caressing curls churning deep musk-scented ocean Virgin forests semi-quaver ragas titillate mimes The smell of woman the whiff of chaste nutmeg cinnamon Her tapering fingers arching rainbows fun gifts from sun The mother's milk embrace that never curdles trust with crimes She bathes in cloistered mountain streams tingling pearls diamond No wind breeds from sewers nor loose limbs to quell chaste woman Nor nasty tongues lash the holy citadel in grimes The smell of woman the whiff of chaste nutmeg cinnamon She bathes in cloistered mountain streams tingling pearls diamond © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 14,2018 Villanelle: Doubt not who is Master of your conditioned Fate Villanelle: Doubt not who is Master of your conditioned Fate Doubt not who is Master of your conditioned Fate Ask only why your actions lead down the wrong path All else makes for doubt doubt only if Fate's innate Neither Past nor Future time exist inchoate All and everything's rolled in ever Present birth Doubt not who is Master of your conditioned Fate Are alll lives exemplary and of equal rate Or only those fated to be humoured by Death All else makes for doubt doubt only if Fate's innate Is Life just a gift of the gods or Man's mandate The Buddha's metaphor of bleeding arrow worth Doubt not who is Master of your conditioned Fate Those who preach living Life to the full suffocate Carpe Diem is fine if you can afford mirth All else makes for doubt doubt only if Fate's innate No trace of passage on earth makes one contemplate If lives we leave behind acts of blind psychopath Doubt not who is Master of your conditioned Fate All else makes for doubt doubt only if Fate's innate © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 13,2018 Variations on the Malay Pantun: The Old Man and the Short Story - X-XII Variations on the Malay Pantun: The Old Man and the Short Story - X -XII - Continued for Georges VOISSET, the 'Master Keeper-Nurturer' of the Malay Pantun (The pantun line varies between 8 and 12 syllables and is most commonly found in the anonymous quatrain form. Cf ' Poietics of the Pantun ', pp.49-67 in T. Wignesan. Sporadic Striving amid Echoed Voices, Mirrored Images and Stereotypic Posturing in Malaysian-Singaporean Literatures. Allahabad: Cyberwit,2008, xix-244p.) X Go West on horseback and fire pistols point blank Union Pacific galloped at City Lights The Wench prefers red-hot fire not bullets blank Old Men let horses ride bareback on Wench sans tights XI Go West on quick-shunting trains and let fall frontiers Go East on horseback and churn Post-Colonial craze East or West the Wench licks the Master's rears and tears Not so the Youngster his Beat poems Old Men praise XII Shunt not trains which Kipling coupled lest they break wind Old Men returned from the East rest traumatic The Wench can take any Beat grind save the hind kind Not so the Youngster e'en pistol-packing mama flic © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 12,2018 Variations on the Malay Pantun: The Old Man and the Short Story - VII-IX Variations on the Malay Pantun: The Old Man and the Short Story - VII-IX Continued for Georges VOISSET, the 'Master Keeper-Nurturer' of the Malay Pantun Check out: www.stateless.mysite.com/Pantouns-20-Aout-2017.pdf (The pantun line varies between 8 and 12 syllables and is most commonly found in the anonymous quatrain form. Cf ' Poietics of the Pantun ', pp.49-67 in T. Wignesan. Sporadic Striving amid Echoed Voices, Mirrored Images and Stereotypic Posturing in Malaysian-Singaporean Literatures. Allahabad: Cyberwit,2008, xix-244p.) VII The One-Act Play's the favourite Old Men's roman fleuve Experience shows Old Men how to keep the Wench in hell They know how to stoke the Imagination with love They need no how-to softwares to write a novel VIII The One-Act Play they say is still Old Men's mainstay Though on Freytag's Triangle they slip down climax The Wench cannot make Old Men still come up their way Not so the Youngster his horns gore Wench's false syntax IX The Wench always seeks to milk Old Men in side-burns Old Men know One-Act Plays don't box-office burgeon Nor drips invested in banks ensure big returns Not so the Youngster who banks his bit in oven © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 11,2018 Variations on the Malay Pantun: The Old Man and the Short Story - IV-VI Variations on the Malay Pantun: The Old Man and the Short Story (Continued) for Georges VOISSET, the 'Master Keeper-Nurturer' of the Malay Pantun Check out: www.stateless.mysite.com/Pantouns-20-Aout-2017.pdf (The pantun line varies between 8 and 12 syllables and is most commonly found in the anonymous quatrain form. Cf ' Poietics of the Pantun ', pp.49-67 in T. Wignesan. Sporadic Striving amid Echoed Voices, Mirrored Images and Stereotypic Posturing in Malaysian-Singaporean Literatures. Allahabad: Cyberwit,2008, xix-244p.) IV During the intervals of the play the actors Spy on older folk queueing outside the lone loo The Wench in the hall twists and turns on spectators Not so the Youngster his pen stiff in the igloo V Middle-aged couples in the audience flick through The programme not reading even the title page Long years since they thumbed dog-ear-ed novels stuck in glue Not so the Youngster who jumps high from page to page VI Old Men trundle back to their seats trailing wet patches Not regretting over-coat flirts with hat-check Wench Old people read novels in bed but in snatches Not so the Youngster who throws into works his wrench © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 10,2018 Variations on the Malay Pantun: The Old Man and the Short Story Variations on the Malay Pantun: The Old Man and the Short Story for Georges VOISSET, the 'Master Keeper-Nurturer' of the Malay Pantun Check out: www.stateless.mysite.com/Pantouns-20-Aout-2017.pdf (The pantun line varies between 8 and 12 syllables and is most commonly found in the anonymous quatrain form. Cf ' Poietics of the Pantun ', pp.49-67 in T. Wignesan. Sporadic Striving amid Echoed Voices, Mirrored Images and Stereotypic Posturing in Malaysian-Singaporean Literatures. Allahabad: Cyberwit,2008, xix-244p.) I The Old Man often stops by the hedge or dark bush His back to the World, the Youngster can hold his own The short story is written through spurts in a rush Not so the novel which calls for much breath word blown II The poem most write confines itself to the page Cousin brother to the short story told in a day Old Men take less time to leave the Wench in a rage Not so the Youngster whose novels always end gay III Plays are staged with intervals peer to the novel Essays take longer to read than the short story The Wench smokes cigarettes waiting to stoke yell Not so the Youngster whose next essay's more gory © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 9,2018 Villanelle: Five Yin lines on November 6th overcome the top Yang line Villanelle: Five Yin lines on November 6th overcome the top Yang line (Bo, Hexagram 23 (November 6 to December 6) : The mountain falls down on the earth and crushes it. Result: neither side wins completely, only broken bones, bruises, bumps and bleeds in evidence all around. Guai, Hexagram 43 (May 6 to June 6) : The situation is reversed. Total victory for those who emulate the Superior Man of the Yi Jing. Solution: Re-do the electoral calendar - May 6 instead of November 6.) Five Yin lines on November 6th overcome the top Yang line Yet the Yang and Yin toil and tussle and leave their feathers shorn On May 6th five Yang lines reign supreme and oust the lone Yin line Thunder in autumn rolls down plains hushed in grumbles feline Zhen the Eldest Son will wake strong in spring resounding new born Five Yin lines on November 6th overcome the top Yang line In temperate climes in the northern hemisphere the Laws confine Both the Yang and the Yin within the Year of Seasons foregone On May 6th five Yang lines reign supreme and oust the lone Yin line The electoral calendar then makes both parties anodine Destined always to quarrel and plunder each other's platform Five Yin lines on November 6th overcome the top Yang line Heaven and Earth toil to produce conflict no matter which the line Hexagrams depict the family constellation all forlorn On May 6th five Yang lines reign supreme and oust the lone Yin line Reign of Darkness recedes as winter solstice Light begins to shine Then the Good in Man if cultivated will thunder and storm Five Yin lines on November 6th overcome the top Yang line On May 6th five Yang lines reign supreme and oust the lone Yin line © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 7,2018 Villanelle: What DESIGN made the emerald EARTH defile its lone joy Villanelle: What DESIGN made this emerald EARTH defile its lone joy What DESIGN made this emerald EARTH defile its lone joy No washer-woman nor City Hall replace Nature's cares Blow wind blow comb the beaches clean drain the ravines dry So easy to put the blame on Mars for its first meteor fly Churn our oceans into crawling Primal Soup unawares What DESIGN made this emerald EARTH defile its lone joy H2O is all the planet needs the Monster Man to buy While in between reptiles birds animals small change scares Blow wind blow comb the beaches clean drain the ravines dry Both Man and Beast must replicate much as cells multiply As eat they must to produce more and more from their rears What DESIGN made this emerald EARTH defile its lone joy Till mighty men rise from urns to share power on the sly With clever men who prey on masses with their must-buy wares Blow wind blow comb the beaches clean drain the ravines dry Yet mighty men must let clever men this world with banks buy Would winds lash the Earth to make ZHEN thunder our world fears What DESIGN made this emerald EARTH defile its lone joy Blow wind blow comb the beaches clean drain the ravines dry © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 6th.,2018 Villanelle: If only it were as easy as to turn the clock back Villanelle: If only it were as easy as to turn the clock back If only it were as easy as to turn the clock back Seize the best missed chances men let drop through self-righteous pique Make learning processes Life's axiom out of lack Naïve unheeding men bear treacherous women on back Women who trick playing on heartstrings sympathetique If only it were as easy as to turn the clock back Make Alexander believe Zeus his father, alack! Exiled jealous usurp Philip's throne through palace intrigue Make learning processes Life's axiom out of lack Whisper in proud Macbeth's ear words megalomaniac Sink the Highland Kingdom down black witches' brew in guts sick If only it were as easy as to turn the clock back Men who out of pity for the fairer sex their minds wreck Their mothers' milk still uncurdled in their mouths saveur unique Make learning processes Life's axiom out of lack How many the missed opportunities lie crushed on tarmac Roads traversed in parallel lives might not they criss-cross psychic If only it were as easy as to turn the clock back Make learning processes Life's axiom out of lack © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 5th.,2018 Villanelle: How many the men gone had something yet to say Villanelle: How many the men gone had something yet to say How many the men gone had something yet to say Had they not thought found they the answer to Riddle Who had not wished how often to tell them, yes, ' Nay! ' Had they not come to some end each in his own way Camus with ' suicide ' the Riddle he would unravel How many the men gone had something yet to say Think of the millions whose lives they did waylay Seize Life with gusto make every moment sizzle Who had not wished how often to tell them, yes, ' Nay! ' The disciple Mottram would lasting values slay Others with less heed to creed their lives in a muddle How many the men gone had something yet to say Can Husserl's Abstract God replace the Yi Jing's sway Do Golden Flower Secrets make men of mettle Who had not wished how often to tell them, yes, ' Nay! ' Yang-Yin interplay ephemeral men dismay Find his way he must out of the Maze's puzzle How many the men gone had something yet to say Who had not wished how often to tell them, yes, ' Nay! ' © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 5th.,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXXI - Continued- IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - LXXI LXXI IF ever I had a country targeted by no refugee And if ever I were appointed by the Inter-Planetary Committee KING of this territory by Inter-Galactic Royal Decree I'd build wide-gauge rail-roads cushy chopper-pads air-strips twice the size of Kennedy-cum- Singapore airports spacecraft landing coiffured vistas fairweather lulled-water harbours boulevards ten-times the girth of Champs Elysée And there at migrant reception processing posts construct mammoth manufacturing plants rolling out rocks the size Sisyphus repeatedly rolled up Mount Olympus then down into the Aegean Sea And proclaim by sovereign edict that any of my subjects caught FEEDING any rock-throwing migrant-refugee - though out of my great big charitable heart I'd authorise every refugee child left-over Halloween candy I'd have him or her scorched by steel plate-melting torch and dipped into sizzling hot cauldrons of oil linseed and gingerly That is, if ever I were enthroned by the Inter-Planeto-Galactic Consortium KING by royal decree over my territory And this, even if I never ever had no country bed-rock to no refugee © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 2nd.,2018 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part Two - Continued IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE - Part Two (continued) (for sweet-teeth kiddies) IF you pull a long face And that too on Halloween Day Mascara and rouge will drip on lace And Mom will take your candies away If you pull a long face Not caring it's All Saints' Day You're bound to continue losing face If it falls on a hapless holy Sunday Yet if you pull a long face All-Hallows-Tide to All-Souls' Day It matters little which way you face West or East you'll rue the day If you pull a long face While for the Departed you pray Under your masks to win them grace Candies chocs will rain down your way Yet if you pull a long face Loads of paint the leer overlay When the date with Fate unmasks your face None here might remember you and pray © T. Wignesan - Paris, November 1st.,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXX - Continued IF ever I had a country - LXX LXX IF ever I had a country a constant prey to another marauding Bully And if ever by some impardonable mistake I were the intrepid Defence Secretary I'd not scratch my bald pate devising peaceful ways of turning the cheek with love brotherhood and humanity to appease the Enemy I'd simply round up the true villains every secret agent every police chief politician all their colleagues - what d'ya think - the President y compris manu militari Every media baron newspaper and tv editor-in-chief these that kept quiet about the activities of the secret services every Lodge Master of Free-Masonry And have them lined-up on the frontiers as canon-fodder while force-marching them barefoot without ID papers into the jaws of the Bully's iniquity That is, if ever I were even by error the intrepid Defence Secretary with no notion of poetry And even if I never ever had no country prey to a Bully in reality © T. Wignesan - Paris, Octobre 9,2018 Villanelle: Don't tell me you wouldn't your back-aching life now forsake Villanelle: Don't tell me you wouldn't your back-aching life now forsake Don't tell me you wouldn't your back-aching life now forsake Not knowing the interminable pleasures of the dark Unknown When just then Life will beckon you back with a hopeful break How many can say his life he wouldn't want to once again re-make To cast it all over again with others retrieve lost chances be alone Don't tell me you wouldn't your back-aching life now forsake The more you try the more you mire yourself unable to wake Till old you get and yet older stay alone your children want you gone When just then Life will beckon you back with a hopeful break No baby sucks at the nipple if not out of habit or for boredom's sake The role of the dividing cell not out of ennui goes on till full-blown Don't tell me you wouldn't your back-aching life now forsake Some men know why the Whole Thing-in-Itself must not us wake To the point where we can see the design behind the curtain sewn When just then Life will beckon you back with a hopeful break Aren't we all so damned occupied with a measely wage to make None will hardly stop to think why the rat-race turns us care-worn Don't tell me you wouldn't your burdensome life now forsake When just then Life will beckon you back with a hopeful break © T. Wignesan - Paris, October 23,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXIX - Continued IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXIX (continued) LXIX IF ever I had a country in the shape of a sprawling banyan or rain Tree And if ever I were the almost human Lord Chimp of the Kingdom of Chimpanzee I'd secure all the branches plungeing roots leaf-clusters egg-nests and hives with or without a bee All only for those with undiluted blue-black blood directly descended from our Uhr-Father Adam's Dark Continent royal pedigree And ensure that any vagrant migrant gorilla orang-utan macacque long-tailed monkey or other heathen rot come to take the heat off his neck or her butt under the shelter of my bushy tree for free Be subject to Hail Horror torrents of turds accompanied with hot hissing curses to make them stink for at least a century That is, if ever I were the almost human Lord Chimp of the Kingdom of the Chimpanzee And even if I never ever had no country shaped like a Wounded Knee © T. Wignesan - Paris, October 23,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXVII - LXVIII If Ever I Had A Country...(Continued) : LXVII - LXVIII LXVII IF ever I had a country what even Guatemalans would avoid in their hurry And if ever I were the unfortunate illiterate Mnister of Culture I'd make it point of telling every marching migrant what awaits them at destination: ' spooktacular ' Where goblins witches alchemists with Gorgon dreadlocks veritable Dvarapalas would enslave them in Konzentrazions-lager Would make them eat their own tongues for want of soup-kitchen swill or horse fodder Would drive them up greasy poles and down barbed tanks full of pirana in mad rage hunger That is, if ever I were the inculte Minister of Culture And even if I never ever had no country worth a penny LXVIII IF ever I had a free-for-all take-it or leave-it country And if ever I were condemned to accept as a penalty the post of Culture Secretary I'd publish a never-ending list of all the banned Holy-Days in the calender Easter St. Patrick's Day X-mas Epiphany July the 4th and the 14th Ascension Diwali Ramadan-Eid-il-fitr Universal Day of Labour And in their place make Halloween every other day holier In order NASDAQ break all records through sale of sweets cakes ice-cream snickers toffees and karambar That is, if ever I were forced to serve as Culture Secretary And even if I never ever had no country so silly © T. Wignesan - Paris, October 21,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXVI IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXVI LXVI IF ever I had even a third-rate useless country And if ever I were say by wishful thinking put in-charge of the Propaganda Ministry I would campaign to enthrone a Law as an inalienable right of every citizen or migrant To publicly proclaim and denounce by any means at his disposal if he had incontrovertible ……..evidence on any culprit Who was the author of some tort or crime - without having to pay some lawyer - against ……..himself or some other knitwit And have this Law enshrined into the Constitution large and loud writ That is, if ever through even wishful thinking I were the Propaganda Secretary And even if I never ever had no third-rate useless country © T. Wignesan - Paris, October 5,2018 DIARY NOTES: Another Day sets in Paris DIARY NOTES: Mad-House Maths March 30th.,2018 - Another day sets in Paris The home-bound Octogenarian trundles from the Mall's town centre Back laden with the day's shopping His hands numb from clutching load-packed plastic bags during the two Kms and more The sore reddish-smudge of a sun cocks an eye over the jagged rim of the horizon's darkening clouds at early dusk Some chick warbler tries its strength hopping on grim bold knobbly dark outstretched arms as cherry blossoms drop pink and violet on the scuffed grass instead of sprinkling snow fluffs Massive stone or glittering glass official buildings: ' palaces ' or ' hotels ' in catering country hardly impress the growing migrant force in the open shrub-lined plaza puffing hookah-groups form around barbecue grills while foot and basket-balls sting town-hall annexe walls to the tune of revving engines on lone stunt-back wheels the long night vigil commences anew All in view of the Zen-Pagoda High Court looming over the sprawling UPEC faculty complex right across the local ' Palais ' shopping centre The Octo thought he heard a cuckoo call Or was it the turtle dove moaning its mate from last Fall Weary of repairing his second-hand twenty-year old Laguna Sabotaged at every turn He settles for the cheapest car on the market: the basic Spandero No catalogue spells out its dashboard or engine layout He slumps into the brand-new humpless driver's seat To see how he might adapt the old radio for some Miles Davis mind-soul rap A sleek black limousine pulls up behind Out jump three men two old plumpy Andaluzian-looking dressed in rags the third metizo-Black tall and athletic tough in civil light pull-over They adjust police arm-bands and block both the passenger and driver's seats They command the Octo out of his own car The Black shoves him to the back ' You are in possession of arms ', he says ' Empty your pockets, here, on the roof ' The Octo has hardly the time to react As the Black frisks him and shuffs his hands in the Octo's pockets and roughs him up The other short squat gentleman grabs his official Research Fellow ID card and checks it out in the limousine's tele-speaker electronic wares Meantime the tall wide-girthed senior gentleman has edged his way to the open driver door and beckons with outstretched arm: ' The car keys! ' The Octogenarian protests mildly: ' Why do you want my keys? ' ' We are the Judiciary Police, ' he retorts. ' If you don't handover the keys, We'll put you under garde à vue! ' That's 48 hours in a police cell, with no way probably of taking daily cardiac condition pills. The Octo relents. The keys contain the security lock key as well. The gentleman with the ID returns and rails at the Octogenarian. ' What are you researching? Are you looking for ways to becoming a fauteur des troubles? ' That's a trouble-maker. The gentleman in the car has obviously trouble finding machine-guns and bazookas hidden under the car seats. He hands over the car keys. Before they pull out, the Black warns: 'We know you. We'll be watching out for you when you move about the vicinity! ' The very next day, the Octogenarian pens a letter relating exactly what happened and mails it under registered cover with acknowledgement of receipt to the Chief Public Prosecutor (the Procureur de la République) of the region. The Octogenarian has just received a letter, dated August 20,2018, from the latter's office stating that 'no criminal proceedings will be engaged as the facts revealed in this suit are not punishable according to the dispositions of any penal text.' Some ten days after his letter to the Chief Public Prosecutor, the Octogenarian found all the doors of his car left open and the contents of the glove compartment spilled on the floor. He then receives an official document, a month or so later, signed by the Public Prosecutor's Office stating that his car had been clocked for speeding at 124 km on a highway where the speed-limit was 110 in the North-Western region of Paris at 9.42 a.m., and a fine was imposed which if paid without contestation would amount to 68 euros. Since the Octogenarian has never ever been in that area in his life, he follows the procedure laid out and pays the fine, but asks for the PHOTO/Cliché taken by the traffic-control authorities, for the Public Prosecutor's office also required him to undertake criminal proceedings against ' the culprit ' who may or may not have stolen his car on that fateful day in order to effect the change in the number plates and the car papers all over again. The fine was refunded, but the PIC recording the offence has yet to arrive. Strictly speaking, the Octogenarian cannot undertake criminal proceedings without proof of the offence. In any case, who should he sue? The Judicial Police? the Traffic Police? or the Public Prosecutor? Or some mythical Car-Thief with an axe to grind? Sol de France franchi Terre d'asile psychiatrique © T. Wignesan - Paris, September 11,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXIV and LXV IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXIV - LXV NOTE (facts to bear in mind while reading) : Under the French Penal Code, harm done to the infirm, minors and seniors (i.e. over 65) is punishable up to fifteen years in prison, coupled with commensurable fines. In the case of the octogenarian in question, even his ' Family and Accident ' insurance policy to which he subscribed for decades didn't net him, in all, more than 150 euros so far over the near-fatal accident. According to dated statistics one can come upon, ONE in every four Commissaires de Police (police post chief) and Judge or Magistrate is a free-mason in France. Free-Masons are generally referred to as ' les frères ', that is, ' brothers '; yet, there is one Obedience or Lodge reserved only for the fairer sex, and another, ' Le Droit Commun ', meant for both sexes. It is a well-known fact that tourists composing nearly one and a half times the French population come to or traverse the French territory every year. LXIV If ever I had a Country within a country And if ever I were O! Forbid! the Grand Orient Grand Master of French Free- Masonry* I'd put in a straight-jacket the O! So! toasted-Caïd Son of a Mediterrannean Migrant-Refugee Who provided a secure eagle-perch in his migrant over-run township for the octogenarian's ex-spouse of the same ethnic minority The latter police gang-raped infant-abandoning heroïne later a highly-placed Police-cum-S.S. Judiciary-licking dignitary And put them in the same lunatic cell for life to share their belly-bursting experiences in subjecting the octogenarian to Tunisio-Maghrebian and Semitic scull-duggery That is, if ever O! Forbid! I were the Grand Orient Grand Master of French Free-Masonry And even if I never ever had no Country under no Free-Masonic country *Note: Reputedly more powerful than the Chief Executive. Check in this sequence LXII-LXIII. LXV IF ever I had a Country within a country And if ever I were O! Forbid! the Grand Orient Grand Master of French Free- Masonry I'd put behind bars without trial every hospital-assistant nurse medical technician clinical-year student doctor dentist hospital personnel who probably under orders or not or out of mental insalubrity Injures infects inflicts iniquities on the infirm and undertakes subtly-masked attempts on their lives or falsifies documents with impugnity Since the elected celebrities of the country only use-up their limited time in office to attack the opposition parties to justify their vaunted image via the media in any democracy And are obliged to rely on polls and employment statistics to shine with ghostwritten speeches on the World Stage while priding themselves on the domestic tourist-based make or break economy That is, if ever O! Forbid! I were the Grand Orient Grand Master of French Free-Masonry And even if I never ever had no Country under no Free-Masonic country © T. Wignesan - Paris, September 9,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXII and LXIII IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LXII - LXIII LXII If ever I had a country with streets under graffiti And if ever I were the Minister of Transport who travels about for free I'd give a free ride to the Minister of Justice Home Secretary and the Chief Executice - yes, all three To this township run by the waxworks looked-up to Caïd son of a refugee To watch how I paint every allée rue boulevard and avenue with zebra-crossings down on my knee To remind the Police the Pompiers de Paris politicos and motorists that the speed limit on the stripes is under thirty That is, if ever I were the Minister of Transport who travels about doing nothing for free And even if I nerver ever had no country with no streets under graffiti LXIII IF ever I had a country with streets under graffiti And if ever I were put in-charge of the traffic by the Transport Secretary I'd tell the World that no-where else in the Universe(s) a migrant Tunisian speeding motorist can toss up and knock down an octogenarian pedestrian and get off scot-free That is on a zebra-crossing at the entrance to a primary school right under a speed-limit signpost marked in red ' 30 ' thirty Where the victim's heart shocked into arhythmic beat coped with cranial trauma multiple head-to-toe wounds fracture writhed in pain in the thick of winter in over an hour and a half's agony First denied and later delayed for years Police and Fire-Brigade reports minimise the octogenarian's condition as a mere inconsequential injury That is, if ever I were put in-charge of the traffic in this lawless overmigrant- run township territory And even if I never ever had no country with no streets under graffiti © T. Wignesan - Paris, September 7,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LX and LXI IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LX - LXI The Yijing says: ' If the common folk commit crimes, the fault for them shall reside with this one person (i.e., the Sovereign) himself… ' Transl. R. J. Lynn The common taken-for-granted French adage proclaims: ' Sol de France franchi Terre d'asile ' which simply means: ' Set foot on French soil (And) you're on (political) asylum territory ' Forty-six years ago, I was traveling on a two-week ' visit permit ', with my 4- year old son and his mother, from Madrid to London and almost overnight got stuck in Paris as a single parent (yes, laugh out loud) , and for me the above adage reads as follows: ' Sol de France franchi Terre d'asile psychiatrique ' That is: 'Set foot on French soil (And) you're in lunatic asylum country' IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LX -LXI LX If ever I had not just a country And if ever I were wedged in between the TWO States of this country To free myself I'd first ask myself which State embodies real authority The shady lasting ONE run by the Free-Masonic Grand Master Or the elected ONE managed somehow by the President and the Prime Minister* Who knows the truth knows who goes to whom to pass muster That is, if ever I were wedged in between two colliding States in within one Country And even if I never ever had no State in no Country 'Note: In France, the CEOs who exert influence in some areas of governmental authority are ' traditionally ' appointed by the Grand Master of some Masonic Obedience or Lodge like the Grand Orient (and they are five in number) . The Prime Minister Monsieur Jean-Pierre RAFFARIN (May 6,2002 to May 31,2005 under Jacques Chirac's presidency) wanted to retain his choice, François Roussely, as the head of the Electricity Board (EDF, one of the major mainstays of the French economy which peddled lucrative favours to its self-chosen fancied counsellors.) Try as he may even legally, the project failed to hold since the Conseil Constitutionnel ruled it foul as the candidate had just then attained retirement age at 65, and he was replaced by Pierre Gadonneix, who then headed the Gas de France, the candidate over-whelmingly supported by the former Grand Master of the Grand Orient, Alain Bauer. Humiliated and cowed, Raffarin tended his resignation as PM to President Jacques Chirac. Cf. Sophie Coignard's book: Un Etat dans l'Etat, Le contre-pouvoir maçonnique. Paris: Albin Michel,2009. LXI If ever I had not just a country And if ever Tunisian turds streamed down my Stateless Country* I'd bore a tiny hole in the right place to sink the Ship of State Rather than let the ceiling cave in through Migrant hate Or let the stinking rotting floor boards give under my bed weight All this in a country over-run by lawless migrants upheld by either State That is, if ever Tunisian turds streamed down my Stateless Territory And even if I never ever had no State in no Country 'See PIC at authorsden.com/twignesan3 © T. Wignesan - Paris, September 5,2018 Letter to Ronald Hull on his comment on Diary Notes: Lament at Dawn LETTER to RON' Diary Notes: Lament at Dawn - A Year Ago Yet Now No Change ' Reviewed by Ronald Hull 8/19/2018 'Quite a lament! The state of Paris at dawn. Just the thought of sewage seeping down through the walls gives me the willies. Yes, Paris is not the same. But has it ever been? Always being overrun by the disenfranchised from the world over. Making their mark in art and artistry. Creating the trends.' At www.authorsden.com/visit/cat_poetry.asp Bonjour Ron! True, Paris was a trend-setter in the Arts A magnet not only for the disenfranchised Hemingway Fitzgerald Henry Miller Durrell Anaïs Nin Burroughs Joyce Picasso Baldwin Wright Sekoto Later expatriate hordes imitated their life-styles And fell far short of their weight in words And you must agree Paris has since given way To other renegade catalysing milieux NY London Berlin Amsterdam LA To name en passim just a few What has changed in between Is that the français de souche Justly proud but Drunk arrogant with their Napoleonic past Let the last Mohican De Gaulle bear the brunt of decadent glory Such that even the well-entrenched Well internationally-knit Jewish community Victims of Petain Vichy Collaboraters of the NAZI Are beating a retreat In the face of Maghrebian dual-nationality Being substituted in power positions professions and in the art of enticing the mademoiselle though the Jewess preferred the eminent French Asians not to be un-done Have poured through in chain-gang droves To colonise arrondissements Not to mention 93rd and 94th départements Cambodians Formosans Vietnamese Laotians Chinese Indians Pakistanis Bangladeshis Sri-Lankanese Iranians Turks Egyptians Syrians Iraqis Yugoslavians Poles Spaniards Russians Italians Portuguese All crowd out the local menial work market And the lucrative spicy import-export racket Though only one Nobel Gao Xin-jian Left to wonder in expatriate limbo alone The French love their leisure and pleasure Love to dine out disappear on an August trot-about Lose themselves in the heights of February ski vacations Slumber through Christmas confessions Find less and less workdays in May There's nothing wrong in that Who would not say But can they count more than two establishments In the first hundred top university list of accomplishments But migrants hard on their heels Quick to take offence at Sarkozy's Sarcastic ' Riff-Raff ' compliments Rail rage burn and sack the capital To fray a disrupting brêche Into the higher echelons around Elysée Palace Everyone knows the custom here is Hoodwink the Law if you can with ease And no one's more adept at this game Than the migrant still to make a name © T. Wignesan - Paris, August 19,2018 Diary Notes: Lament at Dawn - A Year Ago Yet Now No Change Diary Notes: Lament at Dawn A Year Ago and yet now No Change ………………………………………..…at the heart of the chef lieu township ten-ton buses throb empty …………………………………….their drivers slumped in the heat ….behind their steering wheels listening to their favourite stations ………hot full of drowsy hissed talk on the pregnancy of pop stars at junctions…overhead drives…bridges…roundabouts….crossroads …..you see mothers with shopping bags dragging woeful tearful ………………..toddlers waiting at traffic lights where no traffic waits the air disgorges itself of fumes ………………….and no birds would sing to a deserted plain ……..at the academy building where garden warblers vied with larks aspiring choruses at street operas …………..only the abandoned rickety scaffolding drip with stale paint (since the staid Academy preens itself with fresh paint face-lift) the Great Tit so insistent in her quest …….driven away with late June cracker blasts at midnight …………has joined some vagrant migrant lot to the Mediterranean mists only stray magpies quarrel in undertones swearing cursing scraping the mind ……..pigeons and turtle doves forage along pathways mocking foot-falling steps …the route round the back of the Prefecture for a year now is closed to the public ……..(there at the mall end this year a fountain spouts from under the beatendown rushes and showers on itself into the lake: the Canada geese and swan no longer dry themselves on the bank along the cemented gated walk) ………..a reminder to the Charlie Hebdo ISIS fiasco and the joggers take to the thoroughfare in their tell-tale whallop-y shorts …….at the kinder-gartens lone working mothers hang out with texting iPhones for the evening bell the beggars…..all……gone to sun themselves (yes…this's cruel) on the Riviera …….leaving four wizened figures (now there's only the dazed recalcitrant Pole) long un-paying residents by the law faculty mounds seated next to next on the sidewalk stone bridge barrier in their unwashed best……………exchanging unkempt bearded memories ……….like the kids they may have been at tenement blocks on an abandoned culvert…………..without bikes nor toys …………the skies cloud over and dissipate without complaint now and then Atlantic winds bring news of thunder …………………………………………………and have us short-changed ……the last we heard was the early morning 5.20 metro pull out of its shed at the drug-and-grocery stores….supermarkets…..only the migrant lot meet to chat …………..the Mall stays chockfull of lush-green girls dressed in their mothers' best …………………..looking for a fix …..the queues thin at the chemist's …………………………………………………security guards tire of looking into bags ……..their migrant conniving smiles tell-tale some privately-stached thought perhaps at some chance encounter or at some pungent lascivious repartee ……the Maghreb-ian neighbours still won't give up their heedless tapage ……….you can even hear their gasping breath on creaking boards and floors while their adeptly trained children drop at all hours of the day or night bags of marbles to keep time with their high Tutsi booted hops (only this year again they deliberately let their toilet spill and seep under the parquet boards to flood your cramped book-lined quarters and the basement caves all for the irrepressible merriment of the local authorities bent on evicting you at last) those who come and go at the entrance still spy on the locks and keyholes of your battered door……..theirs to pick and click at will ………..waiting to tell the gardienne or some official still on vacation the usual figures flit through the early light to dig into the rubbish bins with bare hands …………..lepers of our remains ………………………………………………….where do they bunk ………………in what mountain hold or time silently busy…….not-caring …………………………………………………what the world might think © T. Wignesan - Paris, August 24,2017, updated August 18,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LVIII and LIX IF ever I had a country: LVIII - LIX LVIII IF ever I had a fantasy country And if ever I were left to choose a country existing in reality I'd certainly opt for a country not run by one who studied philosophy For the simple reason you can blame any other kind of dope for sheer hypocrisy For not having studied philosophy and pretending to be very democracy savvy Especially when the victims* of the country's secret services can hit back at the ruling party That is, if ever I were left to choose a non-hypocritical country existing in reality And even if I never ever had no country (not) up to my fancy Note: * It's a published fact that a French writer and literary anchor on French TV (whom I once met, in 1974, selling his self-published book in the streets of the Latin Quarter) never slept in the same bed for fourteen months for the late President François Mitterrand had ordered the secret services to snuff this son of an Admiral out. His ' crime d'Etat ' happened to be a manuscript he authored on the President's daughter whose mother was his mistress while in office. The ' crime ' however was expunged when the author in the presence of TV cameras burnt the manuscript at the portals of the Elysée Presidential Palace. LIX IF ever I had a phantasmagorical country And if ever I were left to choose a country existing in reality I'd certainly not opt for a country where the S.S. and the Police drug gangrape and press-gang the mother of your infant son with impugnity Nor opt for a so-called champion human rights country which hinders your every step and plunges you into solipsistic ignominy Keeps you embroiled in litigation instituted managed and obstructed by nearsighted authority While it siphons and floods your tiny ground-floor apartment with the precious toilet refuse of fourteen storeys of family That is, if ever I were left to choose a country existing in reality And even if I never ever had no country to fancy © T. Wignesan - Paris, August 17,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LVI and LVII IF ever I had a country: LVI - LVII LVI IF ever I had a Stateless country And if ever I were a Stateless Person citizen patriot ready to lay my life down for the statelessness of my country I'd ask myself first who rules in this Country without a State to make it a country Whether this Stateless State is in a State without a country and/or without membership in the international community Or a country without legitimate citizens to elect those who represent the State with or without democracy Or whether the One-Party State is better for the Stateless Person citizen than the divided-state of the system of the non-Nicomachean Two-Party dog-eat-dog bi-cameral idiocy That is, if ever I were a Stateless Person citizen with Stateless Nationality in my country And even if I never ever had no citizenship in no Stateless country LVII IF ever I had a Stateless country And if ever I were a Stateless Person citizen patriot upholding with my life the Statelessness of my country Would I exist in a state of Statelessness along with other Stateless Persons in a State without a country In a State without a State University to award certificates of statelessnesses as a statutory degree A State without the usual ecstatic state of political inadequacies iniquities and other abnormal psychological incompatibility In other words a State over which all normal countries would be eager to wage heroic war in order to exercise their authority That is, if ever I were a Stateless Person citizen patriot upholding with my life the Statelessness of my country And even if I never ever had to call my own no Stateless country © T. Wignesan - Paris, August 15,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LIV and LV IF ever I had a country: LIV - LV LIV IF ever I had even at an Event Horizon a country And if ever I were by self-arrogated Divine Right His or Her Imperial Majesty I'd clamp in pig-irons every one of the Courtiers y compris Sir Walter Raleigh For any offence thought not to be higher or lower than lèse majesté And have them all dumped in the cramped Black Hole of Calcutta without pity For plotting and planning some centuries hence the Art of Conning the People through Democratic Demon-o-kratie That is, if ever I were by self-arrogated Divine Right His or Her Imperial Majesty And even if I never ever had at any Event Horizon no country LV IF ever I had even at an Event Horizon a country And if ever I were by self-arrogated Divine Right the Heir Apparent future Imperial Majesty I'd sit on His Majesty's Crown of stolen diamonds opels moonstones and gilded finery To warn all my Princes Princesses Lords Ladies Dukes and Marquis on bended knee That I'd send them forthwith down pitch-black Black Hole for standing uppity on their assumed Noble Ancestry And remind them all every one of us are descended sans exception from the Black African humanity Tree That is, if ever I were by self-arrogated Divine Right the Heir Apparent future Imperial Majesty And even if I never ever had at no Event Horizon a country © T. Wignesan - Paris, August 13,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: LII and LIII IF ever I had a country: LII - LIII ' How can the life of such a man Be in the palm of some fool's hand? To see him obviously framed Couldn't help but make me feel ashamed to live in a land Where justice is a game ' Extracted from Bob Dylan's ' Hurricane ' LII IF ever I had by error stumbled upon a country And if ever I were a resident in an area run by the son of a Mediterranean refugee I'd say to this powder-puff Madame Tussaud clay-face sooner rather than later (t) his realm I'll flee to be free For all the migrant force he currys favour with gratuitous doles from the common coffers fee To turn them into replica models of his own wax-works jamboree Will melt under the sun of his own exposure into insipid putrid curry That is, if ever I were tortured to my dying day by this mis-leading son of a refugee And even if I never ever had stumbled by error into no such country LIII If ever I had by error stumbled upon a country And if ever I were subject to the Third Degree by the Maudit Son of a refugee Who commands his grass-mowing corps to funnel exhaust fumes into my hovel square metres under thirty Who provokes other Mediterranean mugs mitoyen-masons to stuff my abode with merde and pee Who protects and pushes the Co-Proprietors' Council Administrator and Janitorcouple confrérerie To keep me from getting even a night's sleep in twenty years from the migrant crowd cacaphonic battery That is, even if I were about to die I'd say find yourself another wax-work victim who cannot repartee And even if I never ever stumbled by error into no such country © T. Wignesan - Paris, August 10,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: L and LI IF ever I had a country: L - LI L IF ever I had even in my dreams a country And if ever I dreamt I were the Minister of Defence I'd order every single soldier airman sailor or M.P. not to take offence At the guns cannons missiles rockets depth-charges torpedoes or crackers across the fence Aimed at US by other soldiers airmen sailors and M.P.s unaware of comeuppance Lest the word get around in our background I was talking nonsense That is, if ever I dreamt I were the Minister of Defence And even if I never ever had in my dreams no imaginary country LI IF ever I had even in my dreams a country And if ever I dreamt I were the Defence Secretary I'd make it an impardonable offence for every soldier airman sailor or M.P. I embody To think that right across the fence every soldier airman sailor or M.P. was not my enemy And I'd fire every last soldier airman sailor or M.P. on or off-duty Who did not fire his machine-gun cannon missile rocket torpedo at every Tom Dick or Harry That is, if ever I dreamt I were the Defence Secretary And even if I never ever had even in my dreams no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, August 9,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XLVIII and XLIX IF ever I had a country: XLVIII - XLIX XLVIII If ever I had even on a rocky wayward moon of a gaseous planet a country And if ever through successive assassinations of previous party cronies I were the Minister of Labour I'd instantly expose those in government who fiddle employment statistics in their favour Such as fictive employments of high class ladies fairies cousins camp-followers or paramours Especially of those who get elected by courting the few hundred new migrant citizens of colour In their tiny village hamlet or township constituencies of no particular worth or valour That is, if ever through successive assassinations of previous party cronies I were the Minister of Labour And even if I never ever had no rocky wayward moon of a gaseous planet country XLIX If ever I had a country even in a parallel universe galaxy And if ever through successive mis-counts in previous elections I became the Labour Secretary I'd overnight put an end to the farce of allowing charitable organizations play Robin Hood with hard-earned money Prohibit under threat of castration the printing of thick unread colourful magazines with starving children charitable beggars subject to sodomy And save the over 60% tax-deduction amounts to balance the budget in every poor country While giving to thrifty research and caring aid bodies who contribute to the quality of life one $ or € deducted from every salary That is, if ever through successive mis-counts in previous elections I became the Labour Secretary And even if I never ever in any parallel universe had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, August 7,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XLVI and XLVII IF ever I had a country: XLVI - XLVII XLVI IF ever I had in Andromeda a country And if ever by rights I were the Chief Collision-Conglomerate Six-Star Plenipotentiary I'd moot and execute a permanent plan for the establishment of a concentration camp penitentiary For all the Milky Way terrestrial chieftain priests and leaders of the twentytwenty- first century During the aeons-long Andromeda Purification-Invasion of our choked and soured Milky Way of uniting humanity And set up the Sixty-Four Wise Yijing Learned Men and Women Councils to rule each and every confounded in-human country That is, if ever by rights I were the Chief Collision-Conglomerate Six-Star Plenipotentiary And even if I never ever had in Andromeda no blasted country XLVII IF ever I had in Andromeda a country And if ever by rights I were the Six-Star Armed Forces Commander-in-Chief of the Milky Way invasion I'd warn all Inter-Stellar Fleet admirals and generals to guard against sharp human practices ruses and gifts of pretension Marked by the human mania for masking their faces crown of heads bellies but not bums and their servile submission To lying cheating imitating stealing back-biting fornicating bum-licking maiming killing and splitting the Almighty for selfish possession All for the sake of amassing more money more pleasure more fame more pride more hatred more envy more of everything as their only ethnic life-mission That is, if ever by rights I were the Six-Star Armed Forces Commander-in-Chief of the Milky Way invasion And even if I never ever had in Andromeda no green patch or parcel of a country © T. Wignesan - Paris, August 3,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XLIV and XLV IF ever I had a country: XLIV - XLV XLIV IF ever I had a country even beyond this galaxy And if ever I were by no stretch of the mind the very first - ever - educated Minister of Education I'd install television cameras in every class-room and lecture hall so that the entire population Whether always asleep born dead drugged or driven out of its mind by the ' quality ' of television Can get an idea of the kind of authoritarian drilling to which our poor innocent children are subject to manipulation And leave it to each dutiful parent to lynch or waylay the culprits to administer the appropriate correction And this, if ever I were by no stretch of the mind the very first ever educated Minister of Education And even if I never ever had even beyond this galaxy no country XLV If ever I had a country even beyond this galaxy And if ever by no stretch of the mind I were the first ever educated Education Secretary I'd make it a capital crime - the act of plundering student minds - of the first degree Any teacher thesis director who steals the candidate's research y compris member of the viva jury Who then publishes the same under his or her name en toute impunity I'll have their plagiarised erudite works put on the Index Librorum Prohibitorum and ban them from the profession for lacking pedigree That is, if ever I were by no stretch of the mind the first ever educated Education Secretary And even if I never ever had even beyond this galaxy no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, August 1st,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XLII and XLIII IF ever I had a country in this galaxy: XLII - XLIII XLII IF ever I had a country in this galaxy And if ever by no stretch of the imagination I were the Minister of Information I'd make it my sworn duty to pin up on every door long lists of the crimes of hypocrisy Like which nations carried out nuclear tests to pollute the air and seas far from their country Like which nation talks tough about maintaining the peace with nuclear thunder war after war in history Like which nation actually used the fission bomb over civilian cities and the never-ending lists of casualty That is, if ever by no stretch of the imagination I were the Minister of Information And even if I never ever had no country in this galaxy XLIII If ever I had a country in this galaxy And if ever by no stretch of the imagination I were the no double-speak Press Secretary On the top of the lists of the crimes of hypocrisy I'd pinpoint my first query How is it a tiny nuclear power country in the Mid-East is not party to the Disarmament Treaty Who made it possible after the demise of Colonialism now nearly half a century That this same country shackles an entire people under the guise of preserving its inalienability That is, if ever by no stretch of the imagination I were the no double-speak Press Secretary And even if I never ever had in this galaxy no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 31,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XXXIX and XLI If ever I had a country: XXXIX - XLI XXXIX If ever I had a country And if ever by some fluke I were the Minister of Trade and Commerce I'd round up these Protected Species of vicious witches who live off the fat of the tenement purse In cohorts with the ' assured ' companies and the conniving hoard of expert ' kick-back ' curse I'd line them all up and get the duped flat owners to kick boot holes in their puffy sagging backs Have them stewed in pig-fat cauldrons tarred feathered and pilloried on stinking rubbish stacks That is, if ever I were by fluke the Minister of Trade and Commerce And even if I never ever had in Gaie Paree no country XLI If ever I had a country And if ever by fluke I were the Trade and Commerce Secretary I'd bundle them all up and send them home to their menopaused Mediterranean Sea Seek ferret out and topple those who protect them ensconced in the coulisses of local authority And oblige the Natives to do the easy ' dirty ' work instead of just that of hard adultery Such that even the Poles who la-di-da with exotic Migrants will return to their Catholicity That is, if ever I were by fluke the Trade and Commerce Secretary And even if I never ever had in Gaie Paree no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 27,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XXXVII and XXXVIII IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XXXVII - XXXVIII XXXVII If ever I had a country And if ever by some magic I were the Minister of Housing Development I'd make it my life-long mission by swearing upon it as a Holy Sacrement To rush to the rescue of every poor defenceless and distraught old tenant At the mercy of villainous old women pests who run or administer housing tenements With beaks claws sharp canines of vultures hyenas who suck vampirically emoluments That is, if ever I were by some magic the Minister of Housing Development And even if I never ever had in Gaie Paree no country XXXVIII If ever I had a country And if ever by some magic I were the Housing Development Secretary I'd ordain ripped from every thesaurus encyclopaedia and dictionary Words which denote or connote that special breed of vilely hissing spying bodies Concierge Housekeeper Portero Janitor and all such idiotic parasitic discrepancies And free the sleepless care-worn tenement city populations from these harpies That is, if ever by some magic I were the Housing Development Secretary And even if in Gaie Paree I never ever had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 26,2018 The Select Poetry Class The Select Poetry Class ………………………………. the idea is to aver the overt statement appear somewhere ……… even if it stultifies… in rarefied realms sophisticate ………………… tuck the image in wayward by all means deride the rhymer ………………. as the pen buckles under the eye's squint-eyed callousness some cribbed unfinished line ……….. a well-named bird say thrush leaving its claw-prints …………………………………… clear ……… perspicacious …………………… on early-sprinkled snow It matters little …………………………. in fact ………………………………… not at all where the thought laid off nor which the word ………………………………… betrayed the thought …… matters only ………… the elegant sway of the print …………. the spare rustle rice paper feel then dress the thought the way the club ordains and practises pressed with care ………………………….. the demure pleats of the skirt all in assumed array …………………………………. for no rhymed reason still the hopping bird about to take flight the impression must give the feel ……………………………………………………. something must not seem to be said ………………..'tis enough to let the words slide along the secluded path …. rare ……………. bold ………………………… used in its obsolescent sense No way the Select ……………………………. must condescend to court the Internet they only write within behind closed-club sessions ……………………….. the idea is not to have les foies… ' sa hautaine foi apparaissait en filigrane ……………………………………………………………… dans ses paroles ' NOTES 'avoir les foies' means 'to be scared to death' and the rest in French means: his words hardly veiled his haughty creed or (as in this piece) manner of writing. © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 19,2018 The art of saying what cannot be for Harriet Monroe The art of saying what cannot be ………………………………………..for Harriet Monroe … said ………………or need not be What's the difference if you call tinnitus or l'acouphène a 'tintement, a 'buzzing', a 'chuintement', a 'whistling', or pure sounds of music: it is still not stilled in him who lies still. ……………………… he left his spectacles on a narrow ledge and pulled the lever ………….to let the trough down slopping mélange of cement paint and the sneeze of bird droppings carried by swirling winds … did he fear his glasses would come off ……… or was it just the fear of mélange slurp on his glasses … a near-full trough wobbled with the first jerk of the pulley … a treacle of a drop streaked thick chased by a heart-shaped losange …………… long before the splash hit the ground he thought of whom he might excise ………………. from his last will and testament with a vengeful codicil ……………………….. the greediest ………………………........... the laziest or the great spenders he might not have thought it important but was it the moment his foot caught the snake coils of a rope high on the scaffolding …………… did he think he heard a saffron-robed monk knock the tool-box down in haste a faux pas he felt was not to his taste ……………….. at least at that very moment still he let himself be led …………………………. half-blind into realms not so bizarre ………………………… after all with only the colliding tinnitus …………… reverbrating in his ears What would anyone think if he or she would come upon his eyeless specs: ' … best to leave said or unheard things alone… ' © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 23,2018 Translation of David Broza's Ay Amor Que seria de mi, Lyrics by E N Glass Translation of David Broza's '! Ay Amor! Que seria de mi! ' by T. Wignesan (I'm not certain if this' s the original title of the lyrics composed by Eitan Nahmias GLASS. My translation is made from the translation into Spanish by Javier RUIBAL, I presume, from the original Hebrew. I cannot help feeling that Consuelo's ' Bésamé Mucho ' lyrics are at the root of much similar compositions ever since the early radio versions. The music and the virtuoso vocal performance, of course, belongs to David BROZA, himself, and is included in the TODO O NADA 2002 album of extremely catchy memorable and remarkable lyrical ballads in the folk or ' unrequited love ' Romantic vein, such as, the dramatically nostalgic and elegiac title song: ' Todo o Nada ', itself. His intimate voice and the haunting melodies reach deep into one's psyche and appropriate one's awareness of even one's self: the identification of one's sensibilities with the tragic themes becomes instantaneous and wholesome, such is the magic of his voice, their rich aptly controlled musical modulations and compassionate confessional tones. The Andalusian or Gypsy evocations in the music add to the urgency of the intense feelings expressed through highly dramatic and elegiac strains in Lorcan Canto Jondo fashion. I give the Spanish translation here with the appropriate acknowledgements unless this may be construed as a breach of rights, in which case I'll delete the addition should I be required to do so. - T. Wignesan) O! Love! What would become of me! If my lips forget the taste of yours And some dark presage of pain Lights my way on to the wreck Of seeing you desert me O! Love! What would become of me! If in the realm of water I have need of your sea And at the balcony of your bodily casing I cannot lean over If the road that leads to you should lose its way O! Love! What would be my fate! Even before the heart might throb At the juncture where we bid farewell Even before the century of bullets Undermines reason Even before it could turn poisonous The blood of the roses of Eden Trap me in your mouth for my own good If tomorrow the summer dries up the jasmin flowers And in vain my eyes water your garden And lets fall into my hands a lethal thorn O! My Darling! What do you think could happen to me? If the thrust of the wound traverses the threshold Where Life and the Void were to get severed by chance If you're not there to receive me in your bosom when I arrive O! My Heart! What would become of me! Even before the heart might throb… …………………………………….. Even before a single sigh escapes You know well Who will keep safe this love of ours Hoping I'll not fall the moment I'm hurt May the rivers of the soul Flow in tranquillity Who will then recall my song OOooooo…. Even before the heart might throb… …………………………………….. © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 20,2018 Lyrics in Spanish: Si olvidaran mis labios tu sabor Y un oscurro presagio de dolor Me llevara al naufragio De verte partir Iay, amor! Que seria de mi Si en el reino del agua me falta tu mar Y al balcon de tu piel no me puedo asomar Si perdiera el camino que me lleva a ti Iay, amor! Que seria de mi Antes que doble el Corazon La esquina del adios Antes que el siglo de las balas Me robe la razon Antes que sea venenosa La sangre de las rosas del eden Atrapame en tu boca por mi bien Si manana el verano secara el jazmin Y mis ojos en vano riegan tu jardin Si es la suerte en mi mano una espina mortal Iay, amor! Que me puede pasar Si tocado y herido cruzara el umbral Que la vida y la nada separa al azar Si no encuentro tu pecho al llegar alli Iay, amor! Que seria de mi antes que doble el Corazon la esquina del adios antes que el siglo de las balas me robe la razon antes que sea venenosa la sangre de las rosas del eden antrapame en tu boca por mi bien antes que un suspiro tu lo sabes quien me guarda este amor que en la herida no me cae que navegara en calma los rios del alma quien recordara mi cancion antes que doble el Corazon… crédits de l'album? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? -? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? // David Broza - Todo O Nada (All Or Nothing) , paru le 1 janvier 2002 Lyrics By: Eitan Nahmias Glass Spanish Translation: Javier Ruibal Music: David Broza ? ? ? ? ? : ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? : ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? : ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? licence tous droits réservés IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XXXV and XXXVI IF ever I had a country: XXXV - XXXVI XXXV IF ever I had a country And if ever by any stretch of the imagination I were the duely-elected President of the Republic I'd tell each and every oath-taking Grand Master of Free-Masonry: No question of sharing power in a democracy I'd purge the Courts first then the Police and Secret Service of every trace of their hierarchichal papacy Then seek and weed out every one of their moles in the Administration as a policy Which abhors power exercised by unauthorised coteries in the body-politic as the bane of national meritocracy That is, if ever I were by any stretch of the imagination the duely-elected President of the Republic And even if I never ever had no country so sick XXXVI If ever I had a country And if ever I were but the President PM or even divine King I'd lose not any sleep over who makes the belfry bells toll or telephones ring I'll not fret and frown every time trade unions business or professional guilds sing Out of tune with the voices of aides aide-de-camps or Chiefs of Staff in the West Wing I'd keep a finger on the Peoples' Pulse and when I rule I'd know I'll be doing the right Thing That is, if ever I were but the President PM or even divine King And even if I never ever had no country to wring © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 16,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XXXIII and XXXIV IF ever I had a country: XXXIII - XXXIV XXXIII IF ever I had a country And if ever by hook or by crook I were the Secretary of HEW and Culture I'd make it compulsory for any being who wishes to run for office To first undergo psychologcal tests to prove (s) he's sufficiently mature Pass televised Public Examinations on Constitutional Law Logic Economics and Political Philosophy for the novice In short, revive some sort of the old Confucian Mandarinate system of competitive torture That is, if ever by hook or by crook I were the Secretary of HEW and Culture And even if I never ever had no country to torture XXXIV IF ever I had a country And if ever by hook or by crook I were the Imperial State Counsellor I'd advise the King PM or President to put political aspirants under psychiatric surveillance For it's most surprising that those who have more or less no vestige of culture would wish to be other peoples' manager Furthermore, I'd insist that once elected they take the Oath of Anonymity and Silence And watch how long they would then want to hold on to their power That is, if ever by hook or by crook I were the Imperial State Counsellor And even if I never ever had no country to empower © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 15,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XXXI and XXXII IF ever I had a country: XXXI - XXXII XXXI IF ever I had a country And if ever by fluke I was asked to audit the National Budget I'd first set out to monitor the Elus' va et vient to the water-closet And clock the nation's time they waste in parroting speeches in their jet Then I'd add-up all the country's time they tweet away the interviews they repeat The tuxedos they jump into to putt golf-balls down the Republic's smooth green parapet That is, if ever by fluke I were asked to audit the National Budget And even if I never ever had no country on which to place a bet XXXII IF ever I had a country And if ever I were asked to write the Constitution by the Founding Fathers I'd have a Hall built in the Heart of the Nation for a Book with virgin pages And thereupon let inscribe every wish of every citizen justly not put in fetters And let no Magna Carta or genial Jefferson nor Freemason Human Rights Charter carve article upon commandment article for hoi polloi brothers And which thus pave the way for NRAs to lock House Senate and Chief Exec in private profit-based manoeuvres That is, if ever I were asked to frame the Constitution by the Founding Fathers And even if I never ever had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 14,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XIX and XXX IF ever I had a country: XXIX - XXX XXIX IF ever I had a country And if ever I were but the Alexandrian National Librarian` I'd drag every under-elected village township city and national politician Handcuffed to the Sistine Chapel-domed book-lined reading auditorium To read aloud and commit to memory every act of the Grand Inquisition And swear by Oath Torquemeda their natural Father denounce Demosthenes the subverted Athenian That is, if ever I were but the Alexandrian National Librarian And even if I never ever had no country/education XXX IF ever I had a country And if ever by chance I were but the Director-General of Prisons I'd make the Metropolis the strictest Concentration Camp for political malfeasance For those who run the State without the slightest prick of even animal conscience And there force them to read aloud plebian-voiced Athenian magnificence while they bake in the heat of the ovens As a reward for bringing Our World day by day to the brink of Hitlerian Final Solution horizons That is, if ever I were by chance but the Director-General of Prisons And even if I never ever had no country/education © T. Wignesan, Paris, July 13,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XXVII and XXVIII IF ever I had a country: XXVII - XXVIII XXVII IF ever I had a country And if ever I were but the Registrar of Companies I'd appoint Snoopy - pet-dog Bo's first cousin - Inspector General of Secret Societies I'll tell him to overlook the fiddling of Stock Exchange equities and concentrate on fan-club iniquities To publish lists every morning on each member's earnings pilferings including health reports on their starving unemployment-pay beneficiaries On who pays for the face paint jerseys mass-migration air-tickets five-star hotel and beer and block-seating fees That is, if ever I were but the unpaid Registrar of Companies And even if I never ever had no country company XXVIII IF ever I had a country And if ever I were but the Inspector General of Secret Societies I'd post packs of howling hound dogs to announce at portals of lodges drugcartel penthouse mansions and haute-cuisine fan-club eateries Whose chauffeur-driven sleek limousine dropped off which hired diamond tiara damsel from what political parties Question the secret expense-accounts of fan-club funding at football stadiums' madly-howling jamborees And assess the damage to the GDP despite hipes in taxes imposed by police clashes with fans after crushing defeats at shoot-out penalties That is, if ever I were but the Inspector General of Secret Societies And even if I never ever had no country or society © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 12,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XXV and XXVI IF ever I had a country: XXV - XXVI XXV IF ever I had a country And if ever I were the Secretary of State for National Unity I'd appoint myself the Director of the National Football Industry Order every child over-weight skinny lame dumb deaf spastic or rickety To go to the school grounds every morning bouncing or kicking balls free With one solitary thought in mind: ultimate World Cup victory That is, if ever I were the State Sec for National Unity And even if I never ever had no country XXVI IF ever I had a country And if ever I were the Minister for National Unity I'd appoint every World Cup national footballer Vice-Chancellor of University Have him create as many Chairs as he wishes for the Football Ph.D. Teach every student the art of foul-tackling anybody not from his country Till I'd make it second nature not to play ball but to kick the enemy That is, if ever I were the Minister for National Unity And even if I never ever had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 11,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XXIII and XXIV IF ever I had a country: XXIII-XXIV XXIII IF ever I had a country And if ever I were but the Home Secretary I wouldn't sit on my baked beans doing my level-best to avoid responsibility While waiting to pat myself on the back on Bastille Day down the Champs Elysée I'd keep both public and pubic forces from running rampage on every refugee But set about tidying the House with bleach to rid oath-taking secret skullduggery That is, if ever I were but the Home Secretary And even if I never ever had no country XXIV IF ever I had a country And if ever I were but the Interior Secretary I'd neither arrogate nor take for granted Hobbes's Leviathan-authorised cruelty I'd seek and demolish local townships' self-appointed chief mafiosi Who undermine hotel-maids with virile World Bank authority Who add to the You-Too Hall of Fame Hollywood-producer community That is, if ever I were but the Interior Sec in Gay Paree And even if I never ever had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 10,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XXI and XXII IF ever I had a country: XXI - XXII ' I will follow that system of regimen which, according to my ability and judgment, I consider for the benefit of my patients, and abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous. I will give no deadly medicine to any one if asked, nor suggest any such counsel; and in like manner I will not give to a woman a pessary to produce abortion. With purity and with holiness I will pass my life and practice my Art. ' Excerpted from the translation by Francis Adams in Wikisource of the Oath of Hippocrates,400 BCE. XXI IF ever I had a country And if ever I were but the Health Minister And if some breach some tort against The Hippocratic Oath reached my ear I'd rage and storm through ward portals in Olympian Apollonic gear To arraign the culprit whether Male Nurse Sister Matron or specialist Doctor Till no patient need fear contamination poison nor Secret Service murder That is, if ever I were but the Health Minister And even if I never ever had no country XXII IF ever I had a country And if ever I were the Health Secretary And if some sleepless stateless victim of the Secret Police's Third Degree Was put under Trileptal and made to undergo Tomo-Scintigraphy And the operators abandoned the patient to general tonico-clonic seizure in epilepsy I'd either order the hospital closed or put the service heads out-of-activity That is, if ever I were even the Health Sec in Gay Paree And even if I never ever had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 9,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XIX and XX IF ever I had a country: XIX - XX XIX If ever I had a country And if ever I were the Minister of Industry I'd put a stop to the production of machines that disturb the peace Electric-drillers motor-bikes clanking street-cars trains infested with fleas Exile all Formula One champions to Singapore and Monaco Where only the reeking rich besides you-know-who go That is, if ever I were the Minister of Industry And even if I never ever had no country XX If ever I had a country And if ever I were the Minister of Technology I'd clamp huge fines on manufacturers of machines without silencers Banish all noise-making inventors wifeless to the Antartica's fastnesses Lock-up for life all architects and engineers who build tenement-flat cities With walls and floors so paper-thin to permit all kinds of sleepless atrocities That is, if ever I were the Minister of Technology And even if I never ever had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 8,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XVII and XVIII IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XVII - XVIII XVII IF ever I had a country And if ever I were the Minister of Education I'd make every child take an Oath of Nature upon leaving school in June That every kid learn by heart by autumn ten local birds' tune The Garden Warbler's varied repertoire the toot-toot of the Owl under the moon To tell which Wood-Pecker drummed which tree out-of-tune That is, if ever I were the Minister of Education And even if I never ever had no country XVIII If ever I had a country And if ever I were the Secretary of HEW I'd make it a certified condition for the leaving of school Only when every teen acquired the skill of notation as a musical tool To stock his memory with quarrelsome magpie curses or soothing cuckoo calls cool And let no carrion crow flutter at school-top eaves calling him a fool That is, if ever I were the Secretary of HEW And even if I never ever had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 6,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XV and XVI IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XV & XVI XV IF ever I had a country And if ever I were the Treasury Secretary I'd outlaw all big-time ' companies ' who beg for money Especially those who beg in the name of the Almighty I'd write virulent circulars on how to cajole Him through litany To wheedle trillions of dollars euros yuans rupees throughout Eternity That is, if ever I were the Treasury Secretary And even if I never ever had no country XVI IF ever I had a country And if ever I were the Minister of Finance I'd make every charitable organization head dance On a tight rope stretched from here to comeuppance For wasting nearly all what we give them on bribes penthouse mags and stamps And take them on a tour of the streets and hovels littered with hungry children and tramps That is, if ever I were the Minister of Finance And even if I never ever had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 5,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XIII and XIV IF ever I had a country: XIII - XIV XIII IF ever I had a country And if ever I were the Sports Secretary I'd remind every sportsman performing for money That the buying and selling of humans born free Died with slavery in the Nineteenth Century And put behind bars all club committees found guilty That is, if ever I were the Sports Secretary And even if I never ever had no country XIV If ever I had a country And if ever I were the Sports Secretary I'd fine any sportsman his salary for hood-winking the referee After every judo throw and karate jab above or below the knee Just when the ball's dribbled to the goal --- for a penalty Even if the VAR-referee is blind to what we see on TV That is, if ever I were the Sports Secretary And this, even if I never ever had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 3,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY: XI and XII IF ever I had a country: XI - XII IF ever I had a country And if ever I were but the Admiral of the Fleet I'd issue an edict to keep ships out of foreign waters I'd order all on deck on or off duty curse-under-breath sailors To fish out of oceans crushed cans and twisted plastic bottles And whatever else poisons sardines dolphins sharks and whales ………………………………… ………………………………… ……………………………….. ……………………………….. I'd see to it that all our ancestors of the primal soup deep Were brought onto land with all their shredded creep And to the tune of the Divine Land's Anthem make all weep In solemn burial ceremonies commit such memories to keep That is, if ever I were but the Admiral of the Fleet And even if I never ever had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris, June 28,2018 Translation of Besame Mucho, Lyrics by Consuelo Velasquez Translation of ' Bésame Mucho ' from the lyrics by Consuelo Velasquez Refrain: Kiss me longingly long Kiss me, kiss me longingly long As though this night has to be The very last Kiss me longingly long Kiss me, kiss me longingly long For seized am I with the fear of losing you Losing you hereafter (Refrain repeated twice) I long to hold you close to me While gazing deep into your eyes Making us look as but one together The thought nags perchance tomorrow I'll have already gone far away Far far from you (Refrain repeated thrice) For seized am I with the fear of losing you Losing you hereafter The original lyrics in Spanish: Bésame mucho Bésame, bésame mucho Como si fuera esta noche La ultima vez Bésame mucho Que tengo miedo a pederte Pederte despues (Refrain twice) Quiero tenerte muy cerca Mirarme en tus ojos Verte junto a mi Pienso que tal vez manana Yo ya estare lejos Muy lejos de ti (Refrain thrice) Que tengo miedo a pederte Pederte despues © T. Wignesan - Paris, May 12,2018 Khatia Buniatishvili's Piano Concerto 1 by Tchaikovsky Khatia Buniatishvili's Tour de Force of Tchaikovsky's Piano Concerto N° 1 in Bflat minor on Zubin Mehta's 80th Birthday* … the caged-beast terrified defying the donderbus blasts vollies of muskets and cannons heralding the charge cavernous ton caisses blown asunder one blow after another yapping at the heels tense fingers rouse rout the oceanico- volcanic rumbled roars Napoleonic regiments march to the Hapsburg and Prussian theatre fields socket-bayonets lowering bison hooves churning up fossil-stamped-under turfs prairie cacti the starved beast within clawing at the iron black-andwhite bars 7,800,000 Brown Bess muskets rip the leaden air Khatia pulsating on array upon array of stiff-backed goose-stepping hussars her eyes half-closed under chaffed curls the un-ending march of drilled fingers over ages no single gap within-between mounts of palms pounding the thunder out of the bowels of the earth growling up and down the veins of notes come never come unstuck furious furnaces of maddening cries surging in unison through her stoking arms raking the fire fissioning fusing in the pulsating funnel of her torso-seat furnaces of energy bursting bubbly bold and raw veiled eyes strain on the girdle's romping rise and thumping fall from side to side alternating drawn-out lean dulcet notes in spaced out lulls with bass and clarinet strains the steambrimming summits about to give about to part now yes not yet the ultimate squeezed up orgiastic boil down to laboured thematic repetitions seizing the memory cold the rapid-fire flint-lock musketeers in range after range falling to each triggered chord by the hundreds hussars cavorting high leather squatkicking while strings echo breathless the hind-core juices spouting at her finger-tips cannon calls collide on trumpet blasts clarinets foreshadowing the wayward raga come to nag and jog the sullied brains behind deadpan listening disarmed visages fussillades upon clacking thunderous hussar roars the strings strain and lag to hold together the air after the dispersal of fog and smoke bourrasque after bourrasque of drums pour seething metal over her head and nape in stoop to conquer fixed-bayonet thrusts of notes thump thumping the stoop forty fingers to the fractured nano-second bend blend bake each note into the fury of torrential sound charging down the pent-up waterfall of inturned eyes …. saved by the lone raga come a-loose just in time Hurrah! Hurrah! Cry the Hussars! *Israel Philharmic Orchestra, pub. April 22,2016 © T. Wignesan - Paris, May 5,2018 WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE What's the difference… The difference between the Short Distance's height And the Long Distance's shallowness drawn tight Is that neither knows the hollowness of its might Whichever way they may look: up down left or right If you went up the shallowness of the one you slight You'd end up in the hollowness of the other recondite Or if you slid down the one who stands stiff upright You're bound to fall screaming upside down in a fright Either way neither will say unless it was day or night When Short Distance at last met Long Distance alright Though neither or either will own up to being really tight After running a short then a long distance before the fight If you think you could mock these errant lines downright I challenge you to disentangle them under darkened light © T. Wignesan - Paris, June 13,2018 Villanelle: Look not back and lament how your life's gone astray Villanelle: Look not back and lament how your life's gone astray Look not back and lament how your life's gone astray Mistakes you have made must of needs be also made Don't guiles lies with smiles guide all forms of inter-play If mistakes never lie in wait in one's blind way Each one of us can choose our path in sun or shade Look not back and lament how your life's gone astray True, some like Sexton or Plath would fall by the way What they said somehow reach down to us still persuade Don't guiles lies with smiles guide all forms of inter-play Think of those legions minds deranged maimed shut away Through no fault of their own nor by mid-wives' hands degrade Look not back and lament how your life's gone astray The madness of the moment wreaks mistakes holds sway Some urge some hapless encounter the fated raid Don't guiles lies with smiles guide all forms of inter-play Far too complex far too hidden each act to weigh Sometimes some mistakes lead on to a choice well made Look not back and lament how your life's gone astray Don't guiles lies with smiles guide all forms of inter-play (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Translation of Aranjuez lyrics from the Spanish original, sung by Andrea Bocelli Translation of the Aranjuez lyrics from the Spanish original sung by Andrea Bocelli Your lovely presence still lingers at Aranjuez Aranjuez, A place fused through in dreams of love Where the whirr of fountains In crystal Make believe the waters chatter in the garden In hushed tones with the roses Aranjuez, Nowadays the faded dry leaves Which waft and drift in the winds Recall the tenderness of our tryst there That once upon a time We let surge in our hearts you and I And without cause let befall us oblivion Yet that intense fervour lies safe In some sun eclipsed by the horizon Or in the hint of some breeze or lingering in some flower Awaiting only your return Aranjuez, Nowadays the faded dry leaves Which waft and drift in the winds Recall the tenderness of our tryst there That once upon a time We let surge in our hearts you and I And neglected without reason In Aranjuez, My Love You as well as I © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Villanelle: Merchants of the Word make Writers write for Prizes Villanelle: Merchants of the Word make Writers write for Prizes Merchants of the Word make writers write for prizes Does not the failed writer pose as house editor Great treasures of the past were weaned without judges Prized-writers in our midst make all kinds of noises Matters little so long as till fills publisher Merchants of the Word make writers write for prizes Lope de Vega scorned long-suff'ring Cervantes His plight mattered only to French Ambassador Great treasures of the past were weaned without judges Prized-writers need not fear e'en wise connaisseurs Don't they write with flourish cocking-eye on reader Merchants of the Word make writers write for prizes Does the Nobel go to some who serve lost causes Or to some who serve publishers like the Booker Great treasures of the past were weaned without judges True, ancient poets sang under patronages Yet those we love most lived life under the jailor Merchants of the Word make writers write for prizes Great treasures of the past were weaned without judges © T. Wignesan - Paris, May 4,2018 Villanelle: O What a way to go They Say locked in Lover's Arms Villanelle: O! What a way to go They Say locked in Lover's Arms O! What a way to go They Say locked in lover's arms Damned he or she be to live curséd life alone Do we not all smother most what we love sans qualms Lone bodies shiver in beds quothing inane psalms No body loses heat when both stoke flesh and bone O! What a way to go They Say locked in lover's arms No Romeo with potion Juliet embalms Had not either to deep mock sleep stayed up immune Do we not all smother most what we love sans qualms Some prefer the chivalrous spears of knights-at-arms Others prefer not to go at all all alone O! What a way to go They Say locked in lover's arms Passion mounts the pressure on lonely hearts' dire charms The choice in these cases is either stroke or be-gone Do we not all smother most what we love sans qualms The lesson here is simple: by the bed stock arms He who must go first may her shoot ere he is blown O! What a way to go They Say locked in lover's arms Do we not all smother most what we love sans qualms © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Olga Scheps embodies Chopin's Piano Concerto No 1, e-minor Olga Scheps embodies Chopin's Piano Concerto n° 1 For a pianist who ponders her prey The taming arms-length erect posture The torso and pulsating violin back encased in red-rich ornate coarse wrap Nape muscles strung by swaying grace-groomed arms branched aloft Pursed lips part for allegro romp Tensile gushed groin screaming on seat-edge flailing fingers Averse to sleek chord whale case under knee-cap check Who is the Master of the indomptable Mistress Does the script express and extend the actress's role Or trundled chords liberate hidden Polish voices yearning Cabriole on prairie pastures The yearling kicking high on the keyboard Startling the chevron-sinewed munching herd Light lambs and kids throwing frolicking fits Round and round the heifer humping high down the meadow Stung to the quick half-recurring bars of the theme The feline fauve now appeased by soft churning cuddles Pages of screwed signals hung on lined sign-posts Roused by nut-cracker knuckles Flush out repartee collective timbre strings Doused by the sweet-sweating triumphal orgiastic release The wilful eyes of the hungry panther Turn soft and pander to the prey Is this when the poised moment of the composed kill Misses the mark just once The sleek black whale bears its twinkling teeth in hollow rage © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Villanelle: Don't some live Life the way he or she wants it Villanelle: Don't some live Life the way he or she wants it Don't some live Life the way he or she wants it Look around and see who lives resounding lives If I were Life's Playwright won't I so fix it Make both Yang and Yin agree to make things fit Into the entire Scheme of Things which us drives Won't some live Life the way he or she wants it No playwright can banish conflict from his Script He'd play to empty seats actors who mime lives If I were Life's Playwright won't I so fix it So Evil-Doers reign supreme to make it The way the Play devolves on stage each scene contrives Won't some live Life the way he or she wants it Not to shift blame on either won't I judge it Best to make Authorities live double lives If I were Life's Playwright won't I so fix it Doubt not why Evil-Doers always make it Protected pardoned cherished Queen Bees in hives Don't some live Life the way he or she wants it If I were Life's Playwright won't I so fix it © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Is ARANJUEZ a pining after the composer's mother Is ARANJUEZ a pining after the composer's mother? (Joaquin Rodrigo - 1901-1999 - who composed the ' Aranjuez ' concerto on piano in 1938/9 and which later was destined for the guitar and orchestra, turned blind at the age of 3, due to complications with the onset of diphtheria. His Turkish pianist wife Victoria Kamhi whom he married in 1933 is said to have remarked that the exquisitely captivating composition of universal appeal recalled ' happier days ' in his life. What could be ' happier ' than those days at his mother's side. Despite the eminently masterful version by Paco de Lucia, I am convinced Pepe Romero's rendering the most moving and apt. This is a tentative essay in Rodrigo's recall.) T. Wignesan, April 19,2018 Age cannot wither your bright fond face Nor the cares of my shrunken shuttered world Oh! What would I not give for a mere glimpse Of those cheerful tearful eyes orbs of merry gold The silvery dancing glint trailing golden down your uncombed strands The scent of fresh milk drenched in sweat bathed in myrrh breath Your darling eyes doting on my tight shut suckling lids The lambent darkness pulling back the shrouded dawn The myriad pullulating chirping chants rousing up the morn And I in your downy cradled gently lilting lap surfing in your warmth Was that a fleeting memory or a momentous cuckoo call Still dim and growing dimmer by the day All that is real palpable the wet steamy heat of your merciful lips And the humming coaxes of your gently trailing voice Do I still recall as if I were still in your arms Real ripe deep in my thoughts Age cannot wither your bright fond face Nor the cares of my shrunken shuttered world Oh! What would I not give for a mere glimpse Of those cheerful tearful eyes orbs of merry gold The multiple cries you wake to during interminable nights The plastered stink of limbs to dry with Cologne The cooing chest-humming drones along with ticklish cuddles With never so much as a rebounding complaint Who can forget that tell-tale melodious rant And then you dressed me up into stuffed woolen bundles To show me off Every evening bright by the neighbouring patio and plaza Me proud as a pigeon in a fountain puddle The toys you dangled in my cradle The jingle you played with deft fingers on a toy tympan And the excruciating melody Drowning the simmering light in deep dungeon night Never to be released again Never to light up your proud face again Though the sweet scent of your holy breath Blesses ever so gently my temples against yours… Age cannot wither your bright fond face Nor the cares of my shrunken shuttered world Oh! What would I not give for a mere glimpse Of those cheerful tearful eyes orbs of merry gold © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Villanelle: Don't we all cling to Life tooth and nail guts in groin Villanelle: Don't we all cling to Life tooth and nail guts in groin Don't we all cling to Life tooth and nail guts in groin E'en if the insatiable Beast glowers close behind No matter what nor how long the grind we bear 'n' pine Merchants of Faith made in mythic images divine Tell us all their gods have told them what lurks behind Don't we all cling to Life tooth and nail guts in groin Each in his own way nailed to some Alien loin All assured this World's for the best of Mankind No matter what nor how long the grind we bear 'n' pine True gods are those Men who behind the scenes combine Thrust up Leaders who lisp words for Them who us bind Don't we all cling to Life tooth and nail guts in groin Children grow up and swear by their words anodine Believe rot Batman Hulks Wonder Woman's behind No matter what nor how long the grind we bear 'n' pine Till that day the bubble bursts the last word on line Shows neither Nations nor gods mean well for Mankind Don't we all cling to Life tooth and nail guts in groin No matter what nor how long the grind we bear 'n' pine © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Isaac Albeniz's Asturias, Three Versions, Three Instruments Isaac Albéniz's Asturias, Three Versions, Three Instruments I By Andres SEGOVIA, guitar,2006 Man lopes up mast-pole Man lopes up mast-pole Man lopes up mast-pole And finds no maiden fair Who mimes his Asturian air II By Andronicus, piano version Man bikes up mountain Man bikes up mountain Man bikes up mountain And espies masts far from there Biscay Basques back with wares rare III By Florin Croitoru, violin-solo Man runs up belfry Man runs up belfry Man runs up belfry To count sinners in every square Come to keep their bosoms bare © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - continued: IX and X IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY… IX If ever I had a country And if ever I were not robbed of my barrister's degree I'd set up shop on a perch at Hyde Park Corner For a chance to plead for the Damnés de la Terre at Old Bailey Receive the eternally forlorn under a tree for no fee And rally all victims of pleadings under my barrister's wig free That is, if ever I were not robbed of that Call to the Bar duty And this, even if I never had no country X If ever I had a country And if ever I were not robbed of the chance to plead for the unfree The poor who tremble helpless at the Law's ermine garb decree The innocent wretched who let fall their inalienable rights and flee The defenceless cowed by the moneyed clients' Big-Time lawyer crap Claim and Counter-claim Summons for Disclosure trap That is, if ever I were not robbed of my self-taught Inns of Court degree And this, even if I never had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - continued: VII and VIII IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY… VII If ever I had a country And if ever I were the Keeper of the keys to the Treasury I'd invite all the tramps from every contree To weigh with sunken eyes the lack of bullion for paper money Into each tattered pocket drop slabs of gold to keep them company During chilblained nights of growling intestinal acrimony That is, if ever I were the Keeper of the keys to the Treasury And even if I never had no country VIII If ever I had a country And if ever I were cast in the role of the Night Soil Men I'd make certain every caste citizen got a taste of it No use pretending you don't know what I really mean It's the stuff caste-men push down gullets with spicy relish And let blast off galore trumpets and bassoons at full throttle That is, if ever I were cast in the role of the Night Soil Men And even if I never had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY - continued IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY… V If ever I had a country And if I were the Minister of Justice I'd keep an open eye on covert fascist lechers To arraign dodgers from witch sick woman's clutches Who annul marriages the Holy See blesses To mask her lewd tantrums in the Secret Services That is, if ever I were the Minister of Justice And even if I never had no country VI If ever I had a country And if I were the Home Secretary I'd make all secret files on all dignitaries An open book on the art of rape incest or adultery Pedophily sodomy perversity y compris Not to mention lodge-keepers' skulduggery That is, if ever I were the Home Secretary And even if I never had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Villanelle: On listening to Al Di Meola, John McLaughlin and Paco de Lucia - June 12,1980 Villanelle: On listening to Al Di Meola, John McLaughlin and Paco de Lucia Concert - June 12,1980 Tico Tico swallows tumbling in the frisky air Round and round in Rondenôs whisk sparrows Paco aloof in Andauzian tempo Malaguena rare Piroueting incisive onrush cascades bare No strings wave upon wave in strict sweeping rows Tico Tico swallows tumbling in the frisky air John abeting Al to shake free from Camaron dare The tsunami shaking out of the Devil's maws Paco aloof in Andaluzian tempo Malaguena rare All argumentative cursing beginning no-where Irascible abrasive rabid racy tune soars Tico Tico swallows tumbling in the frisky air Torrential currents let John loose in manic scare That Al contests entraps in torrid lassoes Paco aloof in Andaluzian tempo Malaguena rare This salmagundi of virtuoso notes snare One and all from the caverns of Sleepy Hollows Tico Tico swallows tumbling in the frisky air Paco aloof in Andaluzian tempo Malaguena rare © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY IF EVER I HAD A COUNTRY… I If ever I had a country And if I were but a low-paid Judge I'd mind every line and leaf of the Law And let no one step over the Bench Nor will I let any Law-Maker Break but a word of his That is, if I were just a judge And even if I never had no country II If ever I had a country And I were but a common policeman No matter how lean my native shores I'd patrol the streets at all hours Citizens, nay, immigrants too, behind unlocked doors Will sleep the sleep of the untrammelled Just That is, if I were even just a policeman And even if I never had no country III If ever I had a country And if I were the Chief Exec And the hoi polloi shunned the polls Abstensions thrice over thrust me up in office I'd rather commit felo de se Than as top Magistrate refuse hemlock That is, if ever I were the Chief Exec And even if I never had no country IV If ever I had a country And if I were the Plenipotentiary And the popular vote went to my Enemy I'd go back to making or losing money I'd surrender my post to run my own company Even if it were under the company of my Enemy That is, if I were the very Plenipotentiary And even if I never had no country © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Random Excerpts - 2: Ice in My Eyes Smoke in Yours, A Novel May 29,1957: …have to think about getting a thesis director…know no professor yet in the department…someone suggested i get hold of Derek Fogg for an intro to the big guns in the philosophisches Seminar…can't bother him too much…i like the way he lectures…lively, informative, obviously in tune with his subject, emitting an air of being on top form nearly always and always ready with an answer…someone said he too is looking for a prof to direct or rather accept his dissert on Bernard Shaw…he's been working on the man for years…he's easily the most knowledgeable on Shaw, the fin de siècle and Edwardian period…guess he knows his Shakespeare too from the constant references he makes to the master… and to Marlowe, Sheridan, Oscar Wilde, and Galsworthy … must admit i like the man…affable, courteous, always considerate and above all open, honest, and forthright…i think he likes me too…he liked my poems…his girl though German is curiously very English…she's a demure, pretty brunette, not as tall as he is but cast in the same mould: not too lean, not too skinny, just right i'd say…she smiles naturally, looks innocent, at least without guile, no hang-ups or pretences…quiet, in any case, doesn't say much whenever i'm around and doesn't object to my presenting myself in their after all tiny Collegium Academicum room…she seems very content with her catch…wasn't she a student of his, someone said…don't know many students at the hostel… the place was meant mainly for scholarship holders and lecturers… (…) …and so has Nature's purpose been achieved: ETERNEL CONFLICT but in cyclic periods, the yearly seasonal changes to the Brahma Day…the YIN half of the year buckling under to the YANG half…to the Brahma Night…the BIG BANG to the BIG CRUNCH…no, no I'm afraid to the gobbling up of all matter…yes, even dark matter in the universe…and even universes through the blackest of BLACK HOLES… …what we see is what we don't if we do not have eyes…light travels in photons always on and on without impulsion without cause until the point of mirage until the point of no return until what we see is circumscribed by reflection of what we can see up to a point… up to a point which is only verifiable with eyes…NO ONE HAS EVER COME BACK…we can never know while still alive if all this and that exists when we are not here…in any case if we see at all when we are gone, it may not necessarily be what we see while still here…all the rest is conjecture…what we see exists what we don't may still exist if we tried to see…Orion exists maybe when i see…does it exist when i'm not looking…does it matter that it exists for my life to be realised…astrologers would say yes…pork-sellers might think it a waste of time even to think of such a thing…all we know is that everything exists for us because we exist…otherwise there's no reason why anything else should be existing…everything else that is we can see…there are things that exist even if we can't see them…like dark matter…that is things exist also if we can deduce their existence…in other words we can see them because we have still eyes….but what happens when we are dead…do we continue to see…the answer to this question is simply we don't really know…it's no use if ONE Christ resurrects…can he return to say he actually resurrected…why can't he…what's the reason…don't tell me it's not the right time yet…that he had sent his emissaries to Lourdes…all that sort of 'reasoning' is conjecture or sophistry…why should there be doubt…why can't life be more certain more definitive…is it because it isn't…that it's just a mirage, an illusion MAYA…you know only what you see what you don't see you don't know is the only possible truth…all other forms of reasoning have given us the gods the faithful the priests the vendors of commodities without proof of the possession of goods…has created classes clergy castes medicine men voodoo women witches prelates churches synagogues mosques temples lodges cathedrals houses of prayer…in short power houses…in turn to keep the faithful orderly not anarchistic obedient herded together disciplined capable of communal life capable of promoting truth…their own truth…their own brand of life…their own insignia of race in the end for faith is race race is faith in the centre of masses leaving the periphery open to conversion even if races have sprung from the bushmen of the east African divide and all the languages from their clickclacking tongue-cluckers... …are the ruba'iyats attributed to Omar Khayyam his and therefore right then…live all you can… Excerpted from T. Wignesan. Ice in My Eyes Smoke in Yours. A Novel. Allahabad: Cyberwit.net,2016,672p. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Villanelle: If everybody did everything right Villanelle: If everybody did everything right If everybody did everything right No ripple on surface will world betray Wait out the sun till bright light burn outright Yang will marry Yin and Me-Too yin blight No lawyers can then lead us all astray If everybody did everything right Workful day will succeed pleasure-filled night E'en Lone Star will cease to reflect lone ray Wait out the sun till bright light burn outright Won't nations die from want of will to fight And polls abstentions drive leaders away If everybody did everything right Won't ephemeral men increase in might Who needs the Jün-tzu* the Yogi anyway Wait out the sun till bright light burn outright Who would underwrite life by LONE playwright To amuse some conglomerate Milky-Way If everybody did everything right Wait out the sun till bright light burn outright 'The Superior Man of the Yi-Jing © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Villanelle: The only thing the masses can buy Villanelle: The only thing the masses can buy The only thing the masses can buy That's not listed on the stock market The one-way ticket out of our sky They scrub they shine they barely e'er cry With no bats to defend their wicket The only thing the masses can buy Marx and Engels tried to tell them why Yet unions all the reasons forget The one-way ticket out of our sky Best show on earth watch democrat ploy Big Ben Speaker cry " ORDER" and fidget The only thing the masses can buy Yet the masses sell votes on the sly To slice bi-cameral house in secret The one-way ticket out of our sky Duped by spam tv fearful and shy See they why Socrates kicked the bucket* The only thing the masses can buy The one-way ticket out of our sky * 'The trial of Socrates (399 BC) was held to determine the philosopher's guilt of two charges: asebeia (impiety) against the pantheon of Athens, and corruption of the youth of the city-state; the accusers cited two impious acts by Socrates: " failing to acknowledge the gods that the city acknowledges" and " introducing new deities" . The death sentence of Socrates was the legal consequence of asking politicophilosophic questions of his students, from which resulted the two accusations of moral corruption and of impiety. At trial, the majority of the dikasts (male-citizen jurors chosen by lot) voted to convict him of the two charges; then, consistent with common legal practice, voted to determine his punishment, and agreed to a sentence of death to be executed by Socrates's drinking a poisonous beverage of hemlock.' (Source Wikipedia) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Random Excerpts from Ice in my Eyes, Smoke in Yours - A Novel 'Hey, you philosophysing Hindu. Give me a break, Buddy. I was just pulling your leg. [...] I want the rest of the story. Really, I mean it." Theson said nothing. [...] " I can see you're mad at me. I was only clowning to get you out of there. You realize how long we were in there? The Mensa closes at three." " Really, there's nothing much more to say. I don't know how I fell for your faked eagerness...[...] I don't know if you're serious about Krishnamurti either." " No, really, I swear on my mother's head. I'm dead serious. I want to know all you can tell me about the Baagvedgittaa or what d'ya call it." He came closer to Theson as they got out of the building. " Do ya want me to stand on my head to prove that I mean business? That I'm damned sorry about it all. Hey, Buddy? Then, here goes! " he announced, and proceeded to take the position of the shirshasana yogic posture right there in the middle of the entrance to the Mensa building. Dev interlocked his fingers, knelt down, lowered his head, placed his palms on the crown of his head, and was just about to pivot his legs up and above his head when Theson held his legs and brought him down. Some students who stood nearby in little groups of twos and threes turned to look at them. They probably must have thought Dev was preparing to perform his afternoon prayer, facing Mecca, but then he was facing northwest while crouching down and would only have faced southeast if he could have completed the yogic posture. " Okay, I give in. Let's go sit there. There… under that tree, " urged Theson and directed him by the arm towards an aging oak tree. …how long does it take to live one life…learn the lessons of a lifetime…find the time to live…find the time to sort things out…know what you did was wrong…know in whom lay the blame…what court hears your plea over your unwanted unwilled birth…who is there to tell you here is where you went wrong in the choices you made…take you by the hand and tell you this is not your making…this is all a dream…a dream that'll never come true… what… is the maker a masochist…to what enduring purpose have you been asked to join the rest… would you want sex if you knew who you would put into this world… is there a crime more despicable than the life you engender into a world you cannot foresee… can you live as long as your progeny to protect them from the torture your genes prepare them for… can you provide for the unforeseen… for the dark that awaits you…your own faults visited on someone else you could never have conceived in thought…since the yonder is dark unknowable for all you know empty… why continue… what ultimate purpose aeons from now affects you… is there a purpose to purpose…we search and search and see far enough only to be told we are getting closer and closer to the truth… nearer and nearer to the eternal truth… the one single formula to explain it all… the unified theory of theories… only to be told in between lie the dark matter the black holes three times the known dimensions of worlds hidden within unfathomable dungeons of universes buried beyond sight beyond thought… all exploding colliding intermingling intersecting in the unreachable distance that may have been but never probably was…that the infinitely tiniest world releases the infinitely bigbangish universe… who is to believe we're going anywhere… who is to believe we are going some place…can you conceive of anything of anybody of anybeing of any self-making engine who/which can create an ounce of space let alone the mighty exploding skies hidden within atoms… can you conceive of a plan so complex so minute so self-propagating so complete so thorough from time immemorial to time eternal from the ends of the endless space which could have inhabited some mighty self-sufficient allmightiness… and yet it is true… it must be true…how else can you explain this eternal laila this eternal ephemeralness this eternal dance…nadarajah stomping twisting flailing his six arms in all six pairs of eye-directions…siva the destroyer…siva the adept dancer…siva the twelve to twenty-nine strings dancing vibrating in dimensions unseen to the eye… IT is there to be seen and be wondered at to be felt and to be suffered to be thought of and to keep thinking about to be befuddled about and to be flabbergasted about to know that IT exists… touch yourself and you touch the IT… think you're touching and you're the IT thinking… but spread your fingers and cry abacradabra… no matter materializes no ready-made canvass no finished book no symphony drops from your hand… is this a mystery… is this a joke… if i'm part of the IT why is there no nothing at my command… are we then part of the IT… can we be part of the IT… or is the IT split into smithereens no more the IT… no more the creating preserving destroying omnipotent IT the dancing Nadarajah the thundering Rudra the wailing Vayu the slaughtering Kali the admonishing Krishna the cool beneficent Vishnu…is the IT then in need of its sundered parts…must we all come to gather come together to save the IT and put IT back into place… put IT back in ITS self-conceiving womb never again to see the light of the Brahma Day…is the IT in need of all the consciousnesses IT split into to constitute ITS once inconceivable consciousness…is this the Christian redemption… is this the Mohamedan heaven watered by streams of milk by date-palm oases to the sound of the singing of seventy-two virgins… is this the Buddhist nirvana… is this the Taoist-Stoic submission to the ways of Nature…if not what purpose is there to a finishing finite world… what purpose is there to extending a quest for betterment when the Aztec sun drunk with human blood never rises again…when suns quasars galaxies universes are all doomed to be exploded out of their orbits… what purpose to so much human suffering and animal and insect and plant degradation… (c) T. Wignesan. Ice in my Eyes Smoke in Yours. Allahabad: Cyberwit,2016, 672p. Villanelle: Who has it the way he or she wants it Villanelle: Who has it the way he or she wants it for Stephen Hawking, à dieu! Who has it the way he or she wants it Unless the World's mistaken: not e'en Trump Maybe Dalai Lama's got the secret Pats Amanpour on the cheek and lumps it But Net-Any-Ahoos ride high during slump Who has it the way he or she wants it E'en Brits have hard time trying to Brexit With Putin vying with Xi to dump Trump Maybe Dalai Lama's got the secret E'en the hard-sweating man seldom makes it Try as he might someone grips on to rump Who has it the way he or she wants it ANZAC NATO and what you may call it All contrive to keep small nations in dump Maybe Dalai Lama's got the secret Out of the Black Hole alas Hawking made it Now all we've got: World according to Grump Who has it the way he or she wants it Maybe Dalai Lama's got the secret © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Villanelle: If you think you think and not feel your thoughts invade Villanelle: If you think you think and not feel your thoughts invade For Mozart's solo piano in Concertos Nos.20 & 22, K466 & K482 (1785) If you think you think and not feel your thoughts invade The conscious via sub-conscious tease unconscious Tingling dulcet chords chased by strings through cascade If you think you think your ideas in stockade Echoed by winds second cousins vertiginous If you think you think and not feel your thoughts invade Aeons of whistling neurones make myriad aubade Flutes clarinets horns bassoons trumpets flirtatious Tingling dulcet chords chased by strings through cascade Runaway scales submerge thoughts mind not fingers made The conscious giving in to outpouring rushes If you think you think and not feel your thoughts invade Surrender will till tortuous arguments fade Cascading chords bully strings winds unconscious Tingling dulcet chords chased by strings through cascade If doubts till unborn day ne'er will sink nor downgrade Hark not to high extra-mundane Art grown luscious If you think you think and not feel your thoughts invade Tingling dulcet chords chased by strings through cascade © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Villanelle: It's all been said said better and bolder before Villanelle: It's all been said said better and bolder before It's all been said said better and bolder before Worse now most repeat over and over again No shibboleths now to test smooth words more hollow Those who trouble not to delve into sages yore Make not but weak links in the derivative chain It's all been said said better and bolder before Those who toiied without e'en recompense for valour Toiled for insights ripped out of seething guts in pain No shibboleths now to test smooth words more hollow Homer Murasaki Valmiki Boccaccio Gilgamesh Beowulf Pillow Sei Shonagon It's all been said said better and bolder before How much the ' creative ' writing courses ignore Those whose suffering wrought talents in deep dungeon No shibboleths now to test smooth words more hollow The reign of digital maths spells poiein woe Business minds now serve as mid-wives during birth-pain It's all been said said better and bolder before No shibboleths now to test smooth words more hollow © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Villanelle: Do Evil People know why they're so Villanelle Do Evil People know why they're so ' Evil people resemble the Gods in that They too may do as they please. ' From the Thirukural* (Cf. T. Wignesan. The Thiruk-Kural of Thiru-Valluvar. The Secular Yogi in the Temple. Allahabad: Cyberwit.net,2018, p.75.) Do Evil People know why they're so For if it weren't for them will Life not end Who puts to test the Good must Evil sow If all the World were Yang will any know The purpose of our existence sans end Do Evil People know why they're so Must not Evil People pay the price and go To another world earned karma to spend Who puts to test the Good must Evil sow See you not why the Yin multiply more The Yang isolated stand yet defend Do Evil People know why they're so They prance they dance they lord it and richer grow In their heart of hearts not by courage mend Who puts to test the Good must Evil sow Ask not why we must thus by Fate endure Either this or with endless boredom contend Do Evil People know why they're so Who puts to test the Good must Evil sow. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Limerick crochetes: Once a Teacher who didn't like school Lmerick crochetés: Once a Teacher who didn't like school Once a Teacher who didn't like school Since his kids kept calling him a fool Wished to do himself in Lost control of discipline All day his class looked like a swimming pool To this Land of the Bow and Arrow Came Settlers blasting hip pistols two They shot their way Far West Taught the Injuns what quest In Alexander's conquests wasn't tabou Then the Rifle Association Triggered Trump to top the Nation ' Arm all teachers, ' he said. ' Boost rifle sales - the Dead Will bless the use of Ultime Unction! ' With books the Teach packed solitary weapon Hidden under the school's emblem apron Kids laughed loud nonetheless To see Teacher fearless Till Terrorist at window broke open Criss-crossed class red-hot streaking bullets Kids dived under desks yells burst gullets Some clung to the Teach's vest Others hid behind broad chest Struggled he to match bullet for bullets Full square the singeing flare ripped his chest Till rounds automatic echoed the West Some say his looks bereaved Looked very much relieved Like a scion for his kids gave his Life's best. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Villanelle: How much is how near enough and yet not much Villanelle: How much is how near enough and yet not much How much is how near enough and yet not much The measure of the cup is what the hand grabs Must the common man pay the price or all go Dutch Some take more than what is their share in one clutch Most really take what comes trickling down for grabs How much is how near enough and yet not much Many such grow up never knowing what is much Nor how the rich few make an art out of nabs Must the common man pay the price or all go Dutch Most make up the legions who for others march Those who run the State run it for magnate flabs How much is how near enough and yet not much Big fish eat shoals of small fish all in one munch And the bigger they get all the smaller nags Must the common man pay the price or all go Dutch Yet everyone wants to dangle from the high hatch E'en when there's nothing much the Nation brags How much is how near enough and yet not much Must the common man pay the price or all go Dutch (C) T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Limerick crochetes: Once a band of non-hearing sans abri Limerick crochetés: Once a band of non-hearing sans abri* Once a band of non-hearing sans abri* Camped on the banks of a highway free Full score years stopped traffic Begged at lights electric Police scrapped their dear home sans country Held on to rubbish rolls quilts rags these gents While township lords robbed them of their tents Down where reinforced slabs Pylons concrete bridge sags To nurse their punctured pride clogged-up vents All day all night long year in year out The crunch of tires on tarmac clout Their senses ear-drums numb Drive them sick deaf and dumb Yet none up high see why they hold out None see them cook none see them strip wash Morning day and night wrapped up in their mush Tipsy turvy happy For them our world's at sea Espy passers-by their eyes in ambush Yet sleep they the sleep pure in spirit But those in power who at them spit Would put'em in HLM* Blot them out overwhelm Insomniac quiet sure'll kill'em no bit! •" sans abri" : French for " destitute, those without shelter" •" HLM" : French abbreviation for " tenement flats of the lowest social scale" © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Limerick crochetes: Once North Koreans joined South cousins Limerick crochetés: Once North Koreans joined South cousins Once North Koreans joined South cousins Agreed to let drop divisive sins Formed one team ice-hockey Won bronze not so lucky Each side said: " Not for US, no side wins! " Both sides appealed to prize committee Some judges with none could agree: " South on its own could win Gold! " said Pence swilling gin Kim Jong-un said: " No, Siree! " " Next time round we'll stage World Jamboree South will pay for nukes in joint country! Not cash but solid gold Stand on launching pad bold Remember who stood by US in '53! " © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Limerick crochetes: Once Japanese couple from USA Limerick crochetés: Once Japanese couple from USA Once Japanese couple from USA Skated to stardom near Tokyo Bay Japanese throbbed waived flag To recall champions snag America gives no Trump cards away Not even smiles nor acknowledgement Watching one tier below Kim Jong-un Sister looks down on Pence Even Quest can't fix fence Waiting for fireworks after Pyeongchang © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Limerick crochetes: Once our Senorita from Sevilla Limerick crochetés: Once our Señorita from Sevilla - XV Once our Señorita from Sevilla Came to Paris on a flotilla She stepped out on high deck Slipped and twisted her neck Guess what happened to her mantilla She stood under five metres flood pour Couldn't help but gulp Seine while she swore Dreamed of Paris fiesta During noon freeze siesta But the wine tasted nothing like Dior So to set sail called her Armada Up Thames to sip with Liz II limonada Head hit by Tower Bridge Due to thawed Arctic fridge Flamencoes with Raleigh in Andromeda © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Limerick crochetes: Once MidEast refugee hijacked plane Limerick crochetés: Once Mid-East refugee hi-jacked plane Once Mid-East refugee hijacked plane At Heathrow Airport without much pain Set course for Florida Down Gulf Stream danced salsa O'er Bermuda Triangle lost brain Raised head in parallel universe Where everybody spoke only in verse Shakespeare just a mere page At beck and call of Sage Who rode on a flying-trapeze hearse Walt Whitman why whipped hard ten times tight For turning fine-tuned verse e'er so slight Beat poets all sweat caned Their howls and growls un-maned Ginsberg last seen dropping out of sight Harriet Monroe drowned in P-Soup To lay P-Foundation nin.com poop Rhyme and dine for a dime At Multi-Verse win prime Refugees now cross Atlantic in sloop At P-Soup Port they re-fuel with port Learn how to parse clichés sans rapport Great poems like Hardy's Drivel from their panties " America" refugees sing out! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Porto Vecchio, Julien Dore's Song Translated by T Wignesan « Porto-Vecchio », song by Julien Doré (Note: If there's a melody that can slither/sail past the ear-drums imperceptibly and settle permanently in the hypothalamus, this's it. The sustained tempo in a low key and the husky but soothing and infinitesimally modulating whispered tones of the songster set in a tropical town on a promontary overlooking a chrystal-clear blue-water bay where a sloop glides as if through the doldrums add to the charm of the sweet sadness which pervades this song. Yes, the lyrics and refrain, too, are equally mesmerising, but the magic of the melody and the words is in the expletives: « ah ah… Ah ah… » --- it gets you till all your defences are down! There's a dulled and lulled moment in the song when Julien Doré dives into the deep, and his pet dog hesitates whether or not to join him, but he cannot find his master, look as long as he may… Just try the clip for a change! For the moment, it's all the rage on CStar channel. Or try mp3.) T. Wignesan [Couplet 1] La lumière est divine sur le Porto-Vecchio Les nuages et le spleen ont tatoué ma peau Je ne pars pas, je nage dans le murmure des vagues J'ai laissé ton nom et mon coeur sur la plage Ah, ah (Stanza 1) Divine is the light over Porto-Vecchio The clouds and spleen have tattoed my complexion I do not (wish to) leave, I swim (floating) through the murmur of the waves I have abandoned your name and my heart on the beach Ah, ah [Refrain] Un soupir se dessine sur le Porto-Vecchio Immortelle, assassine, te voilà sortie des flots Je ne pleure pas, je nage dans le murmure des vagues, ah J'ai oublié ton nom et ton corps sur la plage Ah, ah, ah (Refrain) A sigh sketches itself over Porto-Vecchio Immortal, crucified, here you are come out of the deep Ah I cry not, I swim (floating) in the murmur of the waves, I don't remember your name nor your body on the beach Ah, ah, ah [Couplet 2] Tu m'as lâché la main sur le Porto-Vecchio Je souris au venin qui me brûlait le dos Je ne pleure pas, je nage dans l'océan de flammes, ah Pour oublier ton corps, pour mieux tourner la page Ah, ah (Stanza 2) You let go of my hand over Porto-Vecchio I smile at (the thought of) the poison which kept burning my back (See) I cry not, I swim through the ocean of flames, ah In order better to forget your body, to better turn the page Ah, ah [Pont] Je reviendrai demain sur le Porto-Vecchio Pour oublier ta main et le goût de ta peau, ah (Bridge) Return I will tomorrow to Porto-Vecchio (In order) Not to remember your hand and the taste of your skin, ah [Refrain] Tu m'as lâché la main sur le Porto-Vecchio Je souris au venin qui me brûlait le dos Je ne pleure pas, je nage dans l'océan de flammes, ah Pour oublier ton corps, pour mieux tourner la page Ah, ah, ah (Refrain) You let go of my hand over Porto-Vecchio I smile at (the thought of) the poison which kept burning my back (See) I cry not, I swim through the ocean of flames, ah In order better to forget your body, to better turn the page Ah, ah © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 Limericks crochetes: Once in quest of just a lost penny Limerick: Once in quest of just a lost penny Once in quest of just a lost penny Found at Tumble-Weed Hotel ha' penny Played Trump cards Stock Exchange Now never short of change Bought Sea Anne-Anne: Quest now not so funny! So he thought of making more money Changed his name to Quaid-il-Swamy Found in Red Sea oil-gold Drained Sea Anne-Anne all told Now Quest's back all for just a ha' penny! All day we hear story of penny Penny dropped by woman in a hurry If Quest means good business Quest not lest you make mess Till Sea Anne-Anne Quest really marry! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2018 The PUNISHER and the PunishEd The Punisher and the PunishEd I The Punisher needs the Punishéd to punish (Will anyone argue this point) That is: Who will the Punisher punish If He had no-one to pinpoint Unless He punishes Himself And since we are all per se the Punishéd We must all be part and parcel of the Same-Self Why then punish Himself/Ourselves Some would say: for sado-masochistic reasons Others: if He didn't do that What would He do with Himself If only to amuse Himself Create never-ending limitless demonic Purusha universes The antithesis of Himself That would produce and re-produce Itself/Themselves A never-ending cheap television series The Brahma Day followed by an extinguishing Brahma Night Dissipate boredom Alternate the Yang and the Yin One up One down ad infinitum Time for the Brahman creation Time for the Vishnu preservation Time for the Siva destruction Le théâtre de l'Absurde The Myth of Sisyphus The cavernous cries of those who writhe and rage Le théâtre de la Cruauté Die Verfremde Effekt The Punisher embracing the Punishéd Playing to an empty Brechtian house Who watches us: squirm squirt squeal A magic-lantern Khayyam show The winding caravan heading for a Shangri-la blinded by sand Dogs who bark turned to stone II The Punisher wields the stick The Punishéd stickless flees the stick Fiddlesticks What if the Punishéd also wields a stick Sticks Then you have conflict But for the divine right to a bigger stick The Puppeteer and the Puppet The Trumpeter and the Tyrant The Tortionneur and the Funambulist The Union of Fifty-Sticks waiting for Brexit One more over-used and bloodied stick III The Punisher justifies the need to punish the Punishéd KARMA serves to ease the conscience Of both the Punisher and the Punishéd Makes Yang feel stronger than the Yin Makes the just punishment a case for outright win The Punishéd needs to feel he's fulfilling a debt Hamartia come into its own: make no mistake For some mindless mistake in some irredeemable moment Assuage some masochistic phobia in the memory crypt Watch the virtuous Yang bite the dust And wonder if this up-side-down world Makes any sense to the Just IV Which Playwright would think up such a forlorn plot To drive all actors on stage down the trap-door shut Do not particles aimless in the Primal Soup By trial and error Wrap on centillion Hawking key-boards The perfect Greek tragedy Sans Deus ex machina Make the fate of all mankind A matter of mindful matter No man be so bad As be by his role forbade To assume a role (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Everything takes time: take not time by the forelock Villanelle: Everything takes time: take not time by the forelock Everything takes time: take not time by the forelock Whether in deference to the past's foiled efforts The tingling ergot fires our desires do unlock Rye clavicus purpurea our joints dislock Till the soil of our conscience deeper than roots Everything takes time: take not time by the forelock Eastern sky pyrotechnics rude rockets won't mock In deference to witches' brews sharp mandrake roots The tingling ergot fires our desires do unlock Infernal fires rage on in limbs of mad rock Gargled warnings in the larvae spouting cheroots Everything takes time: take not time by the forelock Is that Bosch who will St Anthony's fall not baulk Memories of charred instant byres turned to soots The tingling ergot fires our desires do unlock Took thirteen point eight billion years to make a lark How many to buy back twenty-one eight trillion debts Everything takes time: take not time by the forelock The tingling ergot fires our desires do unlock (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Lyrics of Bigflo and Oli's DOMMAGE: What a Pity, Translated by T Wignesan Lyrics of Bigflo & Oli's hit song, Dommage: " T'is a Pity! " Translated by T. Wignesan https: //bigfloetoli.lnk.to/LaVraieVie (Two brothers: Florian (the elder with the " Big" prefix) and Olivio ORDONEZ, born and raised in music from an early age in Toulouse by their musician father, have only - one might say - recently come out of their teens, but have already made it up high in the charts with the likes of Katy Perry and gang on CStar and other channels featuring rap. They have just brought out their second album, and to all intents and purposes, it would seem, determined to rage all over the pop world with their cheeky straight-faced comic clips and savoirfaire. Here's a sample of their catchy and infectious lyrics, for a start - if " they" will not mind. I have not tried to force the rhymes in my rendering though.) Louis takes the bus as usual every morn Walks past the same girl wrapt in sweet parfume If only she'd come to talk, he keeps hoping every day What he feels deep down is what they call love But Louis, he's timid And the girl, she's so beautiful He dares not budge, he's stuck to his seat Once she deigned to smile at him while alighting And ever since that fateful day, he hasn't laid eyes on her again. Refrain Ah He ought to have taken the initiative, ought to have made the move Believe me They all said: ‘Ah! What a pity! Ah! What a shame! That surely was his last chance! ' Yasmine has a great voice, she knows she's well-endowed During the tempests of her life, music served to buoy her Exposed to her melodious strains, the world would fawn at her feet But her father kept insisting, " find yourself a true calling" Sometimes she imagines herself lit up by projector lights Showered on stage with applause and the target of bouquets But Yasmine has gone all rusty, trapped by routine Though sometimes she bursts out singing on the factory line Refrain Ah She ought to have taken the initiative, ought to have made the move Believe me They all said: ‘Ah! What a pity! Ah! What a shame! That surely was her last chance! ' Diego stays sunk slumped in his settee And he scolds his little brother for walking past the telé His buddies had all gone out, he didn't join them Often he finds himself alone with only the moon to keep him company Diego is downcast, he lets the night bypass him He feels depressed for not having found the girl of his life " But, my poor Diego, you can't be more mistaken That was the evening you were destined to meet her! " Refrain Ah He ought to have taken the initiative, ought to have made the move Believe me They all said: ‘Ah! What a pity! Ah! What a shame! That surely was his last chance! ' Pauline she's discreet, she forgets she's beautiful Covered all over her body shades of the colour of sky Her husband will soon be home, she'd rather not let the thought bother When he takes her hand, for sure it's not to make her dance She recalls the day at the Town Hall the decision she took The afternoon when she packed all her belongings She had a future, a son to bring up After the last dance, she has never been able to pull herself up Refrain Ah He ought to have taken the initiative, ought to have made the move Believe me They all said: ‘Ah! What a pity! Ah! What a shame! That surely was his last chance! ' BETTER to endure feelings of remorse than to harbour regrets BETTER to endure feelings of remorse than to harbour regrets BETTER to endure feelings of remorse than to harbour regrets BETTER to endure feelings of remorse THAT's the secret (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Envy or disdain which the slave-master of pain Villanelle: Envy or disdain which the slave-master of pain Life is an arrow stuck in the flesh - ask not WHY nor WHEREFROM, made of WHAT nor HOW just tend to the wound. THE BUDDHA, the Enlightened ONE Envy or disdain which the slave-master of pain Yet the many dote on the media-made stars Do States rest immune to the hell they wreak insane The secret of success lies in bearing with bane Every ego seeks to exact lost largesse wars Envy or disdain which the slave-master of pain Disdain's the god-daughter of envy when inane Everything serves to mask one's failed hard-worked chores Do States rest immune to the hell they wreak insane Disdain feeds on high gnarled puritain racial gain Such egos as stand not other ethnic higher scores Envy or disdain which the slave-master of pain Can the State be envious of Citizen Kane Or just the giant voice on radio Star Wars Do States rest immune to the hell they wreak insane Would the Enlightened One deem today's scene stark vain Is the wound self-inflicted or caused by our stars Envy or disdain which the slave-master of pain Do States rest immune to the hell they wreak insane (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Unquotable Quotes VIIIL: SEXUAL HARASSMENT - the feminist kind Unquotable Quotes VIIIL: SEXUAL HARASSMENT* - the feminist kind (*" aggressive pressure or intimidation" : Is it really " any different" in most cases in the act, judging by Hollywood standards?) STOP: ARREST ALL GIRLS - standing with legs apart on street-corners - sitting with knees exposed on bar stools - lolling with or without protruding bosoms at traffic lights or bus-stops - swaying hips on high stilts on zebra crossings - strolling with transparent bikinis on beaches - reclining one eye shut and jutting exposed legs on airplane aisles - climbing with bottoms stretched on mountain faces - cavorting in up-side-down-T during figure skating championships - gymnasts tumbling on mattresses in Olympic contests - Lolitas copying the alphabet with contorted limbs on swinging rings - getting ready for the shower under spot lights curtain less - with or without swim suits doing the breast stroke - behind high counters with low neck-lines - with un-buttoned uniforms in the armed forces - press-secretaries with false eye-brows and mascara on eyelashes - showing off sets of false teeth under aesthetically shaped noses - after school giggling and disturbing the peace as they pass you - including police women with condescendingly beautiful looks - and wives who open and slam windows while you pass under them YES, ARREST ALL DAMES - and all women teachers who entice male students with high marks - y compris grandmothers - all queens who learn Hindustani from servants for no higher pay - and shop-assistants who caress your palm with short-change - APHRO-dites who make you foam at the mouth - and the three witches made Macbeth fear not none of woman-born - and Lady Macbeth for inciting her Lord to usurp the crown - and Juliet for not letting Romeo know before quaffing the potion - and Gwyneth for turning Tom Boy to entice the lovesick Shakespeare - and Judy Dench for aiding and abetting the actress ARREST ALL VAUDEVILLE and CAN-CAN GIRLS - for throwing up in your face while you let drip Vermouth on your lace - all models who parade cat-walk side-walks - y compris those spruced up in cocoons beside husbands at summits - all women heads of states who rub cheeks to warm starved breasts - y compris Brezhnev and Krushschev for preferring lips to cheeks - y compris aboriginal chiefs who tickle noses with spiked lips - and all sex-starved women who bellow at your bad jokes ARREST ALL - bitches mares felines who lick you to leave sticky needle-sharp furs - she-goats with beards for masquerading as kid-bearing moms - all mares for braying like donkeys - all race jockeys for riding bare-back - all lionesses for throwing up their fore-and-hind legs after a night of… - all elephants who unfurl and dig trumps looking for nuts in holes - all crocodiles for looking all one and the same - all apes for aping humans in the act ARREST - all secretaries who stoop to pick up their bosses pencils with mouths - all sportswomen who roll with pain on the turf without shame - all rugger-women who tear to shreds their partners shorts in scrums - all tennis-women who sprawl between sets to earn free thigh massage - all women cyclists whose hinds swallow up seats ARREST ALL GIRLS - riding in the METRO/UNDERGROUND or BUSES during the rush-hour for they can all potentially sue the men who squeeze them all without - YES - wanting or not wanting to every time the trains or buses jog and pull away at every station or through midway change of speed ARREST ALL CONNIVING GIRLS - who stoop low in search of dropped coins in super-market queues - who suck lollipops at bus-stops and railway platforms for exercise - all damsels in distress on deserted roads and by-lanes - all toughs who kick-start their motor-cycles over and over again - all wanton who want-men for being so darned bloody beautiful and giving-off so much un-merited pleasure - just to be looked at - in such a dreary world without relief without hope if not for their cunning cuddles, caressing coaxes, carefree cavorting and courting curses! ARREST THEM ALL and PUT US ALL IN THE SELF-SAME DEN so that we can continue to be harassed by them SANS END! (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Too late too few the tears she sheds on cradle Villanelle: Too late too few the tears she sheds on cradle Too late too few the tears she sheds on cradle Bosom-fed mouths sing no tame lullabies Innocence raped in the womb heeds no fable Each child on its own must its life enable Who would re-crush the seed ram the egg with lies Too late too few the tears she sheds on cradle Bad enough the baby's plucked through tight stable Wrapped in a putrid bag stink slime stuck on eyes Innocence raped in the womb heeds no fable Animals all trained to rut machos enable None sneak in on the sly sans broken horn tries Too late too few the tears she sheds on cradle No engine smokes to cut lifeblood off cable Nor let pistons lockstep shunt through torrid sties Innocence raped in the womb heeds no fable Monsters all baked in ovens below navel No use pretending we are the scions of skies Too late too few the tears she sheds on cradle Innocence raped in the womb heeds no fable (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 IF YOU THINK YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE IF YOU THINK YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE… " A quiet and modest life, " says he in German, the most successful of them/us all, " brings more joy than a pursuit of success bound with constant unrest." Albert Einstein's hand-written tip to a courier at the Imperial Hotel Tokyo, November 1922 If you think you're the only one to record the way the world's run Know that every top's naked spun when the wrapped string's outrun Everyone's in such a hurry to step out of this collapsing quandary Even if the one and only query is left without comforting certainty Everybody wants a piece of posterity to be part of everlasting history Even at the cost of mimicry if only to keep shoring up sheer vanity Fire burns out in an empty shell the way the poem slim content quell Who reads for meaning to feel well means to read more feeling swell Roads lead to where one wants to go, lines come to an end in vertigo To each ego own voice sounds best, who renounces the will but hobo Tell this to a Cervantes five years in quarries after the Battle of Lepanto Confront Dostoeyeski with firing squad again after four years in Siberia Tear Theo from Van Gogh's bosom after Gauguin's bullish loud hysteria Tease Mozart in his deathbed with the sleepless scores of his concerto There's no quiet in a modest life for billions will step eager on your face Our world honours the sham strong the phoney the fake the half-baked The weak work all day not to crave success but to fend off all disgrace No true mother harassed by rape abandons the baby for rapists' sake Success is always drenched in sweat except for those fils de Putes Who inherited the earth long before the oldest profession followed suit (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 IF YOU WERE FOOL ENOUGH TO IF YOU WERE FOOL ENOUGH TO…. If you were fool enough to ask me things that better be What I'd rather do twiddle-doo twiddle-dee if I were free Yes, if you lived in a caved-in sagging igloo like our Magoo I'd say go to sleep thinking of sweet Sue in downy mildew Suck honey sirupy through wildly singing tulip stalks Wake up on clouds fluffy where this world ne'er baulks Better be listening to long King Crimson aubades fade Than bang through Doors the mashed ear-drum brigade Toss through worlds where logico-tractatus makes sense Than watch elected hypocrites lipservice nuclear rea mens Who would grudge me leave fuming in contours cannabis Away from all this ritual rigmarole: watch praying-mantis Mount your own back to munch your own squirting penises What a donna-wetter way to perpetuate the human species (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Eric Mottram's The Cat Sat on the Mat Translated by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's The Cat Sat on the Mat, La chatte s'est assise sur la natte by T. Wignesan (Unless I'm sorely mistaken, this's EM's first published poem: Poetry Magazine/Poetry Foundation, Chicago, February 1959, pp.306-307.) La chatte s'est assise sur la natte Assise sur ses hanches de la souche de vin elle Evoque la loi de trépied Et elle lance son quatrième jambe En la direction des parasites La partie supérieur de son cou blanc: un habile Petit coup obsessionnel de ses muscles fins Le soleil se palisse. Des plats nuages font tourner La voile brumeuse sous le ciel. A la limite maniaque du pivot De sa vibrante crise sans fin De son grattement elle s'arrête et fixe son regarde De ses paires d'étangs du sens aux teints vertes Elle s'est enfermée en rejetant Mon sens d'empathie pour son état de dépression. Des marées précoces de la panique Ravagent mes pores et secouent Ma langue fatale pendant qu'elle Reste tout bien protégée. Etendue à l'extrême Dans des toiles tropiques hautaines de nerfs Des grosses images se sont assises les jambes croisées A l'intérieur de son crâne outré et absurde. Une rose blanche ne peut pas croire Que, moi, je l'ai vu désintégrer. Des lianes s'adhèrent dans son coeur, L'impulsion se montre sans même une parole. Sa jambe obsessionnelle s'est sauté dès son coeur Et le mythe silencieux en forme de bec De son amour s'apparaît en se remontrant Prenant entièrement pour proie le nez et l'aine L'isotype* de Venus dans son sang. (Note: * probably an error for " isotope" .) (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's A Faithful Private - 7 -excerpts from Notes on Poetics by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's A Faithful Private 7 with excerpts from " Notes on Poetics" by T. Wignesan (Note: With this post, I bring to a close EM's pamphlet collection: Faithful Private, GENERA editions by Colin Simms, issue 13 (Place: ?) ,1976, n.p. Translation of No.6: " Courbet, Elegy 8" I had already posted up on September 26,2017. EM's " Notes on Poetics" appeared in The Journal of Comparative Poietics, Vol. I, n° 1 (Paris) ,1989, pp.37-44. Founder-Editor: T. Wignesan) " Since the 1960s poetry readings have become seriously effective event in a poet's life in Britain - that is, not some actor actorizing himself at the expense of the poet and the poem, but the interacting performance of poet, his own work and an audience. At least, in a small place. The large hall, probably these days with absurd electronic amplification, discourages interpenetration and encourages poet-demagogues, and keeps the poet apart and evasive - but, of course, some official establishment poets thrive on this, poet-laureates and the like. (…) During the 1970-1976 period when th Poetry Society, later the National Poetry Centre, in London, became for the first time a centre for truly contemporary poetry, we held regular readings, but also public interviewdiscussions - one poet at a time - as part of evenings billed as Poetry Information. (…) Poetry had been taken out of the classroom and the academic judgmental enclosure. (…) …and performance also came to include the longplaying record, the cassette, and the video-tape: the poet's voice and physical presence. The speed of the poem, its sounds and rhythms were offered by their composer as part of poetry, not restricted to print typography. As with music and theatre, performance is the life of the work. Information and exchange of interests founded a poetics that could hold everything within the act of performance between writer, reader, audience and publisher. (…) Most poetry readings are recorded by someone, so that the (poet's) commentary (on his work) and the performance become part of the poem, and as it is with recorded music, readings can, and often do, vary as - with any luck - the performances increase in number. They become part of a general poetics, too: no proper account of twentieth century poetry is possible without them. Poetics is both the sound and the typographic notation - and notational forms are endless, except for the pathetically classicist." (JCL, pp.37-38) 7. est-ce que vous avez envie de commencer? n'importe où ce que ne pas détritus? le baptisme est la tête sous l'eau un prêtre coupe le sexe un examen de sang tenu à l'hauteur du ciel renouvelle les matériaux autrefois les mots une léthargie qui prévoie à présent des parties de la vie pas des conquêtes mais l'acceptation des dons et ne pas de montons ou les restes du festin mais les feuilles d'invitation en avançant nous échangeons des morceaux ayant d'orgasms dans l'un et de l'autre comme on s'en fait avec des photos et des poèmes sans un plafond sur vos yeux: des trous bien définis de faite et l'ambition contribuent à faire celui qui agisse: à l'autorité l'acolyte et le secrétaire caressent les poignées du pontiff le Mohave n'est pas silencieux vous n'arrivez pas l'entendre pas de Kalahari en (Grande) Bretagne en s'excluant Fleet Street Portland Place Shepherds Bush Great Turnstile entendu avec facilité sur chaque signalement de rue dans la ville si vous fermez les presses en dehors dans la parque où Shiva entre en tant que Herne unis pour toujours: partageant le beat aux couteaux: un étranger entre dans cette verdure les crevasses dans le vent d'antan les mauvaises herbes dans les fissures de la ville la glace rivet la terre à la forêt le livre sterling on dit est en train de chuter les banquiers mangent leur repas avec hâte la Presse trouve plus d'actualités: et vous connaissez-vous le remède? Nous oui (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's A Faithful Private - 5 Homage to Humphrey Jennings by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's A Faithful Private 5 Homage to Humphrey Jennings by T. Wignesan for Elaine Randell à quoi sert le talent si l'aire la mer et la terre pollués les eaux coulent passant un peuple qui n'a pas l'intention de vivre la-bas où la pelouse est enlevée afin de libérer d'espace pour un homme pour qu'il augmente son espace pendant la période de la guerre Les feus furent allumés un travail par un homme dans une génération livrée au loisir sans ressentir la culpabilité: la façon qu'ils menèrent leur vie c'est comme ça que la revolution commence: la pollution alors n'aviez pas d'origine dans leur têtes: ils se livraient à la peinture à la rame aux chansons réalisaient des films pour le bureau central de la Poste: une personne parmi eux entreprit une direction en s'observant le geste arrêté en mouvance arrêté en se tournant sur lui même lequel devient un talent des hommes et des femmes dans l'aire la mer et la terre devenus un gros danger pour la vie à cause des armes l'exactitude contre l'exactitude pour la survie voulue: l'insanité arrive avec la marée haute et basse les ruisseaux qui coulent loins à l'intérieur resistant l'exploitation de cette grotesque minérale conquise la lune comme un homme autrefois plongée dans des eaux pour le choral blanc dans des sables dorés nageait dans une trance le long d'un lit de la mer: puis les hommes du parage m'avait dit que cet endroit de la mer fut choisi par les requins pour reproduire venus d'autres lointaines mers aux eaux peu profondes où ils circulaient autour d'eux-même en amoureux: à quoi bon d'expérimenter ce frémissement Involontaire pendant qu'on fixe les yeux sur l'eau limpide: ne pas penser de soi-même sans un besoin exigeant (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's A Faithful Private - 4 with a Clive Bush Comment by T Wignesan Transl. of Eric Mottram's A Faithful Private - 4 with a Clive Bush comment on Mottram's poetry Excerpt from an article, " From space to caves in the heart recreating the collective world in Eric Mottram's poetry" by Clive Bush, Director of American Studies, King's College, University of London in The Journal of Comparative Poietics, Vol. I, Nos.2 & 3 (Paris) ,1990/1991, p.49. Founder-Editor: T. Wignesan. " The very few good English poets are buried endlessly under unbelievably overpublicized and minor poets like Larkin, Betjeman, Tom Gunn, Irish exiles, expatriates from previous colonies (and the darker the skin the better) who are endlessly flattered by the Arts Council, the British Council, and the Establishment Poetry Society and who have never understood the difference between writing " political" poetry and writing poetry politically.4* They ensure that anybody with a noisy social, sexual, racial, religious, or mental/physical problem, and almost everybody published by Faber and Faber since 1960 is instantly legitimated in a market dominated by the comforting guilts of liberals. (…) Mottram himself is absolutely unprovincial in form, content, and in the sheer range of available materials he puts together. In this sense he is closer to an English tradition which took for granted it was artistically part of Europe: a tradition which includes Chaucer, Milton, Coleridge, Shelley, Byron, and beyond Europe, an American tradition which would include Whitman, Pound, Williams, H. D., Rukeyser, Olson among many others. Jerome Rothenberg is among the exemplary poets whose sense of the world enables him to draw on traditions which range from ancient Indian and Chinese poetry to poetry of Native Americans, Eskimos, Pacific peoples: that still enormous range of different histories, often non-literate poetries, artistic practises, forms of life, and human experience which academics, aristocrats and commercial advertisers designate as " ethnic" . " 4. Le chanteur l'Interstate 40 au croisement de la State Route 27 abandonnée aux graffiti les fumeurs et copperheads — Visant la Gloire — la bibliothèque d'Okemah Oklahomah ne voulait pas ses écritures et signes ses cendres au-delà des falaises d'Atlantique la pluie tombe ne tombe pas sur les peacans cacahuètes sur une église pour chaque centaine pour le compte de la fierté civique dans des clubs de service militaire où un agent de service secret témoigne sur serment quotidiennement le chanteur en déplacement est détenu par les Soviets afin qu'il fasse adapter les chansons de guerre russes en ballades américaines jouables agent Matusow R. S. No.115 Woody Guthrie Memorial Inc. une corporation à but non-lucrative pour un musée en vigueur la date est 1972 le faux témoignage sans vitre sans portes la maison à l'intersection de qui la terre de qui les chansons * The distinction is Kurt Well's….(…) quoted in Eric Mottram's Interrogation Rooms (London: Spanner,1982) , p.10. (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's A Faithful Private - 3 Dolores Huerta by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's A Faithful Private - 3 Dolores Huerta by T. Wignesan 3. Dolores Huerta aucun coq n'y annonce la reveille: les étudiants et les dirigeants des travailleurs font partie du piquet de grève contre les Wine Brothers: les bourrasques collent contre les pancartes de grève les jeans trempés les bleues de travail réfléchissant: à Los Altos ils chantent des chansons de grève à l'honneur de Chavez et de Dolores dans un camion emménagé en un lit plat: les enfants et les pères qui portent des enfants la famille la United Fruit Workers tout l'été sur les lignes de piquet de grève dans des prisons des maisons et les meubles vendus pour d'hivers vêtements voitures les essentiels pour le travail au delà de ce mois d'août au-delà d'épreuves: deux hommes tués à Arvin Nagi Daifullah tué par la lampe électrique d'un chérif Juan de la Cruz fusillé sur le piquet de grève Dolores Huerta la vice-présidente stratège négociatrice ses dix enfants prises en charge sécurisés sa grace son rire par concentration prends soins de sa santé pour sa fille afin d'être saine contre l'avarice contre la charité des libéraux: le machisme gagne maintenant les femmes le non-violence provenant des femmes et enfants leurs bras meurtris par les planches des Teamsters les yeux de la police cernés par le plaisir caressent leurs étuis de revolvers: à la maison pas de conflits l'homme est le chef: une famille soudée par le respect quant au machisme des hommes toujours la vieille religion: le mariage dissout détruit le Syndicat des badges d'officiers des cultivateurs brillent au lever du soleil les.22s en défense-propres: " nous étions si heureuses, en paix et jolies même les grand-mères jusqu'à ce qu'ils commence à tirer avec leurs fusils" : Reagan fut photographié en train de manger des raisins scab: les troupes de Vietnam mangent des laitues du gouvernement provenant des champs de l'entreprise les trottoirs lézardés stroes en délabrement: bousculent dans les campements de l'entreprise des terminus plein de poussière placés sous surveillance: les travailleurs de Brothers dispersent surveillés par des brigades en voiture " you find a way it gets easier all the time" (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's A Faithful Private - 2 with Commentary by T Wignesan Transl. of Eric Mottram's A Faithful Private - 2 with a Clive Bush comment on Mottram's poetry Excerpt from an article, " From space to caves in the heart recreating the collective world in Eric Mottram's poetry" by Clive Bush, Director of American Studies, King's College, University of London in The Journal of Comparative Poietics, Vol. I, Nos.2 & 3 (Paris) ,1990/1991, p.61. Founder-Editor: T. Wignesan. " As Mottram points out in his article on Michael McClure, " ecology" is a major problem for both capitalist and communist societies.47 Everywhere in Mottram's poetry is an appalling sense of anguish at the wastage and repressive cruelties of both major powers and their allies in our time. In Interrogation Rooms (1982) where the vision is very dark, Spinoza's dictum " there cannot be too much joy; it is always good: melancholy is always bad, " 48 is a hard-won and always unstable conviction. The existential anguish and sense of political betrayal felt by anyone of sensibility in the late twentieth century (and certainly acutely in post-Imperial, Thatcherite Britain) is never ignored: " the cultural scene can never be divided and it is always political and economic." 49 A Burroughsian vision of virus, sexual invasion, cancerous deterioration, hitec manipulations, malign control-fantasies, the deadening energies of mass media, and enactments lead Mottram to Artaud's cry quoted in The Legal Poems (1986) : do not make me do evil to myself since God has already committed every filthiness.50" Un fantassin loyal - 2 le sang de vieilles bobines d'actualités des films entachait dans des chambres d'induction de la tribu mais en soutenant la robe en tant que don appelée l'invitation alors puis-je passer à travers dites aux étoiles " en haut" sans (dire) " qui s'en sort" asseyez-vous à la table ronde sur la dernière étage vers les étoiles ouvertes et entourées des modèles dans leur imitation abandonnez-vous les morts calcifiées continuez afin de pouvoir passer à travers pour manger des nouvelles branches par le biais des chambres d'oreilles entendez une scène d'odeur en couleurs goûtez le matin du printemps les chansons d'oiseaux trouvez-vous que cet écriture soit placée sous l'emprise d'une charme ayant mangé la vieille femme elle s'est émergée de sa peau altérée ses pores de pigment et ses follicules ont une masque d'aliments vieille déesse homme nouveau fontaine (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's A Faithful Private - 1 with Commentary by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's A Faithful Private - 1 by T. Wignesan For Barry MacSweeney (GENERA editions by Colin Simms, issue 13 - Kent Winter-Spring 1974 - Ohio/London 1976, n.p.) A poet should have on his coffin not a wreath but a gun to show that he was a faithful private in the liberation struggles of humanity. Heinrich Heine " Un poète devrait avoir sur son cercueil pas une couronne mais un fusil pour démontrer qu'il fut un fantassin loyal dans les luttes pour la libération de l'humanité." HH Un fantassin loyal - 1 du fait d'être effrayé ce n'est pas quelque chose dont nous n'avions pu être certains le passage du temps nous le dira qui tombèrent qui se trouvaient délaissés en arrière le front de l'orage étendant à deux cents milles vers l'est blanc derrière le gris les ciels du nord et du sud est-ce qu'un homme quiconque choisit ou quelqu'un parmi nous est choisi que le fait de l'écrire fasse une différence frère en liberté une espace de flamme entre nous se soulevant dans les Serpent Mounds des chansons sans paroles textes rites les mineurs montent comme des machines descendent pour rafraichir l'aire pour des mines d'humus où le soleil brille fort sans relâche et animé " who is this man from abroad to tell us we are part of disaster against the Freedom Trail he urges us not to be victim" à l'extérieur sur un arbre dénué des feuilles un cardinal ouvre au ciel balayé par le vent une pluie qui se jette à travers l'analyse à travers des tons engagés le détritus d'un siècle se réuni dans des chambres des côtes les rues affaissées se moquaient du Trail " we are not a moment of your insanity" Excerpts from an article, " From space to caves in the heart recreating the collective world in Eric Mottram's poetry" by Clive Bush, Director of American Studies, King's College, University of London in The Journal of Comparative Poietics, Vol. I, Nos.2 & 3 (Paris) ,1990/1991, pp.55-56. Edited by T. Wignesan. " One of Mottram's most distinguished essays which is at least as important as Mailer's essay " The White Negro" (1956) which to some extent it modifies and extends, is " Dionysus in America" (1976) . The essay looks at Rock Culture in the United States (and by implication the rest of the world) , drawing an exemplary contrast between Altamont and Woodstock. Distinguished musician as he is, Mottram questions the value of Rock in general, makes important exceptions, and relates his two examples to traditions, inside American culture in general. Following the resources of the myth, Dionysus is seen as a " major origin of the Devil in Christian mythology and is deeply associated with ecstatic rituals of change." 27 Its embodiment in Rock music was first seen, therefore, to be profoundly upsetting to those in authority: " White Citizen Council groups linked it with sin and communism, while the Soviet Union linked it with sin and capitalism." (xxx) (…) The Dionysian break-through needs social context of viable revolution if it is not to diminish into mere rebelliousness, licensed orgy or ritual which reenergizes the reactionary and lethal status quo. (xxx) …Mottram also cites Nietsche to the effect that, " Dionysus deteriorated gives us " a mixture of sensuality and cruelty, " the sexuality of sado-masochistic power." (xxx) …. Within this radically impoverished and controlled space, traditional American revivalist dramas are enacted (ecstasy, dissolving rationality, the promise of new community) . (…) At one level, therefore, Rock is a permutation on all rituals of hypnotic ecstacy which need a constellation of angels, stars, gods who deliver " energy" to a passively-manipulated populace intended to " orbit in half helpless gravitation." (xxx) (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's The Nerves of Proust and Sitting Bull by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's The Nerves of Proust and Sitting Bull by T. Wignesan Excerpts from an article, " From space to caves in the heart recreating the collective world in Eric Mottram's poetry" by Clive Bush, Director of American Studies, King's College, University of London in The Journal of Comparative Poietics, Vol. I, Nos.2 & 3 (Paris) ,1990/1991, pp.48-49. Editor: T. Wignesan: " In Mottram's work there is no illusion that poetry will save us. Nonetheless a commitment to a poetry of intelligence with its necessarily radical and varied forms, to a clear-eyed and non-moralistic politics, to celebration of nondogmatic forms of life, and to creativity and its happiness, at least rehearses the possibility of choice rather than submission. It is as necessary a task for Mottram as it was for Shelley in the era of the Peterloo massacre, or Swinburne observing Disraeli's absurd antics in relation to the Ottoman Empire. Certainly the difficulty is all the greater for Mottram in the sense that there is no " good place" for committed creative intelligence. (…) Mottram expands his frame of reference far beyond officially-recognised English poetic practice in order paradoxically to recover the actual and multiple richnesses of English cultural traditions currently betrayed by the know-nothing, pseudo-lyrical confessions of poets who mistakenly think their personal lives interesting enough to record in immediately comprehensible invariably tear-stained and melancholy mediocrity. The " immediately comprehensible" flatters a populace whose intelligence has been undermined by an autocratic State paranoid about criticism…" Les nerfs de Proust et de Sitting Bull comme une guérison pour l'original tissu fin qu'il a mis des bouchons d'ivoire dans ses oreilles avalait presque n'importe quoi créa sa scène inoffensive et l'appela la mémoire pour honorer la divinité une centaines de pièces de peau lesquelles furent presque arrachées de ses bras qu'il gagne le triple farce de désobéissance qu'il donne quelque chose pour le reporter de Tribune de New York afin qu'il perde la mémoire pèse pour réaliser un massacre sur les nerfs qui se sentaient une guerre Franco-Prussienne et commençaient à périr dès le début ainsi le passé d'une détaille urbaine voyageait comme le culte d'une cargaison les Sioux donnèrent nos jeunes américains qui rêvent d'un dernier bastion (from Eric Mottram. the he expression. London: Aloes Books,1973, p.49) (c) T. Wignesan, Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's Twentythird Legal by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's Twentythird Legal by T. Wignesan Le vingt-troisième légal pendant la guerre le peuple devient obéissent de nouveau plein du respect (et) de la confiance les enfants naïfs dans la foi la gouvernance nécessaire la responsabilité perdue des serviteurs loyaux des castrés adults la gouvernance appropriée dans leurs esprits c'est l'urgence Ils se sentent bien obligés à la ration bien dans le manquement bien d'être restreint l'anxiété permanente reconnaissants pour le chocolat addictif nous n'avons pas besoin d'une guerre pour l'instant uniquement des structures favorisant la mort une gouvernance parfaite qu'ils posent des questions inattendues alors nous pouvons continuer à vivre (from The Legal Poems. Colne: Arrowspire Press,1986, p.19) Excerpt from a review of EM's Selected Poems.1989 by Simon Smith in " fragmente', Issue One, Spring 1990, Ed. Andrew Lawson and Anthony Mellors at Oxford, p.39: " …The police state enters these poems with great frequency, and its shadow becomes darker in later works like Interrogation Rooms and The Legal Poems. The oppression is seen as global not local. (…) The way we are pinned into responses and grindingly intolerable lives, Mottram reveals in chilling fashion with the " Twentythird Legal Poem" … (…) This is Mottram's bleak assessment of the situation facing us in Thatcherite Britain: his poetry is about the use and abuse of this kind of power. As he points out in " Elegy 4" : " politics came throgh (sic) poets/ poet-statesmen the rule" (24) . But the power networks have changed since Wyatt's time (a writer Mottram particularly admires) . The poet is no longer one of Shelley's legislators; our poets are simply the most articulate of the dispossessed. This Selected (Poems) faces up to this readjustment in a way few others have dared." Excerpts from Eric Mottram's letters from America during 1965-66 (continued) : August 10,1966: «Dear Wignesan, I'm so sorry I put you to writing to enquire about the safety of your Burroughs bundle: everything arrived safely forwarded from New York Univ. while I was up in Buffalo. I just could not find the time towards the end of my time there for anything except teaching my two graduate courses and grading the hefty papers. Up there I found three editors who want the article [actually the first part of William Burroughs: The Algebra of Need. London: Marion Boyars,1977,282pp.]: to appear in Audit, Salmagundi and as a separate thing. Your work in getting hold of it and the letters must have been irritating and I sincerely thank you for it all. One thing: I did send the Reich - did you get it? Since you don't say, I gather not: that's worrying because you know how They are about Reich. Incidentally, Brown has a second book out at last - Love's Body -not quite the brilliance of Life Against Death but pretty good and an original form. Otherwise I am hung up totally reading and thinking about Olson, as a result of hearing tapes of his discourses and seeing lecture notes of his seminars at Buffalo. Quite apart from my steady admiration for him as poet and Black Mountain organizer. (Incidentally I owe you one pound one and six for the postage - shall I pay you by check now or when I arrive?) Under the pressure of my courses up there, I felt energized and tackled a number of other projects in a way which astonished me - all sorts of things loose in my mind started to come through connected. Partly the decent conditions, the sunshine, the airconditioned office, and the excellent company recruited for the summer session - Fiedler, Barth, Richard Stern, Mudrick, Clive Hart, Arnold Stein, Basil Bunting, Tony Connor - etc - and Me. - it added up to work done and feelings used. Not one bad dream. [...11 lines suppressed] Olson is not a Negro - why did you think he was I wonder? : interesting. You are right about my position in London and the betrayals of everything you and I stand for: latest is M.L.Rosenthal's piece on Ginsberg - after years of talking to him about Allen and hearing my lecture on him at Kilve, he comes out with this classic shit in the NY Times Book Review. But I now have three of my best students teaching in universities in England - some hope and happiness here. And let me say, everywhere I have taught and seminared and lectured here, the response has been great, and the jobs offered very heartening. Especially at Buffalo. [... 10 lines suppressed] I shall not write again from here - I have three weeks to do everything in. So I am telling everyone no more letters from this end -unless imperative. I have unfinished business from Buffalo to get down to while the whole thing is fermenting, and a number of pieces to complete here. Whether I'll get to San Francisco as planned I doubt - not only the plane strike but sheer weight of things. I earned the money for the trip, so that's ok. On[e] thing I would like to do is to go and see Olson at Gloucester at the end of the month. Feel I need it. So that's it. Let me know if there is anything urgent at all, nevertheless. Otherwise we'll get things out in September - sailing the seventh. [1 para of 6 lines on my writing lobbed off] Yours sincerely, Eric.» [From c/o Wilentz,17 West 8th Street, New York 10003. Letter addressed to Room 3,7, Buckland Crescent, Swiss Cottage, N.W.3] (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's 1922 Section 1 in Earth Raids 1976 by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's 1922 Section 1 by T. Wignesan for David Attoe Notre devise pourrait être: ‘que nous nous ne soyons pas envoûtés' Wittgenstein in Zettel laissez pendre la graisse sans cou où la tête flotte sur les épaules un joyau sacré liaison contre la chair nouvelle nom nom appelez le nom la marque du nom l'impression de l'ange emmène la loi emporte le soleil nom de la lune le mangé la cuillère le nom nom de merde baignoire lit pot (le pot du lit) le mal le bien le silence à plat sur votre dos le nom joyau s'appuie sur le muscle n'importe quel bébé doux il arrive en volant du plaisir übersichtlich* l'habilité d'un aigle haut à l'intérieur s'intègre l'oeil la touchée et la tête lignes un champ de passage facile l'un vers l'autre ange au pays cartographié ainsi le joyau règle les rêves décline tombe donnant de noms aux animaux donnant de noms aux poupées le sobriquet le vieux Nick * EM notes in " Resources" : Wittgenstein's ‘descriptive word for an arrangement of factual material for easy passage from one part to another'. * May 23,1966: «Dear Wignesan, All right, I know I am a poor letter man but really I have [been] so occupied with travelling around and lecturing lately. [...5 lines suppressed] By the way, speaking of the Enemy, you could do me a favour: could you collect that damn Burroughs article from Peace News for me? I still haven't heard a single bloody word from that ‘f-----g' McGrath: when I get back, that man is going to suffer if it's the last thing I do. He's not worth the full word. The interview I did from New York was with the editor of the Realist, Paul Krassner - a fine satirical man who puts the wind up every fool within earshot. I admire him completely. Do you know the magazine? You used to be able to get it at Better Books, but now I gather all is changed and no terrible beauty born with it. Except that Miles fellow who had the gall to say in the East Village Other that London had no regular poetry readings last year which paid the poets - the bastard never turned up to a single one of the things Bill Butler and I put on at ICA.... So much for his oh so touted interest in literature, the sod. My next Negro piece will be very different to the last: I want really to examine the business of anti-semitism among Negros, and to look into the blackness business - each number of the Liberator kills my reason. Incidentally, or rather not so, Leroi Jones was finally thrown out of the Black Arts and escaped to a hiding place in Newark - by his own people - and he still does TV shows and radio ones attacking the whiteys, the Jews (I happen to know that he regularly gets money from and cashes his checks with a Jewish friend) , and intelligence. A curious trio, don't you agree? (There is no paperback Shadow and Act yet: if there is one, you will have it, I promise) . (Anything you want otherwise?) As for me, I lecture in universities where I am listened to as I am not in England, let alone London: I could have any number of excellent and richly paid jobs for the asking; my reputation gets better, my work therefore improves because my inferiority feelings diminish with encouragement; I have friends such as I rarely have found in England - people really I can move with; and the thought of coming back to the humiliations of London fills me with apprehension. Recently, I was in Michigan, in Kent (Ohio) , and Bridgeport (Connecticut) - and spent a long weekend on Shelter Island, an idyllic place in the arms of Long Island at the Atlantic end. I saw Plisetskaya dancing with the Bolshoi and felt the radiance that comes of charismatic womanhood and total skill. Now I have to leave my flat because the owner is returning from his travels, so I shall be staying eith [with] Ted Wilentz and his wife until the destiny boat in September but I shall not be there much. I go to Buffalo to do a graduate course on June 25 - unti[l] August 5 - and somehow I have to make Harvard and San Francisco as well. It looks like that boat will be the haven it was last September. I can't rest up, and there it is. But I'm reading a lot and sort of blossoming. [... A whole para: 5 lines left out] Yours ever, Eric.» [From New York University.Letter addressed to 156, Gloucester Place, London N.W.1, but re-directed twice to: 47, Broadhurst Gardens, N.W.6 and 7, Buckland Crescent, N.W.3] (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's 28th Legal: Letter Jan 2,1966 by T Wignesan Eric Mottram on the American literary and cultural scene during 1965-66 while he was the recipient of the American Learned Societies' award for a year. (begun in the last post and to be continued) January 2,1966: Dear Wignesan, [...9 lines suppressed] One thing I can I'm afraid say for certain: it is highly unlikely that Laughlin will do Bunga Emas [An Anthology of Contemporary Malaysian Literature: 1930-1963]: he is blocked with reproducing his past books which turn out to be so excellently judged that reprints are needed. Can I see the Soyinka review? (Much as I hate Peace News's guts at the moment) : contrary to your thought, Tom McGrath did not send a copy, the b---d. He has not replied to my letters either and is hanging on to my Burroughs article when I want it back to try to find a home for it over here. [...4 lines omitted] As for your comment on my own pitiful lack of confidence and hubris, you are not the first to say that, and someone over here said exactly the same thing last week. With which I am tired. But I do see that I am in danger of being left far behind by activating loafers. Your choice of politics or university is so enviable I could weep. It's probably that my birthday, just ‘celebrated' makes life hateful. I must make decisions I can't make about my future career. If only it were as easy as just accepting the jobs offered here. What happens is I don't think about it and go on writing, thinkong[sic], reading, talking to people. The reception of my TLS piece was decent here - even among Negro writers who saw it. Which is a test. The response to the Stand piece on Williams has yet to come although Roy Fisher wrote me nicely about it. Now I have just finished another marathon on Arthur Miller for next year's Stratford Theatre Studies. No more commissions now so I must get on with my books. Only a jazz piece to do, but it's nearly done. You seem to think I lecture etc here - not at all: my fellowship strictly says no lectures except one-shot occasions. So I turn down offers, although I am doing a summer course at Buffalo in July, when my grant technically ends: it's a very lucrative affair and should be interesting working with postgraduates on American nineteenth century writers. I did one lecture recently on Auden as Ang[l]o-American poet for NYU. Mostly I listen to others, which is good for me. Already a third of my visit gone and I have to book my cabin home this week! Good old tempus. But at least the reading for the Negro article - masses of it which did not go into the final thing - will come in useful. I've just read Stepanchev's American Poetry Since 1945 and it is one of the worst books of criticism I have every[sic] read; fortunately it is short or I wouldn't have bothered to finish it. It claims to be a survey and treats the poets like bits of literary history - and even then has nothing on Koch, O'Hara etc and their crowd (a little and useless on John Ashbery) , nothing on McClure, Snyder, Ferlinghetti or Corso or Whalen, and inadequate on Duncan. And Ginsberg treated simply as a ‘popular poet' who sells well for inexplicable reasons. You'd never guess from this book that the poetry scene is rich and wildly varied: I have been to a number of good readings by a variety of poets and the younger men still come on, as Sandburg might say. The avant-garde theatre too: last night I saw a production of Gertrude Stein's Play I Play II Play III and Ruth Krauss's A Beautiful Day - at Judson ‘Poets' Theatre: both were brilliantly done, with a flair and a certain vigour which I liked very much. The Columbia Contemporary Music Group puts on programmes which would make the Third blush for shameful conservatism and the experimental cinema has two regular theatres for its stuff, much of which is admittedly pretty awful but some of which is really new and realized: mostly in the field of combining film with stage and happening ideas. The new Tulane Drama Review will give you an idea. In painting and sculpture, thepop, op and abstract expressionists and hard edgers are still pouring stuff out. Recently, at the Jewish Museum, they had a show of Tinguely's mobile sculptures, and Kenneth Koch put on a play which used them - actors in the production included the painters Jane Freilicher, Larry Rivers, Joe Brainard etc. and the writers John Ashbery and Arnold Weinstein. I was lucky enough to get a seat - the performance was oversold many times. So while establishment poetry, theatre, etc. is as businessman-bound as ever it was here, the new thrives as nowhere else. The trouble is that politically America is imperialistically nineteenth century and socially it lives in the past era of charity. As for the integration of Negros - what a joke! Nothing substantial really has happened at all. And yet jazz is greater than ever: the new names - Shepp, Ayler, Sun Ra, Pharoah Sanders - are unknown in England but soon will be. I heard Mingus the other night and it was just pitiful repetitions of old successes - he seems temporarily to have lost the gift. But at the New School they had the New York Art Quartet in a programme of advanced jazz (tiny audience) which was superb. Incidentally, you would be interested in the Free University over here, set up to counterattack the other universities as a Marxist and progressive evening affair, with lectures on subjects the universities don't make available. There seems to be a strong case for such a thing in London. For instance, who gives a course there on Marxism and Existentialism - and after all it is here that the crucial enabling beliefs and actions lie, it seems to me too. Well, enough. Best wishes for everything. Yours sincerely, Eric» [From Dept. of English, New York University.Letter addressed to 28, Cheniston Gardens, London W.8 and re-directed to 33, Mimosa Street, London S.W.6] (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,1990/2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's Poem 33 in Interrogation Rooms 1980-82 by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's Poem 33 in Interrogation Rooms by T. Wignesan 33. on a vu un homme courir/ de la scène de crime un homme est maintenant en train d'aider/ la police avec leurs instruments/ devrais-je dire l'enquête criminelle/ intérrogations/ ceci fait partie d'une vieille bobine un homme en train de prendre la fuite/ de leur scène contribue/ à investir son sang/ après l'assassinat un homme/ courait depuis la vieille scène/ noir Irlandais poilu/ ne tentez pas/ de l'arrêter vous-même/ ceci n'est pas une vraie bobine c'est le déchet/ un morceau d'exposition/ vous payez pour voir la même scène/ de la même série/ ceux qui ne sont pas inclus sont des privilégiés/ l'homme qui coure est un remplaçant nu/ qu'on ramena/ êtes-vous celui qui rentre/ les déchets de n'importe quelle cité/ le Berlin de Grosz se chevauche/ ce que contrôle étroitement les réactions humaines/ mais quand Kokoschka demanda à tout le monde de s'entretuer sur la lande à l'extérieur de Dresde/ Grosz et ses malfrats lui menaçaient de faire pendre sur un lampadaire/ comme la Putain d'Art Kokoschka/ les manteaux-rouges pourchassent dans les comtés/ les nobles déversent/ le sang rouge des animaux/ ceux qui sont habillés en bleu détruisent les justes/ des prêtes prennent la fuite en compagnie des pandas/ à une proie faites collé n'importe quelle crime/ selon les règles des cannibales/ des cartes détaillent des fautes/ mais on réussit à effectuer l'assassinat * Eric Mottram from/on the States as the American Learned Societies Awardee: 1965-66. Excerpts from the correspondence - shorn of personal matter - to T. Wignesan in London. [Note: Eric Mottram was appointed in 1960 lecturer at King's College, University of London; in 1973 Reader, and in 1983 Professor of English and American Literature; Professor Emeritus in 1990.] March 4,1966: «Dear Wignesan, Your peace news piece seems a breakthrough in many ways - style and propositions and at least making it with a magazine again. (Personally, Tom McGrath has my undying hatred for not returning my Burroughs article after repeated letters begging him to: it's a dirty trick, if ever.) Re Ellison, his new essays in Shadow and Act are firstrate and recently he read part of a new novel on telly so he is thriving. It is difficult for him because he is attacked by his own people for not being militant - meaning he doesn't march or physically show his protesting spirit - and he doesn't make speeches or rants about this that and the other latest move on one side or the other. He simply generates intelligence. Liberator meanwhile deifies Malcolm - a long article in the anniversary number messianizing him, and references to He and Him and to ‘Audubon' as if it were Golgotha. They disrecommended the Autobiography because it dwelt too much on his early life, which doesn't actually yield to Christlike images.... The same magazine reflects black nationals' opinion by putting down Leroi Jones as a recently-joined Village intellectual who does not yet speak to Us, the militant Muslim galvanizers of Harlem and other ghetto militants. I had dinner in Harlem with Arna Bontemps, Langston Hughes and the Sth African novelist, Richard Rive (have you read his novel? I'm afraid I hadn't - rather embarrassing) , the other night and regained my nerve a little from my last disastrous visit. But sitting waiting for the party to arrive (I was early) in a black Harlem restaurant is no pleasure, I may say. Rive seems a decent fellow and pretty shrewd about his country - he may be in England shortly - perhaps you could meet him through me (I am not suggesting you actually condescend to use my name.) [...2 lines omitted] I was sorry to hear of the eviction and can only hope the new place is working out. But you as a Negro does not impress me! We are all black, don't forget. My silence, by the way, was that I closed down recently in order to get the damned Pelican out of the way. It had been hanging over my head damoclesianly for two years. But now, after a gruelling period of sweats, it is more or less done and Malcolm Bradbury and I only have the dribs and drabs to think about, borderlines and all that. What a relief. But now I feel freer, with that and the Arthur Miller article for Stratford Studies behind me. I am now working on a BBC thing on McLuhan: and this I want to expand into a critique of him, Kahn, Wiener and Fuller - these men fascinate me, and will make an obverse side for my power thinkings. These latter shape up nicely, thank you. I delivered some to kids at a liberal arts college in Vermont the other day: they really dug what I was saying, really came on with good questions and additions and understood how I must have a subplot (as McLuhan told me) about love and passivity, as power forms. As Allen embraced me through his black hairs last night, I remembered what he teaches and what I have used of his way of life to reconsider values of power. He had just arrived from Kansas and from a long tour lasting since last July, with Peter Orlovsky and the insane brother Julius. He had come to collect the mail from Ted Wilentz's and I was there having dinner. Allen chanted a new song and showed us his bus, with fridge, oven, watertank and all mod cons in which he travels about these days, recording his poems into a maginficant [magnificent? ] taperecorder - he'd just made one as he came into the city and now played it back to us: a magnificent improvisatory ode. The scene will now begin in earnest, I'm assured. Vermont I also enjoyed for the huge mountains and snows. The wilderness gave me antihuman feeling I had only once had before: in the jungles of central Malaya. Which reminds me: I see from the New Statesman that Evans is leaving his chair at Kuala Lumpur - did you know where he is going now? I'd be most intrigued to know if he's at last leaving that country. Well, the rest is that it is March and I have just committed myself to the Queen Mary for September and the homeward voyage. It's hardly credible that over five months of my time has rushed away. It seems yesterday I arrived in those ghastly tropical heats of September 1965, and today it is misty and springlike. Which means summer is nearing. I have worked all winter and now I want to get out into the country a little before I go up to Buffalo in July. All the best: I look forward to hearing from you. Eric» [From New York University. Letter addressed to 33, Mimosa Street, S.W.6 and re-directed to 156, Gloucester Place, N.W.1] (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's TWENTYEIGHTH LEGAL by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's TWENTYEIGHTH LEGAL (Part One) by T. Wignesan N.B. If any one is interested in reading the continuation of the extracts of letters that Eric Mottram wrote from America during 1965-66 to me, please read them at POEMHUNTER.COM. For some reason, I am no more able or " permitted" to post them on POETRYSOUP. September 27,2017. Extract of Eric Mottram's essay on poetics: " I listen to a great deal of music of all kinds, play the piano and look at a good deal of television and films - and now have a rather large video collection. (Jeff Nuttall, the extraordinary British genius - poet, painter, ceramicist, novelist, performance artist, jazz trumpet player - was kind enough after a poetry reading to say that the rhythms and cadences in my work could only come from someone who paid attention to jazz.) Poetics are how experiences and decisions play into your life such that you still need to find words and put them in a controlled space - place speech in other time - and order them into the curious difference of silent steadiness in poetry. How to keep risks so that they have to be read as risks. How to keep language inventive, risky, invented, urgent. How to re-read Marvell year in and year out without envy or imitation or grief. Between 1961 and 1989, I have published scores of writings on poets I admire, in order to try to understand something of their excellence - among them Walt Whitman, Basil Bunting, Pound, Charles Olson, Robert Duncan, Paul Blackburn, Allen Ginsberg, Agnes Nemes Nagy, William Carlos Williams, Roy Fisher, Bob Cobbing, George Open, Jackson MacLow, Jerome Rothenberg, Barry MacSweeney, John Ashberry. This body of writing is probably as near as I have reached a poetics. Such continuing appreciations keep you in transition about poetry and your own poems. And there have been one or two statements about my work from people whose judgment I accept completely - even if I disagree a little! And still being able to read to an audience now and then. But the happiness is mainly in the creative act and in other people's creations. But these days, Conrad's words are certainly primary: ‘The postulate was, that there is a group alive, clustered on his threshold to watch the last flicker of light on a black sky, to hear the last word uttered in the stilled workshop of the earth.' " Vingt-Huitième Legal la civilisation est surtout l'histoire des armes la poudre à canon l'alliée du bourgeois comme l'étrier et l'harnais renforcent le pouvoir des barons de l'Orient quelles armes donnent à nous sans pouvoir ce pouvoir furtif de viser fusil bombe de la cuisine une flèche empoisonnée baise l'anneau du Pape Borgia acte facile pour la faiblesse de notre démocratie ondes de radio courtes un chiffon de kérosène contre une époque horriblement stable comme les empires d'esclavage d'antiquité inventaient-ils le pêché pour implémenter la domination dans une large mesure quand avez vous compris ça (Notes-Resources: quotations from George Orwell: " civilisation is largely the history of weapons" ; Ezra Pound: " an epoch as horribly stable as the slave empires of antiquity" - from The Legal Poems,1986) Pub. in The Journal of Comparative Poletics, Vol. I, n°1 (Paris) , Ed. T. Wignesan, pp.55-56. (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,1990/2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's Courbet: Elegy 8 by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's Courbet: Elegy 8 by T. Wignesan Blanches oeuvres ouvertes résident dans les jours la surface du banc de travail est noire les géraniums-lierres les fougères et les adragans accumulent leurs oeuvres et jours: La toile noire de Courbet un endroit où la lumière puisse-être enfoncée avec un couteau pour créer une crête cassée figée la crête s'alourdie: la nature sans soleil est aussi sombre et noire: Je fais comme la lumière - Illumine les endroits qui projette en toute connaissance de la tradition découvrir une raisonnée et indépendante conscience de ma propre individualité Je place un vase blanc sur une toile blanche toutes les difficultés blanc sur blanc et à la cinquantième fois Je l'ai eu regardes l'ombre sur la neige comme elle est bleue Je vois trop clairement Je dois éteindre mes yeux en ce siècle socialiste les hommes voient sans apercevoir leurs esprits occupés de commerce vos mères ne vous cachaient pas sous la maison à l'abri des soldats des cochons essayèrent de dévorer l'art démocratique il les dévorera en dépit des renégats des troupeaux déments afin que les muscles forcent la colonne vertébrale courber l'esprit peinant glaner des écritures adroites devant des niveaux de l'horizon (from A Faithful Private,1976, includes " Statements by the artist on his work." This poem became Elegy 30 of ELEGIES,1981) Pub. in The Journal of Comparative Poletics, Vol. I, n° 1 (Paris) , p.55. Edited by T. Wignesan Note: In this and successive posts, I shall include extracts from Eric Mottram's letters to me during 1965-66 when he was the invitee of the American Council of Learned Societies, for his perceptions and comments on the American literary and cultural scene reveal nooks and corners of his own make-up and make for much intelligent perspectivising of the " outre-Atlantic'. The fact that some comments refer to our own relationship cannot be helped - I cannot defer to some detractors " outre-Channel'. Eric had urged me to publish all our correspondence during his last two visits to Paris, but literary publishing being what it is and has been in the hands of a favoured few, I have no choice but to… October 31,1965: «Dear Wignesan, [...12 lines suppressed] I look forward to your NLR rebuttal but I have to admit I didn't see the cause: must have missed it among all the other magazines piled up and left behind unread. I think of the empty base [15, Vicarage Gate, London W.8] basement and [sic] few regrets, except that I miss all my friends, students, even you, quite a lot, even though the combination of university people and local writers here is beginning to surge in on me. The main problem is to take it easy. I do not have lectures to give, so that is fine, but leisure is a curious burden at first: the routine has to be worked out again based on learning how to sit in the square in the sun, take in a movie without guilt in the afternoon, or go to an exhibition, or read something not remotely connected with any work in hand. And not to have the near future mapped out ready to move into. Choice is strange when you are not used to it so totally. So I too - and not because of your absence - am beginning to write poems again, weird things but decently done. Perhaps I'm no scholar after all - long suspected, and on good evidence. I am still working on the Negro piece; masses of materials only part of which will go into the TLS article - the rest will be ready for anything further, apart from sheer interest of the thing. My Tribune article attacking American assumed innocences appeared and they liked it. Future thing on Frost in Spectator, etc. etc. But once this is through I'm not going to bother about writing these bits for a while. There's only one book I feel like recommending you, and that is not yet out in England - Ralph Ellison's Shadow and Act, a highly literate and penetrating collection of essays by the author of Invisible Man (you've read this novel? Penguin if not - it's tremendous and no Negro novel has approached it yet, although Leroi Jones's new The System of Dante's Hell is interesting in another way. Most of the stuff I've been going through has been sociologically fascinating but artistically humdrum to downright bad. Kitschy stuff for the market only. Watch out for Selby's Last Exit to Brooklyn (and my broadcast with him) - it is mostly brilliant if entirely disturbing. Calder have asked me to defend it if necessary, since they apparently anticipate a court case. It does deal with violence and brutal sexuality but with a cool analytical sympathy which is new and necessary. What else.... Oh yes: a good film called To Die in Madrid, compiled from the newreels[sic] etc. of the Spanish Civil war: the feeling I had of the futility of ideological warfare but its necessity was painful. Members of the audience openly cheered the Franco-RC priests combinations and there were one or two counter cheers but no fight. The film is generally too subduing. And the present context - the NY elections and the anti-war demonstrations too clearly part of a similar process of authoritarian government, backed by an ignorant and brutalized populace. Incidentally, films here are a superb opportunity - this week, for instance, one nearby cinema is showing in one programme three major Renoir films. Double bills of important films are a commonplace. Slowly I'm catching up on what I have missed. Have I been living wrongly these past ten years, all bound up in work rut and imaginary self-importance? Certainly, shifting here is perspectivizing. Write more of you[r] good news. When you have a moment's pause for breath. Yours, Eric.» [ From Department of English, New York University, Washington Square, New York, New York 10003. Letter addressed to 28, Cheniston Gardens, London W.8 and redirected to c/o Howard Hotel, Friargate, Derby] The Elysian Baby Feels Lament The Elysian Baby Feels Lament… for Katy Perry……with manifold marigold " feels" she lifts her sepals to show me her carpels all this has got me into her megasporophylls this oeils de chat mantis in her deep yellow marigold mantilla preying on my mania praying has lasso-ed me with her svelte carnation venison chops " chop chop …hey…do you mind if I steal a ki….." " i know you ain't afraid to pop pills…" what she saying….. " ride drop top and chase thrills" Hey… do you mind Invitation to pop pills or chase thrills anyway how d'you ride and drop on a spinning top when with her left hand she lifts the bed of ripe yellow mantilla mattress to reveal her thighs in caress flaxen hair streaming down her battering eye-lashes head in the crook of her elbow pillow maybe Je n'ai pas les yeux en face des trous* her svelte venison chops make oeillades** at me won't somebody tell me if there's some way one can get at her feels sideways broadways overways " don't be afraid to catch feels" what's that she makes des yeux de velours° at me my eye i haven't got them fixed in front of holes God. It's eight already i've got to take my pills got them in the tills chop chop oh! thrills put her down in my bills gills and frills won't somebody tell me what she feels is she afraid of drills in her gills know you're not afraid of spills e'en if I put you on grills not on me wills feels with me reels me in mills i know i'm not afraid to chase pills fills with me in mills i know you're not afraid of drills in your feels e'en gllls spills with me i know you're not afraid of meals e'en if it chills frills mills with me pills in mills grills me thrills in her gills spills with me in her frills i know i'm not afraid of feels in her bills Oh! For an ounce of sleep I'd give up my meals What wouldn't I give To reel in her megasporophylls ….if she feels with me (TONGUE-IN-CHEEK, of course) *in French meaning: I'm half asleep or I'm not thinking straight (but literally means: " I haven't got my eyes right in front of holes! " ;) ** in French: " faire des oeillades à quelqu'un" = wink or make eyes at somebody °In French: " faire des yeux de velours à quelqu'un" means " to make sheep's eyes at somebody" (" velour" here meaning " velvet" ;) (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's Fortieth Legal by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's " Fortieth Legal" by T. Wignesan (From: The Legal Poems. Colne: Pub. by Robert Bank at the Arrowspire Press, 1985,39p. Here's an extract from the blurb by Allen Fisher, dated December 1985: " They record a cultural malaise where unjust, intolerant and exploitative power confronts the confidence of each personal movement. In this effort to stave off entropy, Mottram energises his scholarship into poetry through a constructed presentation that risks the frailty from its own breaking. Building and breaking paradigms become essential qualities to this art, and it is here, in the processes of uncompetitive action without interest in games, that his creative play reveals the ordering he presents for the reader to produce." ;) Gatsby convertit à la poussière infecte laquelle lui tourmenta dans un rêve éveillé les yeux braquaient loins des tristesses accablantes la joie qui ne perdure que peu du temps sur la lumière verte du sexe au musoir des voiliers des voitures garées partout dans l'allée stocké dans la bibliothèque le barzoï néfaste* les coureurs plus rapides les amants plus accomplis un ciel de satellites une vie un processus au délabrement la rue-légale ne vous efforcez pas de vous comporter bien juste normalement adorez quelques martyrs massacrez les autres autant que vous pouviez regardez en haut toujours vers le haut de l'espace dense une espace où les géants peuvent balader au-dessus de l'institution totale ils font du théâtre en eux-mêmes (* this line could also be interpreted as: dans la bibliothèque la saleté de barzoï) (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's HOMAGE TO PAUL ELUARD by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's HOMAGE TO PAUL ELUARD by T. Wignesan (Note: Here, I retain EM's translations into English from Paul Eluard's poems and his source language quotations from " this vital spirits…" onwards, for, according to EM, ‘they are taken from an early draft of Wordsworth's The EXCURSION and from The PRELUDE BOOK 2'.) " the last bud of the future" " both faces of the wall come meeting " " plunderer of thinkers ghosts master builders" " laugh and dream among the flames among sun clusters" " we who are helmeted booted gloved" entrainés à l'agence sombre battant massacre réduits au silence qu'est-ce qu'il y a qui peut monter ouvrir les voûtes du soleil laisse partir la danse de leur création fraîche pas ce qui est de la mode contre les meurtres religieux insoutenables dans l'illégitimité historique pour les mullahs les pères les mitres contre le désir pour les mains balafrés les rotules écrasés les tympans éclatés par les méthodes techniques qui donnent des coups de pieds sur la tête et la cheville une personne allongée pour être enroulée dans des journaux cellophane édredon pour être balancés dans n'importe quelle rue pouvons nous nous voir un et l'autre qu'à travers la détresse en parlant par le truchement des principes la colère la clarté dissoute la force du futur contre les mangeurs des journaux l'alimentation pour la pervision (sic) rouillée érigée comme la justice les rats se multiplient dans des bateaux coulés les nouvelles des missiles de moyenne-portée dans leurs crânes au goût sucré les trous de bouches remplies de poussière fraîche alors " this vital spirit in its essence free As the light of heaven, this mind that streams With emanations like the blessed sun" au-delà " the close prison-house of human laws" ici " the sands of Westmoreland" " a stranger" " my eye moved o'er the long leagues Of shining water, as it seemed Through the wide surface of that field of light New pleasure, like a bee among the flowers" du besoin d'être reconnu enfin ce poète entre dans la résistance " Society made sweet as solitude By silent unobtrusive sympathies And gentle agitations of the mind From manifold distinctions…" " the spontaneous soul must extricate itself from the meshes of almost automatic white octopus of humanity… not waste itself in revenge the revenge is inevitable enough, for each denial of the spontaneous dark soul creates the reflex of its own revenge" (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Limericks crocheted: Once a bitter literary critic Limericks crochetés: Once a bitter literary critic Once a bitter literary critic Tore to bits his own manuscript thick When asked politely why He cursed and swore most high His fans believed it to be some trick For many a year he reigned tyrant And column in weekly turned virulent Books by millions sold His pages manifold One talked of him at every event At parties talk-shows subways cocktails All broke silences with pent-up wails What could be the matter What brought on the chatter What caused the paper to soar in sales? * *I would like to know. Thanks. (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's KRIM: Autobiography to September 1989- III by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's KRIM: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY TO SEPTEMBER 1989 - III by T. Wignesan (This poem is from the collection, ESTUARIES: Poems 1989-91. Twickenham: Solaris,1992,62p. Pub. by Yasmin and Peterjon Skelt. Back cover photo by David McIntosh, " my sister's son" - Eric makes this a point of emphasis in his own hand on the fly page, for in his own words he was very close to his nephew in his later days. As the poem extends over four pages, I have divided it - for convenience sake - into three arbitrary parts. Just for the anecdote, Eric underwent severe memory erasures during a traumatic event in the seventies, and he had no clue as to who I was after a lapse of 22 years when we met up again in 1989. See extracts of his letters to me during the period 1957-61 in the festschrift: Eric Mottram at 70, pub. by Y. & P. Skelt.) * mes semblables et peut être également les vôtres aussi font semblant ce que les autres personnes moins passionnées se sentent mais n'expriment pas instinctivement rebellant contre un fait de notre société et de notre temps le manquement de l'alignement entre un monde immense de l'intérieur et d'un autre qui ne soit pas encore été légalisé ou officiellement reconnu les formes qui peuvent tolérer la crue des communications provenant de l'esprit à la scène d'action de telles actes d'expression sont sévi par le sang avant qu'elles puissent être tolérées et être comprissent par les psychiatres sociologues l'appareil judiciaire la police (et) tout autres formes de la force sociale * l'émergence d'une démocratie émotionnellement meurtrière dérangeaient les vieilles catégories * risquer tout en s'alignant à un point de vue qui le conduira dans un conflit avec les plus normales (partagée par la majorité) émotions humaines au milieu d'une société de masse? * nous pouvons changer les définitions sur la réalité lesquelles sont déjà peu soutenables perdant leurs prises sur l'imagination conceptuelle * la peur et même la pensée en vigueur de ce qu'on majoritairement appela l'insanité c'est presque une nécessité émotionnelle pour chaque sensible être réagissant comme un humain entier de l'être humain en l'Amérique et qu'elle sortes du feu à un point où d'autres mots que les conceptions différentes soient crées là où se trouvent les plaies (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's KRIM: Autobiography to September 1989- II by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's KRIM: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY TO SEPTEMBER 1989 - II by T. Wignesan (This poem is from the collection, ESTUARIES: Poems 1989-91. Twickenham: Solaris,1992,62p. Pub. by Yasmin and Peterjon Skelt. Back cover photo by David McIntosh, " my sister's son" - Eric makes this a point of emphasis in his own hand on the fly page, for in his own words he was very close to his nephew in his later days. As the poem extends over four pages, I have divided it - for convenience sake - into three arbitrary parts. Just for the anecdote, Eric underwent severe memory erasures during a traumatic event in the seventies, and he had no clue as to who I was after a lapse of 22 years when we met up again in 1989. See extracts of his letters to me during the period 1957-61 in the festschrift: Eric Mottram at 70, pub. by Y. & P. Skelt.) * je suis devenu un intellectuel du temps contemporaine senti que j'ai été l'incarnation vivante du dieu-écrivain moderne l'homme omniscient héritier de tous les âges d'histoire le véritable roi du présent je devais défricher mon chemin en criant jusqu'au sommet inévitable de tous les doutes qui me torturaient la confusion régressive l'incarceration fantastique j'ai vomi chaque morceau non digéré de ma psyché violemment bataillé pour atteindre ma chair crue à travers la trajectoire hurlante de la fusée qu'on appelle l'insanité * nous devenons ce que nous admirons une bazaar intellectuelle hautaine et contente de soi-même ne vous dérangez pas de se lever je peux trouver la sortie moi-même j'y vais * quand j'avais trente-trois ans des tensions dans mon être s'éclatées j'ai couru pieds nus dans les rues je me suis adressé à Dieu pour atteindre mes propres visées humaines compréhensibles je fus finalement cerné au quatorzième étage de l'hôtel St. Regis par deux de mes amis effrayés et un autre frère et par le biais des menottes que deux bobbies* avec sérieux et avec humour ont attaché sur mes poignées on m'emmena à une académie privée de rire en Westchester traitement de choc par l'insuline après une période de neuf ou dix semaines moi aussi fut libéré humilié humble prêt de vouloir rester debout devant la classe pour répéter le code de classe moyenne de ne pas dire trop le sens du dollar afin d'obtenir ma libération * complètement secoué tout seul puis trop paralysé par des drogues pour bouger je fus une fois de plus emmené à faire le longue voyage un homme-garçon tourmenté le choc électrique matraquait mon cerveau jusqu'au hébétement inutile je marchais bon gré mal gré pour être exécuté à plusieurs reprises j'avais été " détruit par la folie" Monsieur Ginsberg l'acte d'incarcération m'a fait comprendre à quel point la liberté individuelle est importante * (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's KRIM: Autobiography to September 1989- I by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's KRIM: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY TO SEPTEMBER 1989 - I by T. Wignesan (This poem is from the collection, ESTUARIES: Poems 1989-91. Twickenham: Solaris,1992,62p. Pub. by Yasmin and Peterjon Skelt. Back cover photo by David McIntosh, " my sister's son" - Eric makes this a point of emphasis in his own hand on the fly page, for in his own words he was very close to his nephew in his later days. As the poem extends over four pages, I have divided it - for convenience sake - into three arbitrary parts. Just for the anecdote, Eric underwent severe memory erasures during a traumatic event in the seventies, and he had no clue as to who I was after a lapse of 22 years when we met up again in 1989. See extracts of his letters to me during the period 1957-61 in the festschrift: Eric Mottram at 70, pub. by Y. & P. Skelt.) I Je voyageais à travers les ruelles et des pièges intellectuels de la vie littéraire contemporaine pour arriver où j'aurais dû commencer et ceci en faisant un effort avec chaque gramme de tout ce qu'on possède * cette histoire perverse et d'une grimace de douleur * faisant partie d'une groupe d'esprits hautement intellectuelle mais pas nécessairement artistique qui traverse avec une à peine concevable liberté presque illégale sur le domaine entier de ce qu'on pourrait penser et exprimer * la fantaisie de la grande visée inspirée d'Europe nous motivaient tous grandement dans notre groupe jusqu'aux sommets misérables et au désespoir vide * l'illusion du pouvoir immense et l'omniscience * ayant goûté du sang de la publication je n'y pouvais plus m'arrêter * la très snob et intellectuelle corporation à Nouvelle York qui affectionne d'être sentimentalement éloquent sur des héros d'avant garde après qu'ils soient morts et aide à les paralyser pendant qu'ils étaient en vie à cause de leur charme noire laquelle s'accordaient avec la plus récente et abstraite recette pour évincer leur sens de la profondeur * les écrivains s'efforcent de concurrencer un avec l'autre dans une vision englobante Spendlerienne * mon frère fut interné quand je commençais mes années vingtaines j'ai signé aussi le certificat pour qu'on réalise une lobotomie pré-frontale laquelle s'aboutit en son décès à cause de l'hémorragie sur la table d'opération à l'hôpital de l'Etat de Rockland * (to be continued) (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's PEACE PROJECT 9 - le Projet de la paix 9 by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's PEACE PROJECT 9 - le Projet de la paix 9 by T. Wignesan …………………..Comme gel sous l'eau noire, sommeil fatale, crapaud. ………..'Sade' - Le Marteau sans Maître - (René) Char la laideur éveillée du sommeil le besoin de brûler le chaume au bûcher funéraire sans utilité et râpé les existences des bannières se livrent à la bataille des fanions d'idées aux côtés des rivières la Danube à Buda l'Hudson sous les Cloisters Canyon de Chelly pictographs brûlent plongent vous apprenez comment nager voilà nagez maintenant dépecez le garçon nu toujours pas pu rencontrer l'esprit couler le contrôle dans le flux prenant ces mouvements des bras deux rives pour aller loins sortant des eaux à quatre pattes des tels gens sur la rive des prairies des prés de pins au sud de Wolf Pass le chasseur d'arôme passez à travers un sol aiguillé tacheté un cerf se levant momentanément après avoir bu l'eau bleu les andouillers d'un chevreuil se levant au ciel azuré le thym la sauge la pente couverte d'herbes dans des courants thermiques ma tête une espace dans l'espace un endroit vide vous ne saurez jamais et ni des chutes d'eau nostalgique une série de gratitudes simplement les vagabonds et des peuples de la mer après leurs écroulement les fous occupant des positions élevées font investir des capitaux où qu'ils veulent avec une élégance discrète faisons ce que nous pouvions de cette horreur faisant partie de tout cela cannibales suicides adorateurs réduit à vide ce rêve du pays sans l'appui mythique face au défi provoqué pas de femme consolant la bavure des hommes l'excrément de l'histoire des mythes nous devrions réveiller créer d'autres voix ou nous devrions nous soumettre " les seules créatures capables de s'améliorer sont mal adaptées à leurs environments" (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's DEER HUNT - la Chasse aux cerfs by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's DEER HUNT - la Chasse aux cerfs by T. Wignesan " La civilisation est une maladie, le barbarisme rejuvenation." Gauguin en pleurant sombre dans leurs sièges une nation se sent se sent purgée la culpabilité avalée avec du popcorn pour la W.-C. leurs guerriers caucasiens camouflées de la droite tuent encore les sous-humains pour l'argent et le peuple aux lèvres des bébés en bavant l'onction des lits de bambou descendent l'histoire cousue dans des livres dans de solide salle humide le nouveau patriotisme pousse des ouïes rougissant de plaisir l'odeur de la suie de cave à leurs hanches tournant les M-16s dévastent les barbares les triomphateurs de la forêt un film pour sauver des forêts contre des forêts détruites pas de cerfs pas d'oiseaux où la surdité des bambous coupes les chansons déformés 2,4,5 - T bébés multiplient en douzaines des orphelins engendrés par des pères soldats chantent ‘ne pleures pas pour des nouveaux nés l'être humain est pour toujours fraiche' le chasseur de cerfs trouve son chemin dans des forêts métalliques le sang sur l'aile de la voiture à New Jersey pour pouvoir s'éloigner des femmes dans des bois afin de se livrer à la conversation vulgaire des gants lourds en caoutchouc écartant avec force la mâchoire en mesurant l'écart des six-points du chevreuil la fumée des fusils et de l'alcool sur l'aire de la forêt des vêtements d'une couleur orange clair dans des lanternes de gasoline ‘mon seconde tir avait presque bousillé son jambe postérieur mais il néanmoins s'est mis débout' des gars ‘assis dans la voiture en mangeant mon déjeuner ce cerf sans peur venait pas à pas jusqu'à nous mais moi sans ambages j'ai sorti et lui ôtais de la vie' l'histoire de la liberté des sangliers sauvages c'est la nôtre si l'on essaie de la trouver dans des forêts des cris qu'on lance dans la forêt la forêt les renvoie dégorges son cri du terreur contre l'écroulant fondements de la loi 1979 (Eric Mottram. A Book of Herne (1975-1981) . Colne: Arrowspire Press,1981, pp. 34-35.) (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's TIME SIGHT UNSEEN, Part 4 by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's TIME SIGHT UNSEEN - Part Four by T. Wignesan 'Instead of an item in a school of rhetoric, the poem could have variety of articulations, continuity and discontinuity, sentence and parataxis, and an awareness of the imaginative possibilities of relationship between particles" . Eric Mottram. December 29,1924 - January 17,1995, prolific poet, editor of the Poetry Review (organ of The Poetry Society in England during the seventies) , eminent critic (Times Literary Supplement) and Emeritus Professor of English and American Literature at King's College, University of London in 1990. He won a scholarship from Blackpool Grammar School to Cambridge, but chose to join the Royal Navy in 1943. He obtained a Double First in English Tripos (1947-1950) at Pembroke College, University of Cambridge, after serving out the War as secondin- command of a mine-sweeper in the Baltic and the Bay of Bengal. Just for the anecdote, his family traces its descent from the times of the Norman Conquest as ' Lords of the Manor ' on his father's side. His father was a civil servant who worked to put in place Britain's social security system. Once in 1964, Eric showed me - somewhat diffidently - the family's Coat of Arms, saying: ' Do you know what this is? ', and I never (for a while) stopped kidding him about it all. The real reason why he didn't take up the posts offered to him in the States - such as a professorship at Rutgers - was that he was very proud of being ' British '; yet he owed his post at London University to an American: Professor Robert Earnest SPILLER who authored The Literary History of the United States (1948) . The following translation is the fourth part of " Time Sight Unseen" , published in The Poetry/Rare Books Collection, State University of New York at Buffalo, 1993, n.p. 4 les lois tendues vous réalisiez furent enseignées le droit civil à présent reste intense cette machine menti à présent son temps présent entre dans une absence vidée du temps où même vos poux disparaissaient en tombant sans être alimentés Umheimlicher les muscles se lassent réapparaissent maniaque sur des roches la marée mise à nu les colonies renfermées bleu noirci et noir coups de froid coloniaux les mêmes groupes des bernaches moules anémones de mer aspirés aux roches attendent les lois de la lune pour couvrir leurs voies aériennes minces avec l'océan faites sortir la chair en forme de H laissant en dehors sa volonté du physique au mental le vieux ce habitué à c'était habitué à la pensée mais jamais utilisa le mot à l'exception pour j'ai pensé que vous saviez ou je ne jamais pensé que vous voudriez arriva du reste un dealer intéressé maintenant le transformateur s'arrête son affaire devenu loi reste immobile où il oeuvra sans relâche aux intérêts mérités tant qu'ils augmentaient uniquement au plan partiel un portail sans affiches les gardiens dépourvus de la parole tout pareil le langage silencieux lèches bottes dissimulés derrière eux passent par le portail en présentant des documents sans un mot à travers à une main de verre dans du cuir faisant la lecture à travers des verres du soleil l'invisibilité du passeport eux ils ne l'en rendront pas la résidence serait-elle un état si dénudé une fois franchi les frontières sans ces lampes blanches perchées en haut la hutte dans l'ombre regardez fixement en penchant au dessus de la barrière du fil métallique qu'est-ce qu'il y a dans le cartable (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's TIME SIGHT UNSEEN, Part 3 by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's TIME SIGHT UNSEEN, Part Three by T. Wignesan 'Instead of an item in a school of rhetoric, the poem could have variety of articulations, continuity and discontinuity, sentence and parataxis, and an awareness of the imaginative possibilities of relationship between particles" . Eric Mottram. December 29,1924 - January 17,1995, prolific poet, editor of the Poetry Review (organ of The Poetry Society in England during the seventies) , eminent critic (Times Literary Supplement) and Emeritus Professor of English and American Literature at King's College, University of London in 1990. He won a scholarship from Blackpool Grammar School to Cambridge, but chose to join the Royal Navy in 1943. He obtained a Double First in English Tripos (1947-1950) at Pembroke College, University of Cambridge, after serving out the War as secondin- command of a mine-sweeper in the Baltic and the Bay of Bengal. Just for the anecdote, his family traces its descent from the times of the Norman Conquest as ' Lords of the Manor ' on his father's side. His father was a civil servant who worked to put in place Britain's social security system. Once in 1964, Eric showed me - somewhat diffidently - the family's Coat of Arms, saying: ' Do you know what this is? ', and I never (for a while) stopped kidding him about it all. The real reason why he didn't take up the posts offered to him in the States - such as a professorship at Rutgers - was that he was very proud of being ' British '; yet he owed his post at London University to an American: Professor Robert Earnest SPILLER who authored The Literary History of the United States (1948) . The following translation is the third part of " Time Sight Unseen" , published in The Poetry/Rare Books Collection, State University of New York at Buffalo, 1993, n.p. 3 un monstre à plat ventre là-bas sous le feu du projecteur-ici il comme c'est aveugle envers mis k.-o. tombe en panne une plaine bosselée pas de rêves visionnaires pour ce mécanisme se roulant plus ou moins est simplement en train de poursuivre ses affaires vous ne vous souviendrai pas de rien pendant trois heures et du quart une conscience alternative ce n'est pas l'équilibre cet état maintenant regardez l'équilibre et déclarez perte du contrôle mais dans quelle mesure étranger à cet endroit appelé théâtre où un autre à peine moi même pas récupérable par la folie puisque j'ai été dérobé vécu ailleurs en marchant maintenant non-sens ce présent non-voulu se pénétrant et devient parmi l'étranger silencieux parmi nos mutuel nos mangeant la grande recette (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's TIME SIGHT UNSEEN, Part Two by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's TIME SIGHT UNSEEN, Part Two by T. Wignesan 'Instead of an item in a school of rhetoric, the poem could have variety of articulations, continuity and discontinuity, sentence and parataxis, and an awareness of the imaginative possibilities of relationship between particles" . Eric Mottram. December 29,1924 - January 17,1995, prolific poet, editor of the Poetry Review (organ of The Poetry Society in England during the seventies) , eminent critic (Times Literary Supplement) and Emeritus Professor of English and American Literature at King's College, University of London in 1990. He won a scholarship from Blackpool Grammar School to Cambridge, but chose to join the Royal Navy in 1943. He obtained a Double First in English Tripos (1947-1950) at Pembroke College, University of Cambridge, after serving out the War as secondin- command of a mine-sweeper in the Baltic and the Bay of Bengal. Just for the anecdote, his family traces its descent from the times of the Norman Conquest as ' Lords of the Manor ' on his father's side. His father was a civil servant who worked to put in place Britain's social security system. Once in 1964, Eric showed me - somewhat diffidently - the family's Coat of Arms, saying: ' Do you know what this is? ', and I never (for a while) stopped kidding him about it all. The real reason why he didn't take up the posts offered to him in the States - such as a professorship at Rutgers - was that he was very proud of being ' British '; yet he owed his post at London University to an American: Professor Robert Earnest SPILLER who authored The Literary History of the United States (1948) . The following translation is the second part of " Time Sight Unseen" , published in The Poetry/Rare Books Collection, State University of New York at Buffalo, 1993, n.p. 2 mais ce nous disons ce rappelez qu'il revient le trouvez réel comme vous dites ce ne soit pas tout à fait ce sans ra. pas d'instants instantané mais il y aura quelques changements autour d'ici se trouvant immobile se couchant dans des endroits à l'intérieur des processus la recette dont nous partageons pour le maintenant renouvelé par le non-visible même s'il n'est pas agréable à voir si l'on a du courage qu'il faut la vue inaperçue c'est un syntagme à apprécier que l'on se prononce complètement dites qu'il soit alors il est là un jaillissement qui provoque l'émerveillement toujours les moyens qu'il utilise pour faire surgir des bonnes pressions inaperçues plus ardemment que de la propulsion de l'eau des causes non-éclaircies les distances connaissables mais toujours merveilleuses le sens complet soumis à l'examen ainsi les temps n'étant pas susceptibles de tomber dans la saleté revient à l'esprit voilà l'engagement l'art éternelle intronisée sur notre rétine voyez à l'extérieur et de la perception le dessin est partagé comme la lumière dérange perturb la donne appelée l'acte de vision pas ce qu'on voit une vision mais l'art l'art d'apercevoir l'oeil est un phénomène le moi est notre l'autre oeil pour regarder nous sommes tous les deux en train de regarder une couleur trembloter dans un tableau rectangulaire de laquelle elle surgisse en dehors envers tâchez de la retenir maintenant au fur et à mesure de l'intérieur " pour combien de temps un oiseau peut chanter aussi longtemps qu'il connaisse sa chanson je veux te le dire qu'un imbécile peut se tromper" (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Translation of Eric Mottram's TIME SIGHT UNSEEN, Part 1 by T Wignesan Translation of Eric Mottram's TIME SIGHT UNSEEN, Part One by T. Wignesan 'Instead of an item in a school of rhetoric, the poem could have variety of articulations, continuity and discontinuity, sentence and parataxis, and an awareness of the imaginative possibilities of relationship between particles" . Eric Mottram. December 29,1924 - January 17,1995, prolific poet, editor of the Poetry Review (organ of The Poetry Society in England during the seventies) , eminent critic (Times Literary Supplement) and Emeritus Professor of English and American Literature at King's College, University of London in 1990. He won a scholarship from Blackpool Grammar School to Cambridge, but chose to join the Royal Navy in 1943. He obtained a Double First in English Tripos (1947-1950) at Pembroke College, University of Cambridge, after serving out the War as secondin- command of a mine-sweeper in the Baltic and the Bay of Bengal. Just for the anecdote, his family traces its descent from the times of the Norman Conquest as ' Lords of the Manor ' on his father's side. His father was a civil servant who worked to put in place Britain's social security system. Once in 1964, Eric showed me - somewhat diffidently - the family's Coat of Arms, saying: ' Do you know what this is? ', and I never (for a while) stopped kidding him about it all. The real reason why he didn't take up the posts offered to him in the States - such as a professorship at Rutgers - was that he was very proud of being ' British '; yet he owed his post at London University to an American: Professor Robert Earnest SPILLER who authored The Literary History of the United States (1948) . The following translation is the first part of " Time Sight Unseen" , published in The Poetry/Rare Books Collection, State University of New York at Buffalo, 1993, n.p. I là dedans regardez là dedans ils ont les leurs ce que ne pouvait pas être vu la pensée dégoutante une fois enfin et dans l'événement regardez son temps ils confèrent l'objet sur mon le mien a été exploité en rappelant ceux qu'on ne peut pas voir ceux rattachés au temps et à la cage thoracique ainsi ses mains soulevées leurs vies toujours vibrantes saisissaient du temps de l'intérieur la seule chronologie du temps de sang sujet chronique la fondation saisie le temps de l'intérieur étant à vous et à moi sans cadran qui voyait la cage courbé écarté pour atteindre le passage sans faire un numéro les mains là dans le non-vu comme un entraineur propriétaire calme vidé assommé pour nous de notre pour garder l'unique temps à l'intérieur chassé pour quand les organs à l'extérieur voient l'extérieur une fois de plus le vrai temps dévidait puis s'enroulait pendant un certain temps n'étant pas réel encore l'extérieur n'est pas visible de nouveau après l'intrusion dans le seul sacré les rouges sacs du temps là-bas ramenés et remis dans l'esprit rappelés à l'esprit pour se soucier de votre temps pourrait être filmé et vu de façon non-réel le temps réel les images chaque seconde sous la rétine trembloté déjà vu auparavant comme la fin du réel un passé dans la bobine avec des agents de conservations dès ce moment où ce que s'éclata l'amour les poèmes d'amour les éclatements de peur les découverts depuis des sacs du temps des pulsations et ce que s'était passé se déroule le grand secret répété devant nous la machine déclencha ces moments à nouveau les vraies scènes les moments intimes mutuels. tout ce que vous pouvez (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 The Sixty-Four Rulers of the Yi Jing The Sixty-Four Rulers of the Yi Jing When chieftains uncrowned yearn to be enthroned They either give their daughters to princes Or invite other chieftains and have them poisoned Some choose the war-path without hindrances And lose their lives wives their land masses In days of yore we call smirk as dark ages Today's chieftains also own land masses Stars with stripes pedigree business managers Lawmen who make millions helped by judges Generals in command of battalions Through coup d'Etat fulfil ill-nursed grudges All scions sired by pur sang stallions Who won elections with money from banks Or the pennies dropped by party members All paths leaders take to the top while thanks They give not to those who toiled to hoist masters What may the difference be with then and now One man still decides the fate of one's country No man can encompass all the know-how Any man can lose cool and berserk thrash free When the going gets tough under pressure When vested interests pull tout azimuth Is divine right a blessing rained down treasure Or the servile mind's habit of staying put If sixty-four wise men ran a country According to the dictates of the Yi Jing The world will neither know war nor treaty The future will be assured for every being (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 DIARY NOTES: Lamentable laissez-faire Diary Notes: Lamentable laissez-faire …the lêche cul is back every cell of her a seething surging cesspool of putrid suck the darling of the Prusso-Lepeniste muck: all degenerate foul-mouthed mean-minded sick: " I'll grab his private parts thus ———> " her scabrous claw relishing the plucking thrust the latter-day Jeanne d'Arc of the revived Napoleonic Kingdom she's back the neurotic blot on the wailing phoney socialist rocambolesque reverie not even the sparrows hug the hedges now and no birds would sing in this worsted plain Harvey spoils the eclipsed arc the path of Yin is now well marked all celebrating victories before they are won the people the poor the duped left to their wits in sewage pools eddying hopes slipping through dams and dykes the people the poor people always pay for the folly of hoisting fanfaron Pharoahs up above pyramid pinnacles on palanquins Yes, according to the very reverend Swift raiser of the race of Master Horses the world west of the Silk Road now is divided into Yahoos and the Netan-Yahoos the jackboot now at last fits the untrodden masters like a second moulted skin Brexit isles moored and annexed to the new-found Land She's back the lêche cul with her witches' brooms and mops and pails littered under the portico le portable stuck to her ear proclaiming her arrival yet none gave her a long-awaited send-off spying from a distance " Let's study the way he slips in and slips out of his cubicle door! " this time from behind the kinder garten glass doors all for the free masonic fortress under foreign fiefdom sun-burnt flesh reeks through the Mall smacks of steak: raw or well-singed the reek of rutting limbs is everywhere loud in queues at milling supermarkets at bus-stops at postal bank self-service guichets come September the unheeding dance and rejoice October and their hinds begin to ache November when the bruises bulges pulled muscles broken promises make no bones of their State the poor always pay for the mistakes and crimes of their masters the moment of truth when thunder is stentorian not a rumble on rails nor a lone drone drawn out streak high in the sky heading for wind-swept isles the hour of reckoning must be at hand " I'll grab his balls all in one hand: See, what can he do? See! " says she the lêche cul This's as far as the State can grasp reduced to pilfering reduced to a kind of stunted growth the psyche stuck in a gluey paste holding hands pressing pumping palms waltzing on the Champs Elysée lisping careless whispers: " I'm never gonna dance again… Guilty feet got no rhythm… The way I danced with you oh oh… So wrong that you had to leave me alone! " Let's plunder the proof he has Then we can all kick his ass (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE If you pull a long face Just because you had a bad day That's alright you won't lose face Everyone's beset some hapless day If you pull a long face Day by day come what may Better know it's really out-of-place To pull a long face in every way Yet if you pull a long face All your livelong dark day You had better make an about-face Or you'd end up in a fray If you pull a long face ‘Cause none with you will play Then you have lost your birth-place You'll not save face even if you pray So if you pull a long face No matter what or who comes your way Give a damn who looks you in the face Then you're made of sterner stuff, not clay (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Communication - Fornication - Comm-U-For-Nication Communication + Fornication = comm-u-for-nication kettle cattle little cat call cat call kitten casse role roll kit ten role call lit till kit ten call cat till cat -tle call kettle call casse role roll call kit ten cat till kettle call kitten back cat till casse roll kit ten cattle kettle call BLACK et ainsi de suite… (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Limericks de-crochetes: Is not shame self-humiliation Limericks dé-crochetés: Is not shame self-humiliation Is not shame self-humiliation To be thought of with condescension All men know some disgrace Except those without grace Dignity's the art of pretension The man who fears not leaving this world E'en without heir his name can fame mould Knows no shame brought by birth All's forgiven in mirth Though what lies ahead mayn't rightly be told Memory's a wild accusing thing It best serves those who here nothing bring Nothing take on way out Nothing leave to shout ‘bout What one forgets might well be no-thing Think of all the pain one puts up with Just for the sake of the ego myth To be thought of well - swell Hail fellow well met - hell! Who e'er lived to de-mystify death Shame's the pain we face in hour of need Stand alone you'll likely go to seed Join the crowd to feel proud The name well-clothed in shroud All the shame humiliation must feed End of day finds us shoring up shame Orchestrated scenes of death-bed fame Funerals in black staid Write-ups by friends well-paid All to keep shame hidden in the name (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Limerick crochetes: Once cheerful Alzheimer motorist Limerick crochetés: Once cheerful Alzheimer motorist Once cheerful Alzheimer motorist Drove stolen car on a real tight fist Drank oil at petrol pump Bought used golf balls from Trump Got called to White House as Chief Theorist First advice he forgot to give Chief " Show House anagram on handkerchief! " Got kicked upstairs to roof To count suns water-proof Saw shooting stars making much mischief Forgot to keep his mouth right tight shut Five gallons of oil came rushing out All West Wing caught fire Also Code Nuclear Kim Jong Un lit cigars in a fit! (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 DIARY NOTES: Lament at Dawn Diary Notes: Lament at Dawn …at the heart of the township ten-ton buses throb empty their drivers slumped in the heat behind their steering wheels listening to their favourite stations hot full of drowsy hissed talk on the pregnancy of stars at junctions overhead drives bridges roundabouts crossroads you see mothers with shopping bags dragging woeful tearful toddlers waiting at traffic lights where no traffic waits the air disgorges itself of fumes and no birds would sing to a deserted plain at the academy building where garden warblers vied with larks aspiring choruses at street operas only the abandoned rickety scaffolding drip with stale paint the Great tit so insistent in her quest driven with late June cracker blasts at midnight has joined some vagrant migrant lot to the Mediterranean mists only stray magpies quarrel in undertones swearing cursing scrapping the mind pigeons and turtle doves forage along pathways mocking foot-falling steps the route round the back of the Prefecture for a year now is shut to the public a reminder to the Charlie Hebdo ISIS fiasco and the joggers take to the thoroughfare in their tell-tale whallop-y shorts at the kinder gardens lone working mothers hang out with texting iPhones for the evening bell the beggars all gone to sun themselves (yes…this's cruel) on the Riviera leaving four wizened figures long un-paying residents by the law faculty mounds seated next to next in their unwashed best exchanging memories like the kids they may have been at tenement blocks on an abandoned culvert without toys the skies cloud over and dissipate without complaint now and then Atlantic winds bring news of thunder and have us short-changed the last we heard was the early morning 5.20 metro pull out of its shed at the drug-and-grocery stores supermarkets only the migrant lot meet to chat the Mall stays chockfull of lush-green girls dressed in their mothers' best looking for a fix the queues thin at the chemist's security guards tire of looking into bags they smile thinking of something that must have amused them perhaps at some chance encounter or at some pungent lascivious repartee the Maghreb-ian neighbours still won't give up their heedless tapage you can even hear their gasping breath on creaking boards and floors those who come and go at the entrance still spy on the locks and keyholes yours to pick and click waiting to tell the gardienne or some official still on vacation the usual figures flit through the early light to dig into the rubbish bins lepers of our remains where do they bunk in what mountain hold or time silently busy not-caring what the world might think (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Break not chains Sartre hooked on ankles in disdain Villanelle: Break not chains Sartre hooked on ankles in disdain Break not chains Sartre hooked on ankles in disdain No Lawrence outsider sups with wooden spoon Don't bitter gruel course through low coolie-lines vein One thing's to espouse the cause of mighty swain Another to champion masses without boon Break not chains Sartre hooked on ankles in disdain Shut not windows when floors are not wet with rain Let not those who suffocate force you to swoon Don't bitter gruel course through low coolie-lines vein Who writes in huis clos invisible inane Turn Left to stand up for the ‘pariah' goon Break not chains Sartre hooked on ankles in disdain How much less harm this world could have borne sans pain If only from mouth you spat out silver spoon Don't bitter gruel course through low coolie-lines vein Go tell the coolie his life is his to brain Break existential chain with will not too soon Break not chains Sartre hooked on ankles in disdain Don't bitter gruel course through low coolie-lines vein (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Not Mind nor Soul but the Body's Prowess Villanelle: Not the Mind nor Soul but the Body's prowess Not the mind nor soul but the body's prowess What stands out must crown man's vanity made bold So what counts must make nations blazing success Usury stocks and shares that banks re-possess Wars in foreign lands paid for with oil and gold Not the mind nor soul but the body's prowess Win the match by whatever means or duress Let match light like match in meadows manifold So what counts must make nations blazing success Must earth at receiving end turn to a mess Yin acted upon by Yang brings forth fresh world Not the mind nor soul but the body's prowess Batsmen face fast balls or those spun nonetheless Ton-up signals the century bought and sold So what counts must make nations blazing success Batter the mother who will the goddess bless Dark suns look down upon a world long gone cold Not the mind nor soul but the body's prowess So what counts must make nations blazing success (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Often I think of writer-poets of yore Villanelle: Often I think of writer-poets of yore Often I think of writer-poets of yore Who wrote in fear of lords kings patrons of church Their voices hushed humbled by the stoop they bore Often I conjure up their solemn lives raw And wonder how their pages weren't left in lurch Often I think of writer-poets of yore Pages to patrons puppets to popes galore Hidden chaste natures all resisting research Their voices hushed humbled by the stoop they bore Often addressing some damsel they adore No more ambition than to lead her to church Often I think of writer-poets of yore Pauper some who pilfer to pen metaphor Through some trope in their guts some scheme beyond search Their voices hushed humbled by the stoop they bore Lean those dead young despised by the loves they swore Never knowing if their verses will us broach Often I think of writer-poets of yore Their voices hushed humbled by the stoop they bore (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Who will dare not love La Belle Dame sans Merci Villanelle: Who will dare not love La Belle Dame sans Merci Who will dare not love La Belle Dame sans Merci Will she now dare budge from her perch in the clouds No Knight-at-Arms her wiles entice sans souci No belle dis-haunches curves just for a merci Nor no beau fealty vows when she unfolds Who will dare not love La Belle Dame sans Merci La Belle Dame knows best why knights to grot go see Best to keep armour on lest hell-met visor scalds No Knight-at-Arms her wiles entice sans souci Do knights her eyes gaze when they rout her easy Nor think of fellow knights in arms she enfolds Who will dare not love La Belle Dame sans Merci Quaff not her cheap cheer unless from Holy See Lulled not be by tales of woe laid by knights' holds No Knight-at-Arms her wiles entice sans souci Serves whom right to fall in love with Heresy No true love sits on throne when knights be cuckolds Who will dare not love La Belle Dame sans Merci No Knight-at-Arms her wiles entice sans souci (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Has anyone seen my stray confounded poem Villanelle: Has anyone seen my stray confounded poem Has anyone seen my stray confounded poem Two hundred leagues long ten times as much deep All night I tossed in its wayward waters foam Three lines I wrought short of just one neurone Kept me waking drowsing falling back to sleep Has anyone seen my stray confounded poem Just three words nagging I could not call back home Or was it the feminine rhyme I could not keep All night I tossed in its wayward waters foam I thought on waking up first lines had round come I could see naked words before my eyes weep Has anyone seen my stray confounded poem Some naughty mermaid lure my lines to embalm Or did some Rhyme Master frown down from crest steep All night I tossed in its wayward waters foam Redress not tresses nor shoals of letters blame Let them swish and swarm comb hidden beaches sweep Has anyone seen my stray confounded poem All night I tossed in its wayward waters foam (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: No man can on his own escape written fate, for THIRUVALLUVAR Villanelle: No man can on his own escape written fate For Thiru-Valluvar, the " nameless" author of the THIRUK-KURAL Note: In my previous posts, especially on Canto 38, I had expounded on the man and his work in relation to Hindu philosophical aims in life which I shall not belabour here in order to make space for other thoughts on his oeuvre. Without going into too much detail here (which is the province of the academic essay) , let me lay out in brief what I think the poet attempted to do or succeeded in doing in order to make his work survive the times in which he lived. The fact that the author remains a nebulous figure till this day owes much to the conditions in which he lived cannot be gainsaid: if his work of perennial value did not motivate his contemporaries to record and celebrate the author's life and circumstances for successive generations - despite the Indian penchant for neglecting details of authorship - it must have been due quite possibly to other reasons less congratulatory to be recounted here again, so here goes. According to Hindu aims, the life of man should traverse four stages: love (kama) , wealth (artha) , virtue (dharma) and renunciation (moksha) . The Thiruk-Kural, by contrast, has only three divisions: dharma (araththuppaal: Cantos 1 to 38) , artha (porudpaal: Cantos 39 to 108) and kama (kamaththuppaal: Cantos 109 to 133) . In my earlier posts, I had argued that there was. no need for a fourth book on the theme of " moksha" or " vidu" since the author had in several cantos and other diverse couplets dealt, in particular, with this subject. Yet I need not have pursued this line of reasoning for the sake of my present argument. As I had stated in previous posts, Cantos 35,36,37 all lead up to and reinforce Canto 38 on " Fate" (uul) and that the latter canto nullifies all that has been propounded in the rest of the oeuvre. This is self-evident since the author attributes everything that happens to one's life to pre-destination in this canto, and therefore the three previous cantos have to be associated with it as being part of a disconnect with the whole. Likewise, the first canto on " Submission to God's Grace" (kadavul vaalththu) , being the only specific address to the Supreme Being, must also be grouped with the four other foregoing cantos. In other words, FIVE cantos have not their rightful place in a work of ethics centred on rightful conduct in human behaviour and interaction with the sexes, the family, the community and the State. This leaves us with 128 cantos, I.e.133 minus 5. If we divide 128 by 2, we get 64, the crucial number which gives us the 64 hexagrams of the classical Canon of Change, the Yi Jing or the 64 squares of the chessboard and, THIS IS OUR POINT, the 64 PADAS (squares of meditation for the pilgrim) provided in the architectural plan and construction of the basic HINDU TEMPLE. What about the extra 64 not apparently taken into consideration. Well, the PALACE TYPE OF TEMPLE, the MANDUKA MANDALA duplicates the 64 geometric pattern. This is exactly what THIRU-VALLUVAR had planned and executed in his work. The THIRUK-KURAL's cantos fit mathematically and thematically into the architectural plan of temples which were propagated in the GUPTA PERIOD, from the 4th Century C.E. The Hindu Temple (64-grid x 2 = 128) The Thiruk-Kural I - Grabh-Griya (Empty pada at PURUSHA Centre) : Canto 1 (Purusha) (Kadavul Vaalththu) II - Brahma (4 x 2 = 8 padas) : MOKSHA Cantos 35,36,37 & 38 (Renunciation to Fate) III - Devika (12 x 2 = 24 padas) : DHARMA Cantos 2 to 34 (Araththuppaal) IV - Manusha (20 x 2 = 40 padas) : ARTHA Cantos 39 to 108 (Porudpaal) V - Paisachika (28 x 2 = 56 padas) : KAMA Cantos 109 to 133 (Kaamaththuppaal) Total n° of padas: 64 x 2=128 Total for Thiruk-Kural=128 + 5=133 Vastu-Sastra and Vastu-Vidya Sanskrit manuals for the building of palatial type temples were in circulation by the 6th Century C.E., so one possible conjecture is that Thiru-Valluvar's lifetime might date from the Gupta Period, but this is of secondary importance, for the moment. Enough to say that, if, as I think, he was a marked man, subject to some sort of " repression" , then the planning and execution of his work on the structure of temple architecture in accordance with its geometric and philosophic principles, attests to the " conjecture" that Thiru-Valluvar had successfully managed to subvert oppressive authoritarian rule - as far as he was concerned - in his time. The proof lies in my discovering the hidden fundamental structure of his poem. T. Wignesan Villanelle: No man can on his own escape written fate No man can on his own escape written fate Most times in our lives we need help to survive Unlike most creatures we adapt far too late All men fall into a slot which we call fate A place a time heritage parents revive No man can on his own escape written fate Ev'ry step we take leads to some open gate What lies beyond unseen will sting us alive Unlike most creatures we adapt far too late Nothing trips us up as the next man's dark hate Fate finds always those who will ill us contrive No man can on his own escape written fate No stratagem can forestall oncoming fate Unless man foregoes all urges quicken drive Unlike most creatures we adapt far too late Dead men who move through life spectators innate Each his life overhaul to let others thrive No man can on his own escape written fate Unlike most creatures we adapt far too late (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Florilege of Distiches from the THIRUK-KURAL: K129, K752 Florilège of distichs from the THIRUK-KURAL: K129, K102 K129: thiiyinaal shutta*pun ullaarum aaraathE naavinaal shutta vadu* (*vadu (n.) = scar, ulcer; *shudu (v.) = burn) In flesh by fire inflamed, nature may thoroughly heal the sore; In soul by tongue inflamed, the ulcer healeth never more. (Transl. G.U. Pope) The wound which has been burnt in. by fire may heal, but a wound burnt in by the tongue will never heal. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) (Even) a fire-scorched wound can fully heal by itself; but never will a wound inflicted by the tongue. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K752: illaarai ellaarum elluvar* selvarai ellaarum seyvar sirappu* (* ellu (v.) = despise; *sirappu (n.) = excellence, renown, esteem, etc.) Those who have nought all will despise; All raise the wealthy to the skies. (Transl. G.U. Pope) All despise the poor; (but) all praise the rich. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) The have-nots by all are mocked; The haves all will highly esteem. (Transl. T. Wignesan) (to be continued) (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 RECIPE: Poulet Roti - French Style - Ballade Le Chant Royal - Concluding Stanza RECIPE: " Poulet Roti" French Style - La Ballade " Le Chant Royal" -Concluding Stanza (Note: As you can see, I have taken certain liberties with the fixed form, but have always kept close to the spirit of the ballade's form: rhyme, metre, stanza, envoi, and, now, concluding stanza addressed to an important royal personality. Exceptions are the introductory RECIPE - I and the extension of the FIVE eleven-line stanza to TEN.) CONCLUDING STANZA Now you have all seen how the French roast chicken Not quite different, say, from British cuisine: Lion-Heart Richard* lies with Jeanne d'Arc in Rouen Not so different from other Royal spleen. It matters little if powers visible Go through motions where kings move invisible Call it DEMOCRACY, call it what you like Old shibboleths raise Gorgon heads still to strike As Greek pauper Prince raised on German Jew brew: " Seventy years as Pope you reigned recondite, Never you'll know the pain you caused all for a few! " Sol de France franchi Terre d'asile A-Dieu! The " heart" of King Richard the Lion Heart is buried in the Rouen Cathedral - a stone's throw from where Joan of Arc was burned at the stake - bombarded by the Allied Forces pilot who later let drop the first atomic bomb over Hiroshima on August 6,1945. (Ref. Cf article by Flint Whitlock on-line.) (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 RECIPE: Poulet Roti - French Style - Ballade Le Chant Royal 11 RECIPE: " Poulet Roti" French Style - Ballade " Le Chant Royal" 11 STANZA X Even as this Royal Lay comes to an end Yet one more crime hatched on one more ruse and lie Gets committed to drive this one round the bend: " Bite the bait, harrowed be, before you die! " Same message for more than half a century The Kafkayesque trial that wastes energy: Witnesses who'd gladly turn King's evidence Lawyers who'd hoodwink you and make no pretence The migrant crowd trained to oust you out of bounds To please authority Left or Right of fence Independent de Gaulle men gone from home grounds. ENVOI " Freemasons Grand Orient kind take offence, Want you kept down whatever your innocence: At the highest level this decision stands! " Said de Gaulle Police Chief in-charge of defence. Independent de Gaulle men gone from home grounds. (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 RECIPE: Poulet Roti - French Style - Ballade Le Chant Royal 10 RECIPE: " Poulet Roti" French Style - Ballade " Le Chant Royal" - 10 STANZA IX Snubbed by Churchill, de Gaulle's June 18th appeal Saves not crushed Rouen, Paris to liberate Triumphant Le Clerc hurries after ordeal Did not Liberation make Resistants great Nazi Chief's deaf ear lets not Hitler burn Paris Do the sacred cow Resistants scorn hubris " Now e'en Presidents fear veteran Police! " Ditto whole appareil judiciaire en lice! Not till the last of veteran Combatants Take Bastille Day's Arc de Triomphe honoured place Nor till Allied Forces be hailed true Conquérants? ENVOI Overnight the mother serves as plaything nice For lawyers judges politicos police All Free-Masons none resist as Resistants No place for father and son in such premise Nor till Allied Forces be hailed true Conquérants? (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 RECIPE: Poulet Roti - French Style - Ballade Le Chant Royal 9 RECIPE: " Poulet Roti" French Style - Ballade " Le Chant Royal" 9 STANZA VIII The French way is to damn you as litigant Constant professional victim of the Law Make you read law books be your own defendant Rush about hang in queues write letters in awe To lawyers judges ministers presidents Cull evidence witnesses sealed documents Which lawyers misplace refuse to cite in case Desert you in court judges' contempt to face Appeal after appeal the single-parent Must kneel to abuse looks threats to save one's face Ev'ry legal ruse used to make one relent ENVOI The mother well-entrenched in high police place Tightens the screws turns the spit with cruel grace Lets son stew in acrid juice with lone parent While her wild secret antics rue her race Ev'ry legal ruse used to make one relent (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 RECIPE: Poulet Roti - French Style - Ballade Le Chant Royal 8 RECIPE: " Poulet Roti" French Style - Ballade " Le Chant Royal" 8 STANZA VII The warning first comes from the job's admin head: " The Secret Service will persecute you to death! " Then they drum the son hammer and tongs on head After mounting terror to cut short his breath: " We'll slaughter your dad just as your mom we spurn Do as we say or you too will on spit turn! Breathe not a word of this or hell you will pay! " Of course the son his brain maimed mums what they say, Just as his mother drugged raped blackmailed by State Does what she always covert did without pay. Seek not asylum where Rights scarce pullulate! ENVOI Now the stakes hinge on what the father might say E'en childhood friends turn up to act in French play Each act in this drama unfolds roles through fate Aesthetic distance wrote original play. Seek not asylum where Rights scarce pullulate! (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 RECIPE: Poulet Roti - French Style - Ballade Le Chant Royal 7 RECIPE: " Poulet Roti" French Style - Ballade " Le Chant Royal" 7 STANZA VI " Come, join us! Stand alone and we'll make you sweat! See how your spouse sucks with us, so will your son! Those who prop you up depart, yes, with regret. Men can't pull their weight alone under any sun! " " I have a book I consult from time to time Which makes me believe how in another clime My high-born friends still wish me well on this earth Wish me to stick to my guns, stick to my birth." " Bring your book with you, we pay well for clues views Glimpses into the future to boost our girth. Our Nation über Alles! Make that news! " ENVOI " Look up into the Heavens, then down on Earth! Think on trillion worlds where our lives provoke mirth The Légion d'honneur lapel pin, on Death's dues! Is Life merely about success stories, not Truth? " Our Nation über Alles! Make that news! (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 RECIPE: Poulet Roti French Style - Ballade Le Chant Royal - 6 RECIPE: " Poulet Roti" French Style - Ballade Le Chant Royal 6 (NOTE: This French " ballade" is being composed on permutations of the number ONE repeated twice, I.e.,11. Eleven syllables to the line in iamb or anapeste, interposed with dactyls, I guess, and of course with the ENVOI added. Eleven lines to the STANZA in eleven in res media " instalments" involving the minutely PERSONAL in interaction with the larger hoi polloi in relation to the STATE and its tentacular authoritarian apparatuses designed to keep the independent INDIVIDUAL always nailed in limbo.) T Wignesan STANZA VI " So why don'tya get out of this Third World hell! " Near-East stronghold now in Maghreb stranglehold Where Asians and Africans mingle pell-mell Where the French affix sign-boards on their soil: " SOLD! " The moonlight flit now turned to Indian rope trick Where East Europeans come thick and homesick To join the ranks of those from South-Euro lands Who make much of the Far Right extremist brigands Les français de souche* still commute to keep jobs Like they once nostalgic did in foreign lands The migrant refugee does odd jobs and robs ENVOI French lasses push prams with babes sunburnt inlands No Tariq Ali* need turn back for want of bans May the World colourless be sans hapless gods Or will it taken over be by hooligans The migrant refugee does odd jobs and robs *Les français de souche: the French of stolid French ancestry. *Tariq Ali, the Berber Moor alighted on the rock of Gibraltar, in 709 C. E., with 30,000 horsemen, and by 711 had over-run the Iberian Peninsula, but Abdul Rahman al-Gafiqi, the Governor General of al-Andalus, who tried to extend the conquests further into Europe was halted in his tracks by the Frank Charles Martel at the Battle of Poitiers/Tours in 732. (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 RECIPE: Poulet Roti - French Style - Le Chant Royal - Instalment 5 RECIPE: 'Poulet Roti' French Style - Le Chant Royal (Instalment 5) (Note: Rhyme scheme of " Le Chant Royal" where capital " E" stands for refrain, thus - Stanza: ababccddedE, Envoi: ddedE) STANZA IV One thing's to find fourteen-storey toilet waste Stealthily creep up your ground-floor shower drain Another's to watch the migrant surgeon paste Some part of your body he cuts up - in vain Yet another: watch nurses scowl in pleasure As they stuff some part of you with germs for sure Unaware that some medicine or remedy Can do you more harm than climate tragedy Know not which doctor keeps Hippocrate sermon Nor which in patriot secret society The State always fears for its reputation ENVOI No place in such a State for chicken curry The secret service thrives on Poulet roti If wisdom tooth hurts guess who drills canine down If glasses need changing better change body The State always fears for its reputation © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 RECIPE: Poulet Roti French Style -Le Chant Royal - Instalment 4 RECIPE: 'Poulet Roti' French Style - Le Chant Royal (Instalment 4) (Note: Rhyme scheme of " Le Chant Royal" where capital " E" stands for refrain, thus - Stanza: ababccddedE, Envoi: ddedE) STANZA III The idea's to pluck the chicken naked dead But to keep it alive so long as there's fun Stick pins and needles all the time on its head So that when the COQ crows you know the bird's done Was Marquis de Sade Torquemada's agent The Socialist Mayor now out on tangent Wishing spindle glass tower turns ivory To keep him in power sans democracy Get henchmen to preach comeuppance damnation Tighten screws on chicken spit sans clemency Now that lame bird can't fly away sans nation ENVOI Vain Socialist pique harks back to idiocy Lax morals sport with intellect's papacy Skinned and spiked chicken calls for condemnation Do Napoléons fear Waterloo or Holy See Now that lame bird can't fly away sans nation (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 RECIPE: Poulet Roti - French Style Le Chant Royal Instalment 3 RECIPE: " Poulet Roti" French Style - Le Chant Royal (Instalment 3) (Note: Rhyme scheme of " Le Chant Royal" where capital " E" stands for refrain, thus - Stanza: ababccddedE, Envoi: ddedE) STANZA II Cut the hot-water supply, make chicken freeze Tear up the electric connections, the telephone Ensure chicken swallows upstairs dust, e'en sneeze Fix the plumbing, flood coop with merde from heaven Funnel exhaust fumes into coop car cabin After fixing the engine - closed doors - unseen And when chicken leaves coop to forage for food Invade the coop, sabotage shower for good So as to keep chicken skin in constant stink See that chicken pays for all damage in blood Give the Alien Crowd free rope's nodding wink! ENVOI Use the migrant lêches culs, the all-willing brood Rejects from anarchic lands up to no good Kitchen-help strut as Mason Chefs in a blink Make their Masters' ev'ry wish come true for good Give the Alien Crowd free rope's nodding wink! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 RECIPE: Poulet Roti French Style - Le Chant Royal - Instalment 2 RECIPE: 'Poulet Roti' French Style - Le Chant Royal (Instalment 2) Stanza I COQ knows best how to pluck the wayward chicken Quill by feather each pock-mark telltales French skill Twisted beck wan crooked claws warts on bruised skin Thus MARIANNE marinates asylum swill Let filter no known friends through the Internet Dog ev'ry step the chicken takes e'en secret Day and night confine the bird to its cramped coop And there make the migrant crowd damn nincompoop Morning day or mid of night drill his ears through Lace marinade with acid sauce Injun soup Let the World know how well chicken basks in stew ENVOI Sol de France franchi! Terre d'Asile! O! What scoop! Trumpet the news! Co-co-ri-co! Got'im in coop! Un-wifed maimed sucker son root for Great Chef crew Asylum-marinade French cuisine's top soup Let the World know how well chicken basks in stew! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 K1087 and K1089 of Canto 109 in the THIRUK-KURAL: Thagainangkuraiththal K1087 and K1089 of Canto 109 of the THIRUK-KURAL: Thagaianangkuraiththal (In the transliterations, the capital vowels stand for the repetition of the same vowel: eg., " A" for " aa" ;) K1087: kadAak kalittrinmEl kadpadAm* mAthar padAa mulaimEl thuthil As veil o'er angry eyes, Of raging elephant that lies, The silken cincture's folds invest this maiden's panting breast. (Transl. G. U. Pope) The cloth that covers the firm bosom of this maiden is (like) that which covers the eyes of a rutting elephant. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) The ornamental frontlet covering the elephant in rut; The maiden's veil of fine cloth covering her breast. (Transl. T. Wignesan) (*kadpadAm = ornamental fillet or frontlet for blindfolding an elephant. *kadAkkaliru = an elephant in rut.) K1089: pinai*Er mada*nOkkum nAn*um udaiyAdku anievanO Ethil thanthu* Like tender fawn's her eye; Clothed on is she with modesty; What added beauty can be lent; By alien ornament? (Transl. G.U. Pope) Of what use are other jewels to her who is adorned with modesty, and the meek looks of a hind? * (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) (*I find this Drew-Lazarus translation most elegant, indeed. T.W.) In tandem with the hind's artlessness/simplicity of mien and innate modesty, what stratagem of extraneous adornment can add to her beauty? (Transl. T. Wignesan) (*pinai = hind; nAn/nAnu = modesty, shame; madam = female simplicity; thanthu = scheme, stratagem, artifice.) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Book Three of the THIRUK-KURAL on Un-Authorised and Authorised LOVE: Canto 109, K109 to 133 Book Three of the THIRUK-KURAL on Un-Authorised (concealed) and Authorised (religion-ordained) LOVE: Cantos 109 THAGAIANANGKURAITHTHAL to 133 (Note: Love between mainly the wedded pair from the standpoint of the fair liana-like " lady" of the pliant bamboo-shoulders, light of tread, fresh as the lotus-shoot of a light-green hue, bedecked in jewels, matched by pearls for teeth, her breath a gentle breeze of jasmine, her doe arched-eyes shooting darts through demure glances - happens to be a kyrielle of complaints - feigned or genuinely felt - in the Romantic vein of the pain of " unrequited love" . There is much - even far too much - of the harping of the wife's adoration of her lover-husband whose absence, even minimal, is experienced as a cataclysmic disaster, much as the " damsel in distress" in dire throes. No where the inadequacy of the male is in evidence: he is the paragon of virility to be adored whole-heartedly for his looks, even if his fidelity is thrown into doubt. The poet doesn't - given the puritanical nature of his society's moeurs - shy away from hinting directly at the joyous fulfilment of the sexual act or union through the repetitious use of the word " embrace" (muyakkam/muyangku) . The damsel or fair lady freely pines away when her Lord and Master distances himself from her doting presence - even in his thoughts - and she's up to all sorts of " tricks" to enhance the renewal of ecstatic " embraces" . She pouts, her sorrow becoming the talk of the town. Likewise the hero also affixes his disappointment by riding the " madal" (meaning a " horse" made of palmyra leafstems on which the forsaken male lover mounts to proclaim his grief) . From time to time, the couplets are specifically addressed to a companion in order to unburden herself of her unbearable longing for the lover, much in the fashion of the Cangam Age (2nd to the 5th C.E.) aham (inner as opposed to external life) poetic conventions where the personae of the poems speak to companions or friends, and the reader merely overhears the expressions of joy or suffering in their conversations. One would do well to remember that these AHAM-PURAM conventions were a highly complex system of codification of symbols relating to the fauna and flora confined to regions in five landscapes, such as, mountains, forests, plains, deserts and coastal beaches, with a whole range of feelings and sentiments associated with each " object" found in a seasonal moment of time as well. These couplets do not reveal any picture of the family or communal life, apart from the fact that she is still slave in her total attachment to her husbandlover. Now and then, she has recourse to ruses and wiles to ensnare the " disinterested" husband, only to enhance the " heat" of the re-union, though. Yet, the resulting picture does not elevate her out of the miasma of servitude to her lover-husband. She appears content in her role, though. One gets the feeling that this third section of the Kural could not have been composed by our poet of high vision, methodically dissecting and analysing larger chunks of life in true philosophic fashion. In it therefore lies further proof of his genius. Let us pause and examine the first couplet of Bk 3 to note, once again, how Thiru-Valluvar goes about constructing his maxims from a linguistic point of view.) T. Wignesan CANTO 109, K1081: anangkukol aaymayil kollO kanangkulai maatharkol maalumen nenchu Goddess? or peafowl rare? She whose ears rich jewels wear, Is she a maid of human kind? All wildered is my mind! (Trans. G.. Pope) Is this jewelled female a celestial, a choice peahen, or a human being? My mind is perplexed. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) SEMANTIC ANALYSIS Canto title: thagaianangkuraiththal thagai = beauty, excellence, appropriate quality; anangku = (see here below) ; uraiththal = (from 'urai' = to speak out/declare) declarations. anangku = goddess/fascination; aaymayil = exquisite peahen (aay = exquisite) ; kanangkulai = woman wearing heavy ear-rings; maathar = a woman; maalum = be bewildered; en = my; nenché/nenchu = mind, heart, conscience; kol…kollO…kol = in an ennumeration of items, these phrasial post-particles mean: whether….or….; Whether a goddess or an exquisite peahen or a woman wearing heavy-studded ear rings, my mind distracted is plunged in confusion. (Transl. T. Wignesan) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 THIRUK-KURAL on Women who know no bounds: Canto 92 Varaivin Makalir K913, K919 and K920 The THIRUK-KURAL on Women who know no bounds: Canto 92 - K913, K919 and K920 (Thiru-Valluvar comes down heavily on women of the « oldest profession in the world » in this Canto 92 consigned within Book Two since the stress laid on the wishes and practices of such women are based on WEALTH, the theme of the section, i.e., PORUDPAAL or ARTHASASTRA. Whilst in other couplets, including those mainly in Book Three: KAMATHTHUPPAAL, he is quite won over by the charms of the fairer sex in their innate innocent behaviour, and responsiveness to male attention, here he demonstrates no compassion for women of easy virtue. What is at stake here is not so much the rigours and dictates of the puritanical society in which he so quite obviously lived (and commented upon) , but the material motivations of profit associated with personal and emotional sentiments underlying interpersonal relations between the sexes. To him, a woman bartering her flesh for money was a despicable creature.) K913: porudpendir poymmai muyakkam irudduaraiyil Ethil pinamthalii iyartru As one in darkened room, some stranger corpse in arms, Is he who seeks delight in mercenary women's charms. (Transl. G.U. Pope) The false embraces of wealth-loving women are like (hired men) embracing a strange corpse in a dark room. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Pecuniary-minded women's embraces resemble those (men experience) while making love to corpses in a dark room. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K919: varaivuilaa aanilaiyaar menthOl puraiilaap pUriyarkal aalum alaru The wanton's tender arm, with gleaming jewels decked, Is hell, where sink degraded souls of men abject. (Transl. G.U. Pope) The delicate shoulders of prostitutes with excellent jewels are a hell into which are plunged the ignorant base. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Limitlessly devoid of excellence, those who fawn over enticing shoulders of women decked in jewels remain mired in vile depths. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K920: irumanap pendirum kallum kavarum Thiru*niikkap paddaar thodarpu Women of double minds, strong drink and dice; to these giv'n o'er, Are those on whom the light of Fortune shines no more. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Treacherous women, liquor, and gambling are the associates of such as have (been) forsaken by Fortune. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Indulging in women given to duplicity, drink and dice will cause men to be devoid of any grace (deserted by the Goddess Lakshmi*) . (*Thiru = prosperity, wealth, fortune, represented by the Goddess of Lakshmi) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 On Praising Ladies on their Qualities in the THIRUK-KURAL: Canto 112, K1114 and K1120 On Praising Ladies on their Qualities in the THIRUK-KURAL: Canto 112, Nalam Punainthu Uraiththal, K1114 and K1120 [Please see 'introduction on the plight of young girls' in the previous post on this Canto 112: K1111 and K1113, and please note that they were (and are still from all accounts though less frequently) given in marriage by parents who pay DOWRY in the form of cash and property to the bridegroom, despite the fact that the law frowns on such practices since Independence.] K1114: kaanin kuvalai kavilnthu nilan nOkkum maanilai kanovvEm enru The lotus*, seeing her, with head demiss, the ground would eye, And say: ' With eyes of her, rich gems who wears, we cannot vie.' (Transl. G.U. Pope) If the blue lotus* could see, it would stoop and look at the ground saying, 'I can never resemble the eyes of this excellent jewelled one.' (Transl Drew & Lazarus) Should the water-lily* be confronted by the resplendent gem-decked maiden, it would droop down, eyes downcast, thinking the comparison futile. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K1120: anichcham* annaththin thuuviyam* maathar adikku neruñchip* palam The flower of the sensitive plant, and the down of the swan's white breast, As the thorn are harsh, by the delicate feet of this maiden pressed. (Transl. G.U. Pope) The anichcham and the feathers of the swan are to the feet of females, like the fruit of the (thorny) Nerunji*. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) (Such the beauteous form of the maiden) that even the anichcham* and the swan's downy fur* are but caltrope thistle* thorns pressed on her feet. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [* Here the use of imagery drawn from nature (flower, bird, plant, fruit) , supposed to be ethereally delicate evoke poetic effusion (to the Tamils of yore) , offset by their relegation to thorns by comparison to the maiden's feet.] T. Wignesan © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Thiru-Valluvar on Praising Ladies of their qualities: Canto 112 - Nalam Punainthu Uraiththal Thiru-Valluvar on Praising the Good Qualiities of Ladies: Canto 112 - Nalam Pinainththu Uraiththal [The poet devotes the third part of his treatise, the Thiruk-Kural to INBATHTHUPPAAL, the amorous relationship between the sexes, i.e., cantos 109 to 133. of which the first seven concerns itself with 'concealed love' (the Gandharva marriage) while the last seventeen has to do with 'wedded life'. Even if the place of the Hindu woman was at home, at the service of the man of the house, the mother's position in the family constellation was the holiest of all. The Tamil poetess, AVVAIYAAR (often linked to Thiru-Valluvar for her catechistic aphorisms) has this well-known dictum on the spiritual inviolability of the 'Mother' in her didactic work, KONRAI VEENTHAN: 'Thaayit siranthu oru koyilum illai' (There is no greater temple than the mother.) When it comes to the fairer sex, Thiru-Valluvar waxes romantically poetic in exquisite verses on love and beauty and pleasurable feelings; yet, on the other hand, he was quite obviously writing at a time when his society entertained no notion of 'women's rights'. The woman was wife and child-bearer, required to be absolutely sub-servient and devoted to her husband - even worshiping him as her only God - while maintaining her position often under dire circumstances as the mainstay of domestic life. In most homes, she was cook, house-cleaner, washerwoman, servant, principal draper, slave to her husband, child-raiser and even the first teacher to her children, and she accomplished all this without setting foot out of the house, un-accompanied. She was the last in the family to bed herself down, and the first to be up before dawn. By the time she reached thirty, she was hard-put to retain her innate charms. Note also that she was forced to wed her husband, chosen by parents, while still in her early teens. Loose women, prostitutes and the unchaste wife were held to be the lowliest and vilest of beings; hence the bearing of sons conferred merit on her. Until the British administration abolished the practice of SUTTEE, widows were still - as late as in the nineteenth century - required to jump into the flaming fires of their husbands' pyres. What's worse, not until 1957, divorce in Hindu marriage was recognized by law: husbands could visit brothels or maintain mistresses, but the wife délaissée simply had to take it all - or nothing - lying down. In a certain incremental number of cases, very young girls, including orphans, were offered/sacrificed to the local temple to serve as 'temple dancers', an euphemism for pedophily on the part of priests and the propertied classes/castes. Polygamy was not unknown to the rich, while the princely WARRIOR-caste (kshastriya) maintained 'harems' at will. Often the latter caste of rajas/princes would wage against one another large sums to see who could 'de-flower' the greatest number of virgins in any given year. No wonder the Muslim invaders found it easy to over-run (and split-up) the sub-continent with their superior fleet-footed cavalry as opposed to the clumsy slow-moving armada of elephants and peasant foot-soldiers with scant military training. It is therefore not surprising that the THIRUK-KURAL re-inforces the inferior social status of the fairer sex, though the dalliances of chaste love-play receive in our poet's eyes all the respect and jouissance the liana-like damsel deserves.] T. Wignesan K1111: nalniirai vaali anichcham* ninninum melniiral yaamviil paval [*anichcham = according to Pope, 'an imaginary (?) flower, the poet's commonplace for anything peculiarly delicate and sensitive'] O flower of the sensitive plant! than thee More tender's the maiden beloved by me. (Transl. G.U. Pope) May you flourish, O Anicham! you have a delicate nature. But my beloved is more delicate than you. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) All Hail! to your exquisite nature, Anichcham! * By comparison infinitely more tender is the one I love! (Transl. T. Wignesan) [* the mythic anichcham flower is supposed to fade once it's smelt. Note the sexual connotations.] K1113: murimeeni muththam muruval verinaatram veelunkan veeyththO lavaddu As tender shoot her frame; teeth pearls; around her odours blend; Darts are the eyes of her whose shoulders like the bambu bend. (Transl. G.U. Pope) The complexion of this bamboo-shouldered one is that of a shoot; her teeth are pearls; her breath, fragrance; and her dyed eyes, lances. (Transl Drew & Lazarus) Slender with pearls for teeth, enveloped in sweet-scented aura, Her eyes lances darting over pliant bamboo shoulders - [‘that's my gal', says the poet! ] (Transl. T. Wignesan) (to be continued) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 RECIPE: Poulet Roti French Style - Instalment One RECIPE: 'Poulet Roti' French Style - Instalment One I If as for so many LIFE solutions Come bottled in prescriptions Like the burning SOUL's hunger for PEACE Through LOVE and FORGIVENESS with ease Then just take mescalin or cocaine Eat grass and flipout on heroin Make pavement music for a dime And sleep fifteen hours per diem The rest on analytical meditation Linked to some fad reincarnation Go sit at feet in fairy Dharamsala Peace Prize awaits at Himalaya Sol de France franchi Terre d'Asile II LIFE's a bit more complicated than that Caretakers and providers less delicate Know much about managing the State To hide their lack of proper mandate FORGIVE the slut who scorns her son Pusher who pounds veins with poison Sly socialist nurse who steals your sleep To compensate cohorts the slut to keep The son's will, broken by Masonic whip Turned patricidal spy in their secret grip Sol de France franchi Terre d'Asile III The sub-plot of Portuguese landlords With Maghrebin tenants rude as toads All out to drive the octogenarian Into the cesspool of bloody oblivion Like playing Black Sabbath Iron Man backwards Imitating Arabo-Hebraic Peace talks inwards While the lêche culs lusitano-ibériques Thrust their crude porc chops histrioniques Sol de France franchi Terre d'Asile (to be continued) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Impartial insights or Intellectual Snobbery in Thiru-Valluvar's THIRUK-KURAL: Canto 84 PEETHAIMAI Impartial insight into Human Nature or intellectual Snobbery in Thiru- Valluvar's THIRU-KURAL: Canto 84 - PEETHAIMAI* [Note: Throughout his oeuvre, there can be found aphorisms which broadly hint at Thiru-Valluvar's intolerance of the less-endowed individual, and none characterises this trait as PEETHAIMAI or 'Folly'. Likewise his somewhat oblique comments ensconced in the descriptions on the status and role of women in Tamil society, not that women enjoyed better rights elsewhere until about the beginning of the twentieth century. (Will elaborate on this subject in Thiru-Valluvar's words in coming posts.) Sample these couplets.] T. Wignesan K833: naanaamai naadaamai naarinmai yaathentrum peethaamai peethai tholil Ashamed of nothing, searching nothing out, of loveless heart, Nought cherishing, 'tis thus the fool will play his part. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Shameless indifference (to what must be sought after) , harshness, and aversion for everything (that ought to be desired) are the qualities of the fool. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Unashamedness, lack of curiosity, callousness, attaching value to nothing - such attitudes characterise the fool. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K839: perithuinithu peethaiyaar keenmai pirivinkan piilai tharuvathuonru il* [Please don't apply this couplet to political events in an international setting. Thanks.] Friendship of fools is [a] very pleasant thing, Parting with them will leave behind no sting. (Transl. G.U. Pope) The friendship between fools is exceedingly delightful (to each other) : for at parting there will be nothing to cause them pain. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) The overwhelming warmth of intimacy among fools hardly afflicts them when from their midst they depart. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K840: kalaaakkaal palliyul vaiththatraal saantrOr kulaaaththup peethai pukal Like him who seeks his couch with unwashed feet, Is fool whose foot intrudes where wise men meet. (Transl. G..U. Pope) The appearance of a fool in an assembly of the learned is like placing (one's) unwashed feet on a bed. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) The act of lying in bed with unwashed feet is tantamount to the presence of fools in the assembly of the learned.* (Transl. T. Wignesan) [*Thiruvalluvar certainly has not seen - it can be said - hot Hollywood bedroom scenes with socks... and shoes to boot.] © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Limerick: No Cossacks charge down Arc de Triomphe Limerick: No Cossacks charge down Arc de Triomphe No Cossacks charge down Arc de Triomphe Champs Elysée hourra! in triumph For World Ruler no less Come to check French prowess World rivets eyes according to Gumph Here the Seine rises not to greet Trump Nor the Eiffel Tower lean in slump Loose tract of Arctic ice Bound for US in vice Great Leader returns to rule vast swamp At last the World will groan all alone At Djibouti PRC horns blown Will Marines take over From Great Landless Leader Thus ends Climate Change Treaty in clone! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 The THIRUK-KURAL on not offending the Great: Canto 90, K899 and K900 THIRUK-KURAL on not offending the Great*: Periyaaraip Pilaiyaamai - Canto 90, K899 and K900 [* The 'Great' here are indifferently the King or other learned and wise people whom the King ought to respect and fear. In this canto, Thiru-Valluvar repeats himself (though elegantly, cf. K899 & K900) - unless it were for the purpose of reinforcing the idea of the weak who dare pit themselves against the strong and powerful - and contrariwise the strong and cruel meet the same fate of ruin if they incurred the wrath of the noble and virtuous-minded. It is evident nothing anti-authoritarian was permitted or conceivable in his time. Yet, reflect on how Lenin outlived the Tsars; Solzhenytsin and Pasternak - Stalin and his successors, just as George Washington - the British Imperial Crown; Vietnam veterans - Nixon; Li Xiaobo - thanks to the Nobel Committee and other campaigners like Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International who would shut an eye to wanton persecution within Western democracies - Xi of the Peoples Republic; the German Jews - Hitler; but NOT the one-man (Sri Lankan) opposition leader Jeyaretnam in Lee Kuan Yew's Singapore.] K899: eenthiya kolkaiyaar siirin idaimurinththu veenthanum veenthu kedum When blazes forth the wrath of men of lofty fame, Kings even fall from high estate and perish in the flame. (Transl. G.U. Pope) If those of exalted vows burst in a rage, even (Indra) the king will suffer a sudden loss and be entirely ruined. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Should the virtuous in lofty positions become angry, even the king (of kings) will fall from high heaven. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K900: iranthuamaintha saarpudaiyar aayinum uyyaar siranththuamaintha siiraar cherin Though all-surpassing wealth of aid the boast, If men in glorious virtue great are wrath, they're lost. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Though in possession of numerous auxiliaries, they will perish who are exposed to the wrath of the noble whose penance is boundless. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) No way the powerful can avoid downfall should they offend and incur the wrath of the noble-minded greats. (Transl. T. Wignesan) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 THIRUK-KURAL on not offending the Great: Canto 90, K895 and K897 THIRUK-KURAL on not offending the Great*: Periyaaraip Pilaiyaamai - Canto 90 K895 and K897 [* The 'Great' here are indifferently the King or other learned and wise people whom the King ought to respect and fear. In this canto, Thiru-Valluvar repeats himself (though elegantly, cf. K897 & K890) - unless it were for the purpose of reinforcing the idea of the weak who dare pit themselves against the strong and powerful - and contrariwise the strong and cruel meet the same fate of ruin if they incurred the wrath of the noble and virtuous-minded. It is evident nothing anti-authoritarian was permitted or conceivable in his time. Yet, reflect on how Lenin outlived the Tsars; Solzhenytsin and Pasternak - Stalin and his successors, just as George Washington - the British Imperial Crown; Vietnam veterans - Nixon; Li Xiaobo - thanks to the Nobel Committee and other campaigners like Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International who would shut an eye to wanton persecution within Western democracies - Xi of the Peoples Republic; the German Jews - Hitler; but NOT the one-man (Sri Lankan) opposition leader Jeyaretnam in Lee Kuan Yew's Singapore.] K895: yaanduchchentru yaandum ularaakaar venthuppin veenthu cherappad davar Who dare the fiery wrath of monarchs dread, Where'ver they flee, are numbered with the dead. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Those who have incurred the wrath of a cruel and mighty potentate will not prosper wherever they may go. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Wherever one may flee, one risks losing one's life if the same person had had offended a mighty king. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K897: vagaimaanda vaalkkaiyum vaanporulum* ennaam thagaimaanda thakkaar cherin [*Tamil has portmanteau constructions such as these to mean: 'great wealth heaped up to heaven'] Though every royal gift, and stores of wealth your life should crown, What are they, if the worthy men of mighty virtue frown? (Transl. G.U. Pope) If a king incurs the wrath of the righteous great, what will become of his government with its splendid auxiliaries and (all) its utold wealth? (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) All manner of life-sustaining powers, including great possessions piled up to heaven, stand to be dissipated if the noble and the virtuous-minded disapprove (of the actions of the king) . (Transl. T. Wignesan) (to be continued with K900] © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Limerick crochetes: Once Tamil Promotion Director Limerick crochetés: Once Tamil Promotion Director Once Tamil Promotion Director Excised wise Japanese co-founder Called him names like rogue thief Set himself up as Chief All Dravidian Tamil Editor He posed as the Royal Ancestor Even of the Chola* Emperor Slave-drove workers in fief Used savants make belief Such the Tamil Highness Publisher He caged talents the Money-Maker Poised as Conference Organiser Preyed on Buddhist belief On Chan and Zen mischief To lard his own family bunker Ideas he plucked from the Other Made as if he put up with bother Tamils to lead as Chief No matter what the grief None see his pen as plagiariser All helpers rough-rode he the Miser Shed them shorn one after the other Damn not this common thief Just his penchant for Chief For Tamil knowledge made he Server [* The Chola dynasty (among other South-Indian reigns) of the 10th to 12th centuries C.E. extended Tamil culture and civilization over the better part of Sri Lanka and Southeast Asia without having recourse primarily to conquests and/or of maintaining colonies.] © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 The THIRUK-KURAL highlights the role of the AMBASSADOR as the King's Messenger-SPY: Canto 69 The THIRUK-KURAL highlights the role of the AMBASSADOR* as the King's Messenger-SPY: THUUTHU, Canto 69 [*THUUTHU in Tamil translates as ENVOY and principally connotes variously as: 'messenger', 'message', 'ambassador', 'embassy' and 'SPY' (little wonder, today, we find parallels in the action taken by President OBAMA to expel 70 Russian diplomats back to Moscow) . In any case, these office-holders in the royal courts of ancient Tamil kingdoms were, according to Thiru-Valluvar, to be selected from the highest class of individuals in the realm - judging by the distiques in CANTO 69. These representatives had to be of the noblest stock, highly educated, of presentable bearing, courteous, totally loyal to the sovereign, gifted in the art of expressing themselves in foreign courts, never given to wrathfu speech, learned and cultured. In other words, these individuals were compelled to make their Lords, the Kings, look like paragons in the eyes of the world since they represented the royal person by divine riight.]T. Wignesan K684: arivuuru* aaraaintha kalviyim moontrum cherivudaiyaan chelka vinaikku *'uru' = form; 'uruvu' = form, shape, beauty, mien; 'cheri' = be close, near; 'cherivu' = modest, nearness, reserve] Sense, goodly grace, and knowledge exquisite, Who hath these three for envoy's task is fit. (Transl. G.U. Pope) He may go on a mission (to foreign rulers) who has combined in him all these three, viz., (natural) sense, an attractive bearing and well-tried learning. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Learning, refinement, a disposition for deep reflection - these three acquisitions equip the man of reserve for mission in other lands. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K688: thuuymai* thunaimai thunivudaimai immoontran vaaymai* valiyuraippaan panpu* [* 'thuuymai' = purity; 'vaaymai' = truth; 'panpu' = good quality, excellence, courtesy] Integrity, resources, soul determined, truthfulness. Who rightly speaks his message must these marks possess. (Transl. G.U. Pope) The qualification of him who faithfully delivers his (sovereign's) message are purity, the support (of foreign ministers) , and boldness, with truthfulness in addition to the (aforesaid) three. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Integrity, reliability (even with foreign assistance) , fearlessness - these three qualities, together with honesty, make up the personality of the ambassador. (Transl. T. Wignesan) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 THIRU-VALLUVAR discourses on the duties of the King's Ministers: AMAICHCHU - K637 and K639 THIRU-VALLUVAR discourses on the duties of the King's Ministers* in the THIRUKKURAL: AMAICCHU - K637 and K639 [* In presentday context, read as Minister(s) of State, Secretary of State, Special Counselors in the government, etc.] K637: seyatkai arinththak kadaiththum ulakaththu iyatkai arinthu seyal Though knowing all that books can teach, 'tis truest fact To follow common sense of men in act. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Though you are acquainted with the (theoretical) methods (of performing an act) , understand the ways of the world and act accordingly. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Even if the minister knows how best to execute any official act or duty, he should first take into account the habitual ways of dealing with the issues at stake [and act accordingly.] (Transl. T. Wignesan) K639: paluthuennum manthiriyin pakkaththul thevvOr* elupathu kOdi* urum [* 'thevvOr' = enemies (from thevvu = hatred) ; kOdi = 10 million] A minister who by king's side plots evil things Worse woes than countless foemen brings. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Far better are seventy crores* of enemies (for a king) than a minister at his side who intends (him) ruin. (Transl. Dreaw & Lazarus) To have at his side a minister who plots his downfall, he (the king) may as well suffer the siege of seventy crores* of enemies. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [* crore = 100,000 (iladcham/ilakkam) x 100 = 10 million; 70 crores = 700 million] © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 THIRUVALLUVAR discourses on the duties of the King's Ministers: AMAICHCHU - K633 and K635 THIRU-VALLUVAR discourses on the duties of the King's Ministers* in the THIRUKKURAL: AMAICCHU - K633 and K635 [* In presentday context, read as Minister(s) of State, Secretary of State, Special Counselors in the government, etc.] K633: piriththalum peenik* kolallum pirinththaarp poruththalum vallathu amaichchu [* peeni = to cherish; *amaichchu (manthiri) = minister of state] A minister is he whose power can foes divide, Attack more firmly friends, of severed ones can heal the breaches wide. (Transl. G.U. Pope) The minister is one who can effect discord (among foes) , maintain the good-will of his friends and restore to friendship those who have seceded (from him) . (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) To set asunder foes and (yet) to cherish (them) , to bring together (again) those gone astray are (among the) duties of the minister. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K635: aranarinththu aantruamainththa* chollaanenj ñaantrum thiranarinththaan theerththich* thunai [*aantruamainththa = full, perfect, complete; theerththich = accurate knowledge] The man who virtue knows, has use of wise and pleasant words, With plans for every season apt, in counsel aid affords. (Transl. G.U. Pope) He is the best helper (of the king) who understanding the duties, of the latter, is by his special learning, able to tender the fullest advice, and at all times conversant with the best method (of performing actions) . (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) He who deviates not from virtuous conduct and is always eloquently able at imparting apt advice, employing means informed by accurate knowledge, serves as a staunch pillar holding up the realm. (Transl. T. Wignesan) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: I woke up in the middle of the morning dream Villanelle: I woke up in the middle of the morning dream 'Happy Birthday' Amerika! I woke up in the middle of the morning dream Found my family sucked under plastic carpet slime Too late to draw the shutters or let out a scream My father in his rocking chair choked in pipe-dream My children all out on the lawn playing at crime I woke up in the middle of the morning dream My mother in the kitchen plastered full of cream The baby in the cradle cage covered in slime Too late to draw the shutters or let out a scream I plucked the iPhone floating past broken pipes steam To call my Senator through unplugged bathtub grime I woke up in the middle of the morning dream Two eels came slithering out of the wall's cracked beam And the basement coughed up miles and miles of rude rhyme Too late to draw the shutters or let out a scream I saw my country sinking under stale ice-cream And the President on breaking news making mime I woke up in the middle of the morning dream Too late to draw the shutters or let out a scream © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Further qualities of the King the THIRUK-KURAL lauds: IRAMAADCHI - Canto 39, K381 and K382 Further qualities of the King* the THIRUK-KURAL lauds: IRAMAADTCHI - Canto 39, K381 and K382 [*modern-day 'kings': presidents, prime and chief ministers, governors, dictators and the like; K381 & K382 have already been posted.] K383: thuungkaamai kalvi thunivudaimai immuuntrum niingkaa nilanaal pavarkku A sleepless promptitude, knowledge, decision strong: These three for aye [sic] to rulers of the land belong. (Transl. G.U. Pope) These three things, viz., vigilance, learning, and bravery, should never be wanting in the ruler of the country. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Not being lulled to sleep, always acquiring knowledge and fearlessly assuming the lead - these three qualities crown the king of a country. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K384: aranilukkaathu allavai* niikki maran*ilukkaa maanam* udaiyathu arasu [* 'allavai' = sins, evils, unreal things; 'maran' = bravery; 'maanam' = honour] Kingship, in virtue failing not, all vice restrains, In courage failing not, it honour's grace maintains. (Transl. G.U. Pope) He is a king who, with manly modesty, swerves not from virtue, and refrains from vice. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Always virtuous, eschewing evil, heroic in deed and honour-bound - of such mettle the sovereign should be.* (Transl. T. Wignesan) [* Which leader in our world embodies the dictates (and constraints) in this maxim? One often goes to war for seemingly righteous causes, sacrificing footsoldier lives in order to fill some 'cartel's' private coffers; or one might endeavour to boost the growth rate by half a dozen % points only to draw the polar ice-caps down on our children's heads and throats; one might build the finest sky-scrapers of the future megalopolises on the slave-wages of indentured immigrant labour only to deprive them of human rights in the name of the Supreme Creator; one might nonchalantly let city-centres choke in the fumes of carbon monoxide and let human excreta pile up on the roadsides in the name of cultural and spiritual enhancement through the pomp of rallies and manifestations on a grand scale and for what? - to keep the soul purified? - while the 'kings' of spiritual development rely still on the divine right to rule the poor bugger down below, conditioned by words from the cradle! ] T. Wignesan, June 29,2017 © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Further observations in the THIRUK-KURAL on those who would be King: K389 and K390 WITHOUT COMMENT Further observations in the THIRUK-KURAL on those* who would be King: K389 and K390 WITHOUT COMMENT [* such as short-term presidents, chief and prime ministers, governors, dictators and the like] K389: chevikaippach chotporukkum panpudai veenthan kavikaikkiilth thangkum ulakam [chevi = ear; kaippu = bitterness; kavikai = umbrella] The king of worth, who can words bitter to his ear endure, Beneath the shadow of his power the world abides secure. (Transl. G.U. Pope) The whole world will dwell under the umbrella of the king, who can bear words that embitter the ear. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) When scathing words assail to no avail the ear of a nobly forbearing sovereign, the world will find refuge under his panoply. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [Note: NO COMMENT] K390: kodaiali chengkOl kudiOmbal naankum udaiyaanaam veentharkku oli Gifts, grace, right sceptre, care of people's weal; These four a light of dreaded kings reveal. (Transl. G.U. Pope) He is the light of kings who has these four things, beneficence, benevolence, rectitude, and care for his people. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Liberal giving, kindness, just rule, protection of subjects -- the king who enshrines these attributes, yes, shines forth a (celestial) luminary. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [Note: NO COMMENT] © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Acute advice to those who would be King from the THIRUKKURAL: Valiarithal K475 Acute advice for those* who would be King from the THIRUK-KURAL: Valiarithal - K475 [*like presidents, prime and chief ministers, dictators or even modern-day 'emperors' under the guise of revolutionary leaders of oppressed peoples] Note: In this the 48th Canto, Valluvar is back - from the purely literary point of view, given his ultimate reasons for maintaining the decadal format for each topic - to composing epigrams some of which merely serve to 'fill in' and complete (as I have repeatedly reminded the reader) the decade. Here, the first two distiques are of a general introductory nature; the next two, the key statements contain his pronouncements on the theme of 'how to wield power' in politics; the following two re-capture in imagic form the teaching in the previous couple, and the last four - no less literary gems in prosodic exercises - mere repetitious variations of the main premise enunciated in 473 and 474.] T. Wignesan K475: piilipey saakaadum acchuirum appandam saala mikuthup peyin With peacock feather light, you load the wain; Yet, heaped too high, the axle snaps in twain. (Transl. G.U. Pope) The axle tree of a bandy, loaded only with peacocks' feathers will break, if it be greatly overloaded. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Load to an inordinate degree even peacock feathers onto a wagon and the axle will snap. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [ANALYSIS: 'piili' = peacock's feathers; 'pey' = drop (as rain) , pour in, place, assemble; 'achchu' = axle; 'saakaadu' = a wagon; 'iru' = break/'irum' = will break; 'pandam' = material, goods; 'saala' = to be full, abundantly; 'mikuththup peyin' = should it be overloaded. The likelihood of a metallic axle (unless the author specifically wishes to denote a wagon of some non-metallic material) giving way under the weight of peacock feathers conjures up such a far-fetched image that, it is evident, Thiru-Valluvar was trying to draw attention to the over-weaning sense of selfconceit in a certain type of individual leader (the subject of treatment in this chapter) who would like the peacock strut around, feathers splayed out in full array, proud of the the spectacle he was promoting, rather than hint at the vehicle coming to a standstill. Here, the dazzling beauty of dark-blue and green 'eyes' (like king cobras swaying for the kill, their hoods spreadout) of the fanned-out feathers, all in an effort to win the favours of the peahen, accompanied by the nuptial dance's uppity movements, contrasts with the lifelessness and cold hardness of the carriage - the latter serving to eke out the metaphor as a warning to the king who does not perceive the ruin at the door of his reign should he devote himself to the 'frivolities' of egoinflation rather than hark to the duties of the monarch which are to protect, preserve and pander to the needs of the peoples under his charge, at large. Participating in sword dances with Saudi dervishes might or can involuntarily slay the nonchalant dancer or his co-revelers! Studded gold-chains notwithstanding nor charms and amulets of scented Arabian Nights! ] © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Appropriate advice to those who would be King from the THIRUKKURAL: VALIARITHAL, K473 and K474 appropriate advice from the THIRUK-KURAL to those* who would be King: VALIARITHAL - Understanding the Wielding of Power, K473 and K474 [*like presidents, prime and chief ministers, dictators or even modern-day 'emperors' under the guise of revolutionary leaders of oppressed peoples] Note: In this the 48th Canto, Valluvar is back - from the purely literary point of view, given his ultimate reasons for maintaining the decadal format for each topic - to composing epigrams some of which merely serve to 'fill in', as I have repeatedly reminded the reader, the decade. Here, the first two distiques are of a general introductory nature; the next two, the key statements contain his pronouncements on the theme of 'how to wield power' in politics; the following two re-capture in imagic form the teaching in the previous couple, and the last four - no less literary gems in prosodic exercises - mere repetitious variations of the main premise enunciated in 473 and 474.] T. Wignesan K473: *udaiththam valiariyaar uukkaththin uukki *idaikkan murinththaar palar Ill-deeming of their proper powers, have many monarchs striven, And mid-most of unequal conflict fallen asunder riven. (Transl. G.U. Pope) There are many who, ignorant of their (want of) power (to meet it) , have haughtily set out to war, and broken down in the midst of it. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Those who ill-assessing their own might push on heedless in strife will topple - as many have - from the pinnacle. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [*udaiththamvali = 1. 'udai' strengthens 'tham' (own) ; 2. having prevailing power; 3. power which will be broken (weak, fragile) . *'idaikkanmuri' = fall from high estate] K474: amainththaangku olukaan alavuariyaan thannai viyanththaan virainthu kedum Who not agrees with those around, no moderation knows, In self-applause indulging, swift to ruin goes. (Transl. G.U. Pope) He will quickly perish who, ignorant of his own resources flatters himself of his greatness, and does not live in peace with his neighbours. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) He* whose conduct is in discord with that of his fellows checks not himself, but indulges in self-praise, invites swift doom. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [*The only misplaced 'self-praise' one can level against President OBAMA is when he maintained after the last presidential count that, had he had a third term to run for, he would have won the Oval Office again, and this to single out Hilary Clinton's dismal defeat in spite of all that he had done to back her, y compris et malgré the debacle of the Russian electoral interference. Otherwise nothing justifies the short-sighted 'wielding of power' to undo all the good that he had introduced and put in place with modesty, consideration, generosity and dignity.] (to be continued) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 More appropriate advice from the THIRUK-KURAL for those who would be King More appropriate advice from the THIRUK-KURAL to those* who would be King: VALIARITHAL - Understanding the Wielding of Power [*like presidents, prime and chief ministers, dictators or even modern-day 'emperors' under the guise of revolutionary leaders of oppressed peoples] Note: In this the 48th Canto, Valluvar is back - from the purely literary point of view, given his ultimate reasons for maintaining the decadal format for each topic - to composing his epigrams some of which merely serve to 'fill in', as I have repeatedly reminded the reader, the decade. Here, the first two distiques are of a general introductory nature; the next two, the key statements contain his pronouncements on the theme of 'how to wield power' in politics; the following two re-capture in imagic form the teaching in the previous couple, and the last four - no less literary gems in prosodic exercises - mere repetitious variations of the main premise enunciated in 473 and 474.] T. Wignesan K471: vinaivaliyum thanvaliyum maatraan valiyum thunaivaliyum thuukkich cheyal The force the strife demands, the force he owns, the force of foes, The force of friends: these should he weigh ere to the war he goes. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Let (one) weigh well the strength of the deed (he purposes to do) , his own strength, the strength of his enemy, and the strength of the allies (of both) , and then let him act. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) In all belligerent activity* consider well one's own strength, the might of the enemy, and those of helpers on either side before setting forth. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [*vinai has four senses: 1. action in general; 2. retributive action; 3. warlike operations: and 4. hostility.] K472: olvathu arivathu arinthathan kanthanggich chelvaarkkuch chellaathathu il Who know what can be wrought, with knowledge of the means, on this, Their mind firm set, go forth, nought goes with them amiss. (Transl. G.U. Pope) There is nothing which may not be accomplished by those who, before they attack (an enemy) , make themselves acquainted with their own ability, and with whatever else is (needful) to be known, and apply themselves wholly to their object. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) If one knows what is possible*, without letting any unknown aspect or facet to cloud his mind, then no failure will await him in his undertaking. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [* olvathu = what is possible] (to be continued) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 On men of high birth or station, the THIRUK-KURAL admonishes On men* of high birth or station, the THIRUK-KURAL admonishes [*on modern-day Kings, Emperors, Dictators and the like leading nations declining as powers through faults of their own ] K963: perukkaththu veendum panithal siriya surukkaththu veendum uyaavu Bow down thy soul, with increase blest, in happy hour; Lift up thy heart, when stript of all by fortune's power. (Transl. G.U.Pope) In great prosperity humility is becoming; dignity, in great adversity. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) - When life bestows upon you fortune, be humble; when life by-passes you, maintain still your dignity.* (Transl. T. Wignesan) [* boast not of your fertile 'imagination' nor of your vaunted 'original idea' for ideas are - as you know - dime a dozen, Mr. President, for most even at that rate can get to be richer than you if they were not blocked by the likes of you]- K964: thalaiyin ilinththa mayir anaiyaa maanthar nilaiyin ilinththak kadai Like hairs from off the head that fall to earth, When fall'n from high estate are men of noble birth. (Transl. G.U. Pope) They who have fallen from their (high) position are like the hair which has fallen from the head. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Just as strands from the scalp wilt, so do those from exalted positions fall to the lowliest depths. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K969: mayirniippin vaalaak kavarimaa annaar uyirniippar maanam varin Like the wild ox that, of its tuft bereft, will pine away, Are those who, of their honour shorn, will quit the light of day. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Those who give up (their) life when (their) honour is at stake are like the yark [sic] which kills itself at the loss of (even one of) its hairs. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Much as the kavarimaan* would lay its life down for good should one strand of its hair be shed, so should the high-minded whose honour is called into question. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [* kavarimaan: a mythic animal in literature] © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Further relevant observations on Kingship from the THIRUKKURAL Further relevant observations on Kingship* picked at random from the THIRUKKURAL [* generic term for heads of state, dictators and the like] K738: piniyinmai chelvam vilaivuinbam eemam anienba naadditkuiv ainthum A country's jewels are these five: unfailing health, Fertility, and joy, a sure defence, and wealth. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Freedom from epidemics, wealth, produce, happiness and protection (to subjects) ; these five, the learned, say, are the ornaments of a kingdom. (Transl. Drew& Lazarus) Free of pandemics, (reserves of) wealth (ensured) , crops (galore) , (the populace) enjoying life and (the topographical layout of the land conducive to) defence of the territory - these constitute the five ornaments of the land. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K740: aangguamaivu eithiyak kannum payaminree veenthuamai villaatha naadu Though blest with all these varied gifts' increase, A land gains nought that is not with its king at peace. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Although in possession of all the above mentioned excellences, these are indeed of no use to a country, in the absence of harmony between the sovereign and the subjects. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) All the above endowments [and much more in eight other couplets in the chapter] are of scant advantage if the king enjoys not the trust and loyalty of his subjects.* (Transl. T. Wignesan) *Despite what fluctuating polls may say. © T.Wignesan - Paris,2017 Additional advice to those would be King from the THIRUKKURAL with Commentary Additional free advice to those* who would be King from the THIRUK-KURAL with Commentary [*like presidents, prime ministers, dictators of declining (falling or fallen) nations or even empires] K442: urranOy niikki uraa amai munkaakkum petriyaarp peenik kolal Cherish the all-accomplished men as friends, Whose skill the present ill removes, from coming ills defends. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Let (a king) procure and kindly care for men who can overcome difficulties when they occur, and guard against them before they happen. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Pope here makes a comment on Beschi's latin rendering of the maxim which we cannot attribute to him, for he adds the words: 'See Pancatantra': 'Evils come from gods [read this word here as'Nature' - my interpolation] (malaiinmai/droughts, mikumalai/excessive rains, kaartru/winds, thii/fire, pini/disease) ; or from men (pakaivar/enemies, kalvar/thieves, chuttraththaar/kindred, tholilseyvoor/servants) . To remove the former, atonements (saanthigal) must be used. For the latter, the four methods (saamapeethathaanathandangkal) of pacification, disruption, gift, and punishment must be used.' Commentary: Atonements? Can a whole nation, where collective responsibility is the case, atone for its misdeeds? For instance, for Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Hardly likely. Most unlikely, so let Nature wreak its ravages: let loose typhoons, hurricanes, tsunamis and the like, taking into consideration President Trump's refusal to commit the USA to climate change rescue in Paris. As for the latter where individuals or groups of individuals are the perpetrators, THIRU-VALLUVAR's advice can make much sense even in our hotchpotch day and splintered age. Let's take just one aspect of the issues at stake: IMMIGRATION and resort to just one form of remedy: PUNISHMENT. First, massive immigration destabilizes society at large, engenders wherever sizeable minorities gather and take root, differences of opinion, ways and aims of life which produce conflictual situations that do not contribute to harmonious relations, on the one hand, among the diverse immigrant populations, and on the other, with the host communities whether or not their inter-personal perceptions, faiths, attitudes, customs, sense of respect for one anothers' practice of conventions, and ingrained methods of abiding or not by the laws of the country of reception differ or are even partially similar. The illegal immigrant is by necessity and definition a 'criminal' who has little to lose but his soul. He is an interloper in a society where - according to all previous aspirations - his hoped-for higher economic condition must be made to prevail over all others who pose by necessity a threat to his safety. In such a conflictual situation the battle is waged first and foremost against his rival - the other immigrant serving another 'god'. And here, the battle is a freefor- all where the villain is whoever who can take, pluck, steal, dupe, con, batter and even kill. The host merely shuts a conniving eye. When the immigrant populations achieve their aims, and rise above their initial menial circumstances, then they turn on their hosts, passports and citizenship papers in hand, that is, when they feel comfortable enough to sleep with the host's spouses and sire future presidents with the host's daughters; so what's the solution? SIMPLE. CLOSE ALL BORDERS. SEAL ALL ENTRANCES! 1. Instead of the WALL, construct a high-powered ELECTRIC CORRIDOR; if need be, even in the north. Patrol the shores: this is done normally anyway. (Demonstrate what would happen on tv to those who would want to 'scale' the corridor: 'Poulet roti' à la française* could serve as a good convincing example.) 2. Impose heavy fines on those who fly, railroad or ship illegal immigrants as a first offence. Especially on foreign airlines and travel agencies. 3. Second offenders must be crippled with payments they cannot afford. 4. Thereafter, prison sentences must be handed out without fail. 5. Next, deportation must be resorted to wherever and whenver possible, if it does not inhumanely split up families - children from parents. 6. All guilty of illegal entry must be made to pay off their 'crime' by working on farms and 'outsourcing' installations in a COLONY to be created within the States, under supervision by the authorities. This is not a PRISON, and if anyone chooses to leave* the 'premises', he or she should be invited to work for his or her passage to wherever the person came from, in the first place. 7. Jordon and Turkey have absorbed masses of Syrian refugees. Why can't oilrich nations: Saudi Arabia and the Gulf States be persuaded to lay out the red carpet to their brethren? Likewise with other rich Afro- Asian nations with others who flee their own tortuous shores? * Just to give you an idea of how the Socialist French (who will be ousted in tomorrow's confirmation general elections) grill their chicken, sample this: In 1983 and 1984, I appealed to the Socialist President François MITTERAND for a 'sauf conduit' (safe conduct pass) for me and my handicapped son out of the country. On the second appeal, I received an invitation from the president's Human Rights Counsellor, Mme Cécile SPORTIS to the Elysée Palace (read as the 'White House') . After listening to me for over an hour, she asked for the proof which I provided in a dossier surpassing some 500 pages of documents and letters, etc. Appalled, she promised to shake heaven and earth to set things right. She asked me to call back 'in a month'. I did. Her secretary said that there was no trace of my file, except for a letter to a lawyer Me Jean-Jacques de Félice. I wanted to know the decision of the President. She said there was none. André Fontaine, then the Chief Editor of the Le Monde paper called to check with the president. His reply was that, as I was not a 'diplomat', he could not issue me a 'sauf conduit' out of the country. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 More advice for those who would be King from the THIRUKKURAL with Notes More free advice to those* who would be King from the THIRUK-KURAL with notes [*like presidents, prime ministers, dictators of declining (falling or fallen) nations] K386: kaadchikku eliyan kaduñchollan allanaal miikkuurum mannan nilam Where king is easy of access, where no harsh word repels, That land's high praises every subject swells. (Transl. G.U. Pope) The whole world will exalt the country of the king who is easy of access, and whose words are without harshness. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Where at royal audience all may attend a king gentle of voice and mien*, That kingdom's praises all will sing. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [* recourse to threats and reprisals can only undermine the good name of the land] K429: viyavatka eññaantrum thannai nayavatka nantri payavaa vinai Never indulge in self-complaisant mood, Nor deed desire that yields no gain of good. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Let not a king praise himself, at any time; let him not desire to do useless things. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) (The king) should neither blow his own horn Nor occupy himself with acts* that bring in no corn. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [* like building a porous wall on borrowed cash while tens of millions of the poor sick die in pain, EVEN IF AMERICA will wake up some day to realize that he was after all right about the measures he's wanting to take over IMMIGRATION, unless everybody wants the kind of irreversible situation FRANCE and GERMANY are going through.] K454: manaththu ulathupOlak kaadti oruvat inaththula thaakum arivu Man's wisdom seems the offspring of his mind; 'Tis outcome of companionship we find. (Tranls. G.U. Pope) The knowledge of a man, while it appears to be from his mind is (really) from his associates. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) [(The king) who makes as if his words (and ideas) * emanate from within himself, (the contrary being the case) will find it difficult to conceal their true source(s) . (Transl T. Wignesan) ] [* A king who has difficulty expressing himself in the 'King's English' and whose repertoire of epithets is mostly limited to: 'terrific', 'terrible', 'horrible', 'horrific', 'wonderful', 'tremendous' along with threatening phrases like 'watch my words' would do well to ask the ghost-writers to step forward and take a bow.] © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Limerick crochetes: Once a blaring braying bold trumpet Limerick crochetés: Once a blaring braying bold trumpet for Nicanor PARRA Once a blaring braying bold trumpet Used to serenading mere strumpet Could not hold back loud fart While entertaining tart Now the tart on his fart took a bet That she'd hold back twittering trumpet If his strumpet balls bowl in cricket So great fanfare to start Nations came to hear fart Trumpet let down strumpet: tart lost bet (can be continued…) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Free advice to those who would be King from the THIRUK-KURAL with Notes Free advice to those* who would be King from the THIRUK-KURAL with notes [*like presidents and prime ministers of declining (falling or fallen) nations] K381: padaikudi kuulamaiccu nadpuaran aarum yudaiyaan arasarul eeru An army, people, wealth, a minister, friends, fort: Who owns them all, a lion lives amid the kings. (Transl. G.U.Pope) [army= the most formidable air, sea and land forces; wealth= minus the eighteen (?) trillion debt and not counting his own well-earned piddling billions; a minister=read as Prime Minister (V.P. or Sec. of State?) ; people=less by three million-odd democratic votes; friends=dwindling, save for staunch Israel by marriage; fort=impenetrable nuclear shield. ] K448: idippaarai illaatha eemaraa mannan keduppaar ilaanum kedum The king, who is without the guard of men who can rebuke him, will perish, even though there be no one to destroy him. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) K444: thammit periyaar thamaraa olukuthal vanmaiyul ellaam thalai So to act as to make those men, his own, who are greater than himself, is of all power the highest. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) K447: idikkum thunaiyarai aalvaarai yaaree kedukkum thakaimai yavar Which king who (encourages and) heeds the criticisms* of his henchmen fears conspirators? (Transl. T. Wignesan) [*not-heeding the advice of Ivanka and son-in-law on climate change commitment in Paris, even if the polls show a majority in favour of polluting the planet.] K448: iduppaarai illaatha eemaraa mannan keduppaar ilaanum kedum The king who insulates himself from his helpers'* critiques will perish even if his enemies left him alone. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [*the role of the media in keeping the WH incumbents in check, for without the journalists working over-time to whet and wet-blanket the language and blunders, the King would have perished by now.] K450: pallaar pakaikollin paththaduttha thiimaiththee nallaar thodarkai vidal Having to put up with the enmity of legions* is ten times less harmful than forsaking the support of good (impartial) people*. [*legions= Hillary Clinton and the NDP; *good (impartial) people= like FBI Dir. Comey for one, even if he has an eye (twenty-twenty vision) on the presidency in 2020] © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 K169 and K170 of CANTO XVII of the THIRUK-KURAL with Translations and Commentary K169 and K170 of CANTO XVII of the THIRUK-KURAL with Translations and Commentary [If one could put together all that has been said, written and published on the Thiruk-Kural and on its progenitor Thiru-Valluvar, it could easily, I'd wager, exceed the volumes of the heftiest encyclopaedias, and yet one gets the feeling nothing really new, enlightening or elucidating appears to be added to our knowledge of the subject every time a new book of translation or criticism or academic research surfaces. Recently, I was asked to edit the papers in English contributed to yet another major conference on the book in India, and I must admit some few showed remarkable ability in their scholarship, but the callousness and avidity - and even downright trickery - of the organiser I was in touch with make me wonder if there can be any virtue in getting together savants in the language for yet another effort to propagate the greatness of the author when the wisdom couched in the maxims is quite evidently overlooked. Each contributor - as well as the organizing body - appears to be imbued with the idea of being elevated high above their humdrum or lofty status merely by pronouncing on some aspect of pet notions on either the book or its author or both. The real worth of the book's aims seems to be ignored. Or else it is nonchalantly taken for granted. I couldn't help detecting the role of vanity and self-arrogation to a rather high degree in a certain number of those concerned. But then, even 'great minds' over the ages kept making statements on the book which seem to shed 'greater light' on their own egos and on their own level of sagacity than on the specificity of Thiru-Valluvar's expositions on the motivations, say, of human behaviour at large, such as, the observations by the author on the topic of this chapter. Everybody seems to take for granted the unchanging nature of the polity as delineated by Thiru-Valluvar in Book Two on 'Wealth' (Artha/Porudpaal) , and the dalliances of flirtatious feelings and emotions in the questionable invariability of mores in Book Three on 'Love' (Kama or Inbam) par rapport of succeeding ages. Even the inviolable tenets and principles of Book One on 'Virtue' have over the ages undergone much wear and tear to make them less than wholly viable these days, so much so that the book cries out for re-evaluation, though the only constant factor in Thiruk-Kural studies is the personality of the author, himself. No one can, even if they wanted to, dispute his literary genius. As an admiring student of the book, myself (I certainly am no expert in the language of the Kural nor of Tamil literature at large) , I have put myself to some pains through study of the works of experts in the field to demonstrate the complexity and archi-difficulty in composing the Thiruk-Kural and this in several sites devoted to poetry on the Internet. As such, I do hope the leaders of the Tamil intelligentsia and their political backers would not parade their emotions in conference after conference for the sake of the so-called greater glory of Tamil populations all over the world, but would rather deploy their efforts in the strict exegesis of the text itself. Much work needs to be undertaken in this regard in times to come, and it will serve to fence in and circumvent organisers of conferences who are determined petty peddlars of their own image and glory. And it might also turn out that the book's true value may lie elsewhere than in the predictable consequences of posturing academic practices.] T. Wignesan, June 6,2017 K169: avviya neñcatthaan aakkamum cevviyaan keedum ninaikkap padum To men of envious heart, when comes increase of joy, Or loss to blameless men, the 'why' will thoughtful hearts employ. (Transl. G.U. Pope) The wealth of a man of envious mind and the poverty of an upright man will be pondered. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) The envious-minded person's wealth and the sorry plight of those who know no envy - just think on this! (Transl. T. Wignesan) K170: alukkartru akanraalum illai ahthillaar perukkatthil thiirtthaarum il No envious men to large and full felicity attain; No men from envy free have failed a sure increase to gain. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Never have the envious become great, never have those who are free from envy been without greatness. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) No envious person has attained to greatness, nor have those who envy not fallen from grace. (Transl. T. Wignesan) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 K167 and K168 of CANTO XVII of the THIRUK-KURAL with Translations and Commentary K167 and K168 of CANTO XVII of the THIRUK-KURAL with Translations and Commentary [Here, again, in these two couplets Thiru-Valluvar is having the time of his life making his followers dread the consequences of what he certainly considers the worst of all sins: ENVY. He has therefore recourse to Hindu mythological allusions: in K167, the Goddess Lakshmi (by the way, Hindu imagination has - according to all reports - concocted some 300 million gods: I wonder who convened them all to take a head count, for he certainly must have passed away before the job was completed!) who is the Goddess of Good Fortune, and her elder sister Jyeshtha who destroys the good fortune of enemies taking the form of a She-Devil, both paps and belly hanging low. In K168, we are threatened with hell, itself, in the next life.] T. Wignesan, June 5,2017 avvitthu alukkaaru udaiyaanaic ceyyaval thavvaiyyaik kaadti vidum From envious men good fortune's goddess turns away, Grudging him good, and points him out misfortune's prey. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Lakshmi envying the prosperity of the envious man wil depart and introduce her sister to him. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Unable to tolerate those possessed of/by envy, the Goddess Lakshmi will keep her distance from them by letting Jyeshtha get closer to them. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [Note the use of adequate symbolism here: Lakshmi = Heaven; Jyeshtha = Hell.] K168: alukkaaru ena oru paavi thiruccertruth thiiuli uytthu vidum Envy, embodied ill, incomparable bane, Good fortune slays, and soul consigns to fiery pain. (Transl. G.U. Pope) The sinner's envy will destroy (a man's) wealth (in this world) and drive him into the pit of fire (in the next world) . (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) The envious person being an incomparable sinner will see his wealth dispersed and his life thereafter wither in Hell's furnaces. (Transl. T. Wignesan) [ The contrary also could very well be the case. I do not think Thiru-Valluvar actually believed this to be true, but, knowing how his fellowmen suffer most of all from this malady, he was probably trying his best to dissuade them from wasting their time playing their most favourite of all their games. In any case, if he were here today, he would be hard put to prove the truth of this maxim of his. I'm convinced in his heart of hearts, he gave himself no end of fun composing a good many of his couplets.] T. Wignesan, June 5,2017. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 K165 and K166 of CANTO XVII of the THIRUK-KURAL with Translations and Commentary 165 and K166 of CANTO XVII of the THIRUK-KURAL with Translations and Commentary (continued) (Commentary: The more I delve into Thiru-Valluvar's work, the more I'm convinced that it's not in each and every couplet that the poet's inestimable worth is ingrained; rather the self-imposed 'decade' for each topic appears to be an exercise in flexing his mental poetic muscles. For instance, take K166 - see here below - the author wants us to believe that the envious person will lose his kith and kin, his clothing and food supply. The question is, do those who conserve all the above: relatives, clothing and food, are they - all things being equal - NOT envious. I would not be wrong in thinking that most people enjoy the favours of their relatives, are pretty well clothed {at the risk of being arrested on the charge of indecency}, and survive through imbibing some sort of victuals. Are all these people then NOT enviousminded? I have a feeling Thiruvalluvar is just trying to drive terror into the hearts of those who may be inclined towards being envious. If, on the contrary, he is right, then it would follow that the vast majority of the humankind is not plagued with envy, and so we may all skip this chapter in the book, for it would become redundant. And then again, he may merely be indulging in 'filling in' the decade for some other purpose, and I think I can explain why. Not now though. I leave you to contemplate on the following distique of his: uduppathuum unnpathuum kaanin pirarmeel vadukkaana varraakum kiil The base will bring an evil (accusation) against others, as soon as he sees them (enjoying) good food and clothing (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) ] T. Wignesan, June 4,2017. K165: alukkaaru udaiyaarkku athusaalum onnaar valukkiyum keediin pathu Envy they have within! Enough to seal their fate? Though foemen fail, envy can ruin consummate. (Transl. G.U. Pope) To those who cherish envy that is enough. Though enemies fail (in their attempts) , that will bring destruction. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Those riven by envy even if enemies falter in their efforts to wreak harm on them, they will perish of their own accord. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K166: koduppathu alukkarupaan curram uduppathuu um unpathu um inrik kedum Who scans good gifts to others given with envious eyes, His kin, with none to clothe or feed them, surely die. (Transl. G.U. Pope) He who is envious at a gift (made to another) , his relations and even his clothing and his food will utterly perish. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Should one espy with envy what is given to others, he will lose the favours of his kith and kin, and even his clothing and his food supply. (Transl. T. Wignesan) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 K163 and K164 of CANTO XVII of the THIRUK-KURAL with Translations K163 and K164 of CANTO XVII of the THIRUK-KURAL with Translation (continued) K163: aran aakkam veendaathaan enbaan piranaakkam peenaathu alukkarup paan Nor wealth nor virtue does that man desire, 'tis plain, Whom others' wealth delights not, feeling envious pain. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Of him who instead of rejoicing in the wealth of others, envies it, it will be said, 'He neither desires virtue nor wealth.' (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) He who prefers to live in envy of other people's wealth, rejecting the benefits accrueing in a virtuous envy-free life is one who will be blessed with neither. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K164: alukkaartrin allavai seyyaar ilukkaatrin eetham padupaakku arinthu The wise through envy break not virtue's laws, Knowing ill-deeds of foul disgrace the cause. (Transl. G.U. Pope) (The wise) knowing the misery that comes from transgression will not through envy commit unrighteous deeds. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Sensible people realising the harm envy abets them to commit are likewise conscious of the harm that will engulf them (if they give in to their impulsions) . (Transl. T. Wignesan) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 On the need to avoid being envious: CANTO XVII, K161, K162 of the THIRUK-KURAL On the need to avoid being envious: Canto XVII, K161, K162 of the THIRUK-KURAL, Translation with Commentary [ ENVY, of course, knows no racial nor ethnic boundaries, but I wouldn't be wrong, I dare say, in thinking or assuming that being envious in an inveterate manner could be considered one of the principal Tamil character traits. How else may one explain the total lack of verifiable information on Thiru- VALLUVAR's life and times? What we know and have of him is a dismal kyrielle of hearsay and myth, together with some linguistic evidence culled from his work linking him to the Kanyakumari district of Tamil Nadu, but this isn't evidence which sheds light on his personality or educational background or, for that matter, his professional or personal circumstances without which - since he has not given us any clue or aperture to his self in his work - we cannot with certainty pronounce on the influences he was subject to, nor whether he was amenable to such influences either. It is quite obvious he was the object of much 'envy' on the part of his peers. My hunch is that his enormous capabilities, knowledge and energy might have invited 'oppression' from all quarters. Envy, as we all know, plays no great part once the period of his/one's generation or two comes to an end. And somehow the Thiru-Kural was preserved and handed down by successive generations who were not plagued by the presence of the author. One possibility of suppression owing to envy may have been his social caste status. Upper caste Tamils of his time - if he belonged to a lower or the lowest caste such as it was presumed in his case - might not want a priest of the Valluvar caste to outshine them. Normal reaction among Tamils! I have said elsewhere he 'deliberately' - knowing the situation he was in - left us some clues in his work which would ensure its perennity. Sooner or later, I'll deal with this topic: Stay tuned in! Just a word on THIRUKKURAL publications and conferences: To say the least, these are so numerous and breast-beating (now that the poet is absent) , and like all money-raking shenanigans, the book is sure-fire attraction the moment some publisher or institution of learning decides to do one or the other, often with the backing of the Tamil Nadu Government or some Tamil diaspora authority. The Thirukkural has long attained the status of a 'bible' among the Tamil populations, so much so that nothing rakes in the cash as the celebration of a bard of incontestable honour and reign which translates as something as close to the deification of the author through his work. As everybody knows, ask in the name of the giver's god and none will withhold even their last penny! In every decade, the number of publications or conferences tend to become ever so redundant that there is grave danger the contents of the treatise on ethics by our 'unknowable' poet might become so debased and mammon-ised (to coin a word) that Tamilian ethics may need to be recast by a second-coming of the poet, himself. Two recent readily-available paperback publications require singling out: 1. Thirukkural Tamil-English Version. Translations by Rev. G.U.Pope, Rev. W.H. Drew and Rev. John Lazarus. Chennai: Kumaran Pathippagam,2015,288p. Price Rs 140. (This version appears in clear print, and the translators hardly need to be introduced, for they number among the few who have rendered Tamils and foreigners interested in Tamil studies great service.) 2. Thirukkural. English Transliteration & Translation with CD. Chennai: The Wisdom World Publication,2016,276p. Price Rs 475. (Selections from eleven translators' efforts are proffered, among them Pope, Drew & Lazarus, with a totally muddled-up 'appreciation' by the Tamil Nadu government cultural affairs official in five short paragraphs and an obfuscating preface about the origins of the selections by V. Ramamurthy, both of whom quite frankly judging by their texts cannot possibly be knowledgeable in English. One would do well to discard the book pullulating in grammatical and printer's errors. The CD, only in Tamil, is worth keeping, though.) According to G.U. Pope, the Thirukkural, written in the venba metre lends itself to 'ceppalOsai', that is, the recitative or didactic tone, and this is further extended, according to the quantity of the feet in each couplet, into the 'balanced recitative', the 'grave recitative' (K397 is the only case) and the ' mixed recitative'. The great majority of the couplets are in the last category, giving rise to a variety of rhythms. K161: olukku aaraak kolka oruvanthan nencatthu alukkaaru ilaatha iyalpu As 'strict decorum's' laws, that all men bind, Let each regard unenvying grace of mind. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Let a man esteem that disposition which is free from envy in the same manner as propriety of conduct. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) One should in one's heart cherish the state of being devoid of envy and make that a cardinal principle of virtue. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K162: viluppeetrin ahthuoppathu illayaar maadtum alukkaatrin anmai perin If man can learn to envy none on earth, 'Tis richest gift, -- beyond compare its worth. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Amongst all attainable excellences there is none equal to that of being free from envy towards others. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Of all the most cherishable qualities one may strive to possess, nothing compares to that state of being where envy has no place. (Transl. T. Wignesan) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 K379 and K380 of Canto XXXVIII of the THIRUKKURAL Translated with Commentary K379 and K380 of Canto XXXVIII of the THIRUKKURAL, Translated with Commentary (Just a note on the translations to say that, even if G.U. Pope did more to research and elucidate the THIRUKKURAL, his translations - with some exceptions - bent on rhyme and stilted structure, require further interpretation and are sometimes needlessly obscure. W. H. Drew and John Lazarus's translations are generally quite clear, but tend sometimes towards needless expatiation. In my own rendering, I have tried to keep to the semantic ordering and grammatical structure wherever possible. Lest non-Tamils unfamiliar with the Kurals think that the author Thiruvalluvar also used punctuation marks found in the translations, would do well to note that Tamil writers of yore never had this bother to cope with. Besides, as Pope points out, the short and long vowels like 'o' and 'O' were undifferentiated in the original; now and then however the dot over the 'l' (there are three in the Tamil alphabet) was used to indicate the use of 'l' as 'ela' or 'la'.) T. Wignesan K379: nanraangkaal nallavaak kaanpavar anraangkaal allal paduvathu evan When good things come, men view them all as gain, When evils come, why then should they complain? (Transl. G.U. Pope) How is it that those, who are pleased with good fortune, trouble themselves when evil comes (since both are equally the decree of fate) ? (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) When everything goes well, we tend to enjoy life (for what it is worth) ; When things take a turn for the worse, why should we whine? (Transl. T. Wignesan) K380: uulin peruvali yaavula matruonru cuulinum thaanmunth thurum What powers so great as those of Destiny? Man's skill Some other thing contrives; but fate's beforehand still. (Transl. G.U. Pope) What is stronger than fate? If we think of an expedient (to avert it) , it will itself be with us before (the thought) . (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Is there force mightier than fate? It will forestall the very thought of one who tries to dodge it. (Transl. T. Wignesan) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Who's afraid of Virgin Wolf's wisdom tooth Villanelle: Who's afraid of the Virgin Wolf's wisdom tooth (As unlikely as it may sound, this happens to be the TRUTH: the foremost French journalist, André FONTAINE of Le Monde; an illustrious Academician poet, Pierre EMMANUEL*; President de Gaulle's Prime Minister-President George POMPIDOU; de Gaulle's Minister of Foreign Affairs, Maurice SCHUMANN; a State Counsellor, brother of de Gaulle's Minister of Justice, Paul TEITGEN - all in one day on December 16th,1972, out-manoeuvred a dastardly plot by the French Left (Jean- Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir, André Gorz, Me Jean-Jacques de Félice, Michel Foucault and an ex-Tunisian lawyer, etc.) to deprive me of any rights - while I was on my way from Madrid to London - at obtaining residence papers in France, so the constant persecution and attempts on my life - the first attempt in January 1977 having reduced/maimed my then infant son with a serious lifelong handicap - continue without respite. Others from the Left joined in, however, to ward off total destitution.) * I met Maurice Schumann and Paul Teitgen at Pierre Emmanuel's house on the evening of the day André Fontaine published my 'Témoignage: Sans Patrie Ni Asile' in the Le Monde, p.2 (16/12/1972. A few days later, while I was being grilled at the Paris Police HQ, President Georges Pompidou intervened directly by special courier from the Elysée Palace, and I was granted my papers on the spot, hardly twenty minutes later while (for the anecdote) a Black Panther who had hijacked a plane to Algiers was kept waiting at the door.- T. Wignesan, May 29,2017 Who's afraid of the Virgin Wolf's wisdom tooth Its sage bite makes even more wise the scum bag Oh What a state the State's in hiding the Truth Wisdom teeth sink not well in scum bag for sooth No, the Great State first hoists its colours not flag Who's afraid of the Virgin Wolf's wisdom tooth Scum bag the State drags on nails to give It worth Ride with medical care the wheezing old hag Oh What a state the State's in hiding the Truth Champion of noise nuissance the State drills tooth Keeps all scum bags sleepless till they sag and lag Who's afraid of the Virgin Wolf's wisdom tooth The State drugs spouse rams her makes her rotten sleuth Takes into custody sons too weak to brag Oh What a state the State's in hiding the Truth Silly the State that lifts its glass of Vermuth One foot on scum bags the scourge of its Reichs tag Who's afraid of the Virgin Wolf's wisdom tooth Oh What a state the State's in hiding the Truth © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 K375 and K376 of Canto XXXVIII of the THIRUKKURAL with Commentary K375 and K376 of Canto XXXVIII of the THIRUKKURAL Translated with Commentary (Biographical details of an author, especially of someone having thrived in a land given to scant regard for documenting history in a systematic manner and in a milieu where the oeuvre took precedence over its creator, may only be useful in elucidating some extraneously relevant literary data. In such a case, one need not lament the fact that we know practically nothing about the author of the Thirukkural. As I have already demonstrated, even his name « Valluvar » is a caste-oriented term, meaning a priest who officiated in a Hindu temple meant only for the purpose of serving the Untouchable caste. Besides, such a priest could not have had access to a vade mecum of knowledge of the entire spectrum of linguistic literary and philosophical aspects of Indian civilization. To attribute his literary skills and wisdom to the apostle St. Thomas or his worldly wiseness to his friendship with the captain of a sloop Eleela Cinkam begs simple common sense. On the other hand, to claim that he was a native of the Kanyakumari District in Tamil Nadu on the basis of some linguistic evidence in his work may appear sound at first glance, but in the absence of hard facts about his birth, family circumstances, education and role in society, we can do better than to hoist enormous statues in his memory. The Tamil Nadu government has erected a 133- foot statue off-shore at Kanyakumari in memory of the poet; so have they of contemporary politicians elsewhere who have like the late Chief Minister Jayalalitha fleeced the land and let the State stew in a kind of open sewer for decades now. My contention that he was an « unjustifiably oppressed » individual stems from the fact that whilst he lived his fellow countrymen did not enshrine his worth in more concrete terms of appreciation, and I would not be wrong in assuming he was the victim of sheer envy on the part of his fellowmen. He had even consecrated a chapter on the subject of ENVY, a form of pestilence that has plagued Tamils, if I'm not mistaken, throughout the ages. He found a way of getting his own back on his detractors, but that is another story for the moment.) T. Wignesan K375: nallavai ellaa am thiiyavaam thiiyavum nallavaam selvam seyatku All things that good appear will oft have ill success, All evil things prove good for gain of happiness. (Transl. G.U. Pope) In the acquisition of property, everything favourable becomes unfavourable, and (on the other hand) , everything unfavourable becomes favourable (through the power of fate) . (Transl. Drew and Lazarus) When in the act of acquiring wealth, all good omens can take a turn for the worse and vice versa. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K376 pariyinum aakaavaam paalalla uytthuc coriyinum pohkaa thama Things not your own will yield no good, however you guard with pain; Your own, howe'er you scatter them abroad, will yours remain. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Whatever is not conferred by fate cannot be preserved, although it be guarded with most painful care; and that, which fate has made his, cannot be lost, although one should undertake to throw it away. (Transl. Drew and Lazarus) What is meant to be yours is yours to keep, even if you went out of your way to throw it all away. Contrariwise the same principle applies. (Transl. T. Wignesan) © T. Wignesan Paris,2017 K373 and K374 of the THIRUKKURAL Translated with Commentary K373 and K374 of the THIRUKKURAL: Translated with Commentary The poet's name, THIRUVALLUVAR [Thiru = Sacred and Valluvar = the name of the priesthood caste of the « Pariah » (whom Mahatma Gandhi prefered to call 'Harijans', 'the children of God') , is very probably a misnomer. His name is sometimes followed by the collective title of « Nayanar », a term signifying religious Siva Bhakti poets and whose work had been anthologised first in the collection: TEVARAM by Nambi Andar Nambi of the Xth to XIth century CE. No one knows his real name nor his origins, whereabouts and birth circumstances. G.U.Pope, one of the few great foreign scholars of Tamil, began his missionary work in the enclave of Mayilapur (meaning 'the township/bourgade of peacocks' in the city of Madras/Chennai, during the nineteenth century) . The term « pariah » denotes something most derogatory, for in the Hindu caste hierarchical system these members of the lowest non-caste were treated as 'defiled', not worthy of being seen or being found in their company, due to their having to handle corpses, serving as 'night soil men', employed in the tanning of animal skins and in other extreme menial duties and functions -- all considered 'unholy' by the upper castes]. Pope follows the claims of the popular tradition in thinking the poet lived and grew up there for there is to be found a temple consecrated to the poet in Mayilapur. Others like S. Padmanabhan and the Tamil Nadu authorities associate his name with Kanyakumari, the southernmost district of the Tamil peninsula on the strength of certain words in the Thirukkural which were in usage in the area during the first millenium of our era. Yet, others - Tamil Christians in the majority - wish him to have imbibed Christian doctrines and teachngs at the feet of the martyred apostle St. Thomas who was assassinated in Mayilapur, obviously in the first century of the Christ's existence. Pope and the great missionary translators and interpretors of the kurals, such as, D. H. Drew, John Lazarus, F. W. Ellis, the ilustrious Italian Beschi, the German Graul and the Frenchman Ariel -- all pay him their profoundest respect and admiration while drawing attention to the tradition of ethical maxims in other literary cultures to which Thiruvalluvar may or may not have had cognisance. As usual, as in all such cases, a good deal of myth also willingly gets spun, absorbed and perpetuated like the story of how he was the illegitimate issue of caste-miscegenation, that is, between a Brahmin father and a 'Pariah' mother. I have already in my previous posts shown how complicatedly arduous it is to compose a 'kural'in the venba metre, the most difficult of the Tamil prosodic structures. Add to this the plan and structure of the whole composition, and it will become evident that no one who had not enjoyed the highest literary and mental capacities could have authored this oeuvre. Even the language the poet used was free of 'sankriticisms', the principal linguistic influence over other languages in the sub-continent. According to Pope, himself, the language of the kural is a product of pure high Tamil. For instance, Tamils everywhere today would use innumerable words of Sanskrit or of other origins in their spoken or written forms like 'kobam' for 'anger' or 'sadtchi' for 'witness', but in the kural the poet employs 'vekuli' and 'kari' respectively, words of Tamil concoction. I, for myself, am convinced he was, as I said earlier on, 'unjustifiably oppressed'. In that case, how has his work survived the ages. That is because he outsmarted them all. I have my own « theory » or conjecture or deduction about it all. (T. Wignesan) K373: nunniya noolpala katpinum marrunthen unmai arivee mikum In subtle learning manifold though versed men be, The wisdom, truly his, will gain supremacy. (Transl. G.U.Pope) Although a man may study the most polished treatises, the knowledge which fate has decreed to him will still prevail. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) Even if one imbibes works from the most learned sources, knowledge that is inherent* in him owing to fate will triumph (over the rest) . [*in the sense of the inherited genetic code.] (Transl. T. Wignesan) K374: iruveeru ulakatthu iyatkai thiruveeru thelliyar aathalum veeru Two-fold the fashion of the world: some live in fortune's light; While other some have souls in wisdom's radiance light. (Transl. G.U. Pope) There are (through fate) two different natures in the world; hence the difference (observable in men) in (their acquisition of) wealth, and in their attainment of knowledge. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) The nature of the world is such that fate provides some with the ability to acquire wealth and others knowledge. (Transl. T. Wignesan) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 THIRUKKURAL: Translation of Canto XXXVIII with commentary THIRUKKURAL: Translation of Canto XXXVIII with notes and commentary Canto XXXVIII of the Thirukkural on the topic of FATE which I give here in translation (by stages) forms, in itself, a separate 'book' in its own right, for it nullifies so-to-speak almost all the rest of what the poet Thiruvalluvar had to say in the rest of his oeuvre in one fell swoop. One cannot escape the fact that the author subscribes to the Oriental preoccupation with DESTINY as something pre-determined (as a result of one's balance of virtuous deeds or KARMA in the previous life) , something which conditions and controls all one's actions in the present life. There would therefore be something inviolable and invariable about the course one's life would take and which can be mitigated (if the karma produced a life wrought with insuperable obstacles and difficulties) only through penance by way of renouncing all desires and acquisitions; in short, to sacrifice one's life in order to avoid either being born again (vIdu/liberation or mOdcham/moksha) or of obtaining relief during one's présent life. Chapter XXXV on « Renunciation », Ch. XXXVI on the « Perception of Truth » and Ch. XXXVII on the « Extirpation of Desires » - all lead up to this fatidic climax, that is, that whatever one does one cannot 'hoodwink' fate. As the Yi Jing, too, prescribes, to put it succinctly in my own words: 'When fate comes knocking, there's no place on earth you can hide! ' Whether what happens is due to one's karma or not cannot however be proven, nor whether by resorting to asceticism as a shield from its ravages, one may elude fate must remain an inflexible conundrum. From the maxims in this decade, one can divine the author was convinced of the role of fate in our lives. K371: aakuulaal thoonrum adaivinmai kaipporul pookuulal thoonrum madi Wealth-giving fate power of unflinching effort brings; From fate that takes away idle remissness springs. (Transl. G.U. Pope) Perseverance comes from a prosperous fate, and idleness from an adverse fate. (Tranls. Drew & Lazarus) Activity that increases one's possessions fate will promote while the lack of activity that lethargy engenders is (also) the oeuvre of fate. (Transl. T. Wignesan) K372: peethaip padukkum ilavuul arivakarrum aakaluul urrak kadai The fate that loss ordains makes wise men's wisdom foolishness; The fate that gain bestows with ampler powers will wisdom bless. (Transl. G.U.Pope) An adverse fate produces folly, and a prosperous fate produces enlarged knowledge. (Transl. Drew & Lazarus) When adverse fate comes around, it will limit one's knowledge; favourable fate produces the contrary effect of making knowledge blossom. (Transl. T. Wignesan) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Whenever Life stamps me down under heels Villanelle: Whenever Life stamps me down under heels Whenever Life stamps me down under heels I think of those who died living deaths young So say i who am i to bleat meek squeals Ages gone by how many mute appeals Fell on deaf bigot ears great lives un-sung Whenever Life stamps me down under heels Who dared shift Earth from centre to out-fields How Galileo ate humble pie dung So say i who am i to bleat meek squeals Nuanced scales stringed by chords neuronic peals Had Mozart in debt into common grave flung Whenever Life stamps me down under heels Van Gogh Cervantes Dostoyevski shields Me from vainly emptying my spent lung So say i who am i to bleat meek squeals If my words can't Gorki's lives serve dire meals Then would not mine and your pen seem low-strung Whenever Life stamps me down under heels So say i who am i to bleat meek squeals © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Better anarchy than hypocrisy Villanelle: Better anarchy than hypocrisy Better anarchy than hypocrisy Bluff prosperity breeds doomsday blast out Probity keeps on toes reality Executive responsibility Ends before the term of office runs out Better anarchy than hypocrisy Quinquennat* four-year executive spree Lead to wielding effete politics clout Probity keeps on toes reality Who makes speeches ring like Presidency Mimes inane ghost-written texts like robot Better anarchy than hypocrisy If all that matters is 'democracy' Should not voters cast nulled votes in ballot Probity keeps on toes reality Who keeps arming the world breeds enmity Wars cars hot-air mouths stoke intense black out Better anarchy than hypocrisy Probity keeps on toes reality *quinquennat: French for five-year mandate of the presidency. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: What we know is what we can prove on earth Villanelle: What we know is what we can prove on earth What we know is what we can prove on earth Whether it be by rule of thumb or by sum Far-flung worlds who see us here must bake mirth Two and two's not what 2 x 2 bring forth Add man to woman on hands knees four-some What we know is what we can prove on earth Way out on the outback of Big Bang birth Adding man on woman might be boredom Far-flung worlds who see us here must bake mirth Here we talk as if the Truth we un-earth The moment Milky Way began to hum What we know is what we can prove on earth The gods we raise all had some kind of birth Then the Lord Almighty rules He Kingdom Far-flung worlds who see us here must bake mirth Yet Man on Earth can split hairs not in dearth Conceive Devil to make equal the sum What we know is what we can prove on earth Far-flung worlds who see us here must bake mirth © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Two Wraiths in a gust in between frames with a Third Two wraiths in a gust in-between frames with a Third ...was it when i bumped into you last a little put out by the awkwardness something not willed not even by chance who knows an air of Oh please spare me the excuse eyes darting from cheek to contorting lips the turning breeze curling into your bitten bud of an ear expiring burnt breath just the intimate release of breathless control shifting feet somewhere in some other film frame a door closing creaking in the soft amber sheen of the flickering street lamp was it in another slot of time held in some half-remembered patched-up reel footsteps slap quick-shuffled the soundtrack dragging the heels The Third Man down wet cobbled stones claroscuro classic withholding comment no time to grasp even the outstretched hand a finger or two trailing no the index thumb and Mount of Venus ever so lightly alerting the eyes yet for a fractured second averting eye-contact slicing presences or was it just that i wished to overlook the rebuff thwart the unkindest cut into my roiling belly juices the day you took careful aim for some slight some mite of a pain complaint a moment so gossamer thin so ephemeral no trace lingers in the wind-swept thrusts of the pulse in the brain does one hesitate in the accusing hour an old sagging man cap in hand wordless and wan hardly daring to lift lame will and sorry self for once the back is turned no thoughts of humped puffing breath bathing the cheeks the lips the bacteria baked unbrushed stench and the less than hoped-for wish trailing aghast when next we stumble and slip from one another's grasp... © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: What's flabbergasting is the limitlessnesses Villanelle: What's flabbergasting is the limitlessnesses What's flabbergasting is the limitlessnesses Time Space Suffering the meanness of everything The only exception: never deathlessnesses Take KARMA example of prowess excesses Such as the Mean Violent doing their own thing What's flabbergasting is the limitlessnesses You're not supposed to know past lives' excesses Though you do good continue to take a beating The only exception: never deathlessnesses Thinkers on the subject of lobsidednesses Simply say: ponder! as if waiting for lightning What's flabbergasting is the limitlessnesses What if Life comes to an end locked in fastnesses Your karmic interests lost in false accounting The only exception: never deathlessnesses Who d'you damn for this in other universes's What if you took chances doing your own thing-fling What's flabbergasting is the limitlessnesses The only exception: never deathlessnesses © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Kill not Mad Poets the Soul-Blood of Mankind for Emmanuel MACRON Villanelle: Kill not Mad Poets the Soul-Blood of Mankind for Emmanuel MACRON Kill not mad poets the soul-blood of mankind Better kill gods teacher-preachers saviours Their words stretch galactic aeons of the mind Who kills trills of the fine feathered chirping kind Never clapping thunder smother lonely warblers Kill not mad poets the soul-blood of mankind The Merle Noir maddens the Warbler Subalpine Will not the Woodchat Strike tease Yellow Hammers Their words stretch galactic aeons of the mind aiOoo loie loieC screEch screEch tWine tWine dingk dingk twingK clUt clUt aiOoo sRoothers Kill not mad poets the soul-blood of mankind Who but raving politicos seek to bind Mad poets lyrical fill hungry beggars Their words stretch galactic aeons of the mind Who recalls greed-fed conquests all anodyne Blissful mad morning trills drill Orphean Warblers Kill not mad poets the soul-blood of mankind Their words stretch galactic aeons of the mind © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: After-Life's the Centrillion-Dollar Question Villanelle: After-life's the centrillion*-dollar question After-life's the centrillion-dollar question Where do we go to make amends pay for sins KARMA* panacea for stupefaction Who else escalates karmic evolution Animals insects do they dog-eat-dog sins After-life's the centrillion-dollar question Heaven Hell be they but religious fiction Lame constraints games to make us fight shy of sins KARMA panacea for stupefaction What if we on earth live lives of extinction Who knows who comes back for what reasons or ends After-life's the centrillion-dollar question Whose existence calls for justification Can Eve be damned for causes or origins KARMA panacea for stupefaction Who plays with our lives for delectation Watch how EVIL triumphs over GOOD and grins After-life's the centrillion-dollar question KARMA panacea for stupefaction *centrillion: a hundred times a trillion (million times million) : 100,000,000,000,000 *KARMA: the philosophy of ethical action and thought as defined by the Bhagavad-Gita. The hindus and buddhists believe in REINCARNATION which, on one level, means that the sins we commit in our lives have to be atoned for in the next and the next, until we rid ourselves of the need to be re-born (samsara) , through MOKSHA (obviously also signifying a state of being free of all sin) by re-joining the SUPREME ATMAN, the GOD-HEAD BRAHMAN, the Primal Creator. Individual karma which serves to project a global sum of spirituality is meant to influence the entire world © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Hoist not the flag of your hidden vices Villanelle: Hoist not the flag of your hidden vices Hoist not the flag of your hidden vices Wonder not why enemies pick on entrails No foe will salute nor sing your praises You cannot make curry without spices Worst not enemies with cat o' nine tails Hoist not the flag of your hidden vices Enemies crop up as you throw dices They hide in pockets and wear long tails No foe will salute nor sing your praises They even sport horns to cuckold spouses Call you names while you look for holy grails Hoist not the flag of your hidden vices Enemies revel not in open spaces Splice them only in their hidden entrails No foe will salute nor sing your praises Best enemies wallow in pungent sauces Flapping from naked flag-poles stuck in jails Hoist not the flag of your hidden vices No foe will salute nor sing your praises © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: What space occupies the tiniest space Villanelle: What space occupies the tiniest place What space occupies the tiniest place Today the Higgs Boson's all the rage All discoveries via the inward gaze Yesterday the neutrino led the race Even as the atom ancestors did engage What space occupies the tiniest place Hydrogen the atom bomb did replace Much as MOAB the grenade savage All discoveries via the inward gaze The secret of the Golden Flower's grace In the heart of hearts make particles rage What space occupies the tiniest place He that seeketh not becomes common place All particles whirl and churn the mirage All discoveries via the inward gaze Today's seeming truth: nothing stays in place Yet tomorrow all change may mismanage What space occupies the tiniest place All discoveries via the inward gaze © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Generalize and prejudice will congeal Villanelle: Generalize and prejudice will congeal Generalize and prejudice will congeal No prejudice justifies the call to arms Exceptions crop up only for common weal Know the next man's the best chance for a fair deal The exception always battens down your qualms Generalize and prejudice will congeal Not to generalize makes neither big deal The other man's prejudice will quash your balms Exceptions crop up only for common weal Many or all nurse their hatreds and conceal Their dreams of pure race culture under sweet psalms Generalize and prejudice will congeal Genes that mutate miscegenate still reveal Our Father who art in Africa's realms Exceptions crop up for the common weal The only prejudice worth a mighty peal Who the damn stuffed genius brains in human forms Generalize and prejudice will congeal Exceptions crop up only for common weal © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: For whom does the self pay rent: body or soul Villanelle: For whom does the self pay rent: body or soul For whom does the self pay rent: body or soul 'i' say 'I' and you say why not wait till 'i' die Who seeks the Landlord in the head to console How many the bodies laid low in camisole* Release the soul in saints and rishis gone by For whom does the self pay rent: body or soul Which self thinks first in the heart and for what goal Who best opens an account where the heart must lie Who seeks the Landlord in the head to console Who owns the name of the self when things go foul Must the heart stop to make the head go stark dry For whom does the self pay rent: body or soul Solder the broken body Mend the ripped soul Must the self take the blame for hazard or lie Who seeks the Landlord in the head to console The body is not your own to house the soul The rent the Landlord charges is far too high For whom does the self pay rent: body or soul Who seeks the Landlord in the head to console *camisole: French for strait jacket © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Do spun balls eddy in Black Hole corsets Villanelle: Do spun balls eddy through Black Hole corsets Do spun balls eddy through Black Hole corsets Or cosmic spins pierce through armoured shells Who threads sheltered yards in safe space rockets Make the side win hoards of precious nuggets Rousing Super Bowl far-flung galaxy yells Do spun balls eddy through Black Hole corsets Elsewhere rugger lads break through pelting belts Asteroid storms of bare bones and muscles Who threads sheltered yards in safe space rockets Watch how rugby touch-downs pile-up sweats Barely kissing ground hugged balls crushed in smells Do spun balls eddy through Black Hole corsets Rugbymen fall for foes during somersaults Some even take home loads of their scented cells Who threads sheltered yards in safe space rockets O! Lord of the Nations! Let fear nor threats Keep you from flexing wills with alien spells Do spun balls eddy through Black Hole corsets Who threads sheltered yards in safe space rockets © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Plenty of room in Le Fut for Soccer Plenty of room in « Le Foot »* for Soccer For Doug Vinson at PoetrySoup.com I Not long ago King Pelé Set " le foot" in America Today his peoples' muted " Olé" ! Rue the day at Maracana Now from coast to conniving coast Your Can-Can gals kick " le balon" * No Wall in between the goal-posts To win at summit many a " galon" * Alright! Keep your cherished football Iced-hoc-key bounced balls in basket But let echo corked-leather on " saule" * Crikey! 'le cri-cri'* of " le cricket" II Tremble at the hakka-cry of the All Blacks Cringe before Aussie toughs at Springbok élan And let them romp with the Six-Nation packs Over your greens with fifteen Argentinian Call out to the run-machine Little Master* And let his blade flash home-runs tout azimut Over heads of fielders spectators and trainer And let your millions throb and catapult Your new knights sans armour in world arena And gasp at fresh records topple centuries* On pitch and turf in Tests across suburbia And join the world in friendly rivalries. *'Le Foot'or 'Le Fut': French for football/soccer. *'le balon': French for ball. *'le(s) galon(s) ': French for 'stripes' as in 'to win one's stripes in battle' (gagné ses galons au combat) . *'le saule': French for the willow tree. 'Willow' is metonymy for the cricket bat as the latter is made from the tree. *'le cri-cri': familiar French for 'le grillon', the insect cricket. *'Little Master', sobriquet of Sachin Tendulkar, the retired legendary Indian test-cricketer, the counterpart of the Brazilian Pelé in soccer. See my poem: 'The Little Master: Sachin Tendulkar', my most-read ever poem. *'centuries': batting records in cricket run into a few centuries, mostly in five-day international test-matches. (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 EPITAPH for a Living Poet: WPN EPITAPH for a living poet: WPN (upon reading a bookish interview of his on his poetry) He had talent and a voice And vocation not by choice Now his words lie all alone Living, none left them still lone His words came from all around Voices from merry-go-round He read Masters many bold All drowned his message untold He espoused a language Not his own to assuage A chasm sans tradition His land of re-edition He had willed the borrowed tongue Adorned he in ways unsung He refused not the honours Re-making words for others Would he now contented be First poet of his country Nay, re-invent poesy For all mute poets at sea! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 ARTE MAYOR: Neither Cricket nor Football ARTE MAYOR*: Neither Cricket nor Football Is this the way to prop A-first Sock not oval ball overhead Slam not round ball with drumstick dead Cut not corporate tax: the worst Hundred millions sweat till tv burst Swamp Super Bowl cheer-leaders' tights The day England scorned Wales' rights* Would arméd football rugby durst Catch not ball in leather-gloved hand Watch how slip-fields pluck balls from air Out-fields brave boundaries debonair That's what cricket's in any land Trumped-up charges make no A-men grand Nor soft base balls stop eyes grow sore A-1 Nation must make World soar Hail Rugby! King Twickenham brand! Throw missile back You Quarter-Back Take no step beyond the Red line Referee draws to keep the front-line Push no further than ball in pack The Golden Rule's not to kick back Unless you're in scrum cheek to jowl And lick the foe if he must growl Block those horns in grid-lock Am-track! Curve ball's By Gad no in-swinger Reach first base sans one lone strike Home runs no match sixes through dike Stop runs coming through huge bouncer Best way to take the World over Scrap apéd games from lean memory Learn to play ball gentlemanly You'll need no Vinson carrier! *Arte Mayor (Sp. Major Art) stanzaic form, the art of Archiprest de Hita (12th- 13th c.) : eight syllabic lines in eight-line stanzas, rhyming abba acca. *England beat Wales in epic match at Cardiff to win Six-Nations' Rugby 2017 Trophy; the same day the Super Bowl was watched by 125 millions on TV. If the same audience could have seen the match at Cardiff, I'd wager that would have been the very last Super Bowl event in history. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Ambiguity and Ambivalence in the THIRUKKURAL: Canto 4, K35, a random example Ambiguity and Ambivalence in the THIRUKKURAL: Canto 4, K35, a random example alukkaa ravaavekuli yinnaacchon naangku milukkaa viyanra tharam (unrefined, given in the original state of the connective/combination particles of 'punarcchi' rules) alukkaaru avaavekuli innaacchol naankum ilukkaa iyanrathu aram (refined, shorn of the connective particles) Tis virtue when, his footsteps sliding not through envy, wrath, Lust, evil speech - these four, man onwards moves in ordered path. (Tr. G.U.POPE) That conduct is virtue which is free from these four things, viz., malice, desire, anger and bitter speech. (Tr. W.H.Drew & J.Lazarus) The way of vileness, self-congratulatory aid, ire and foul-mouthing - these four attitudes will cause the alms-giver to slip from the natural path of virtue into ignominy. (Tr. T. Wignesan) Breakdown of the words and their individual meanings: alukku = foulness; aaru= way; avaa= desire, lust; vekuli= wrath, anger; innaa= unpleasant; chol= speech, words; naangkum= (the latter) four; [ili= slip down, fall down, become vile; ] ilukkam= ignominy; iyanrathu= that which has proceeded naturally; aram= virtue. Discussion: I - Both G.U. Pope and Drew & Lazarus translate 'alukkaaru' as 'envy', and they are not wrong, but I have opted for an etymological separation of its semantic constituents and have come up with: 'the way of vileness', i.e., 'alukku' = foulness and 'aaru' = way, so that ambiguity emerges (becomes apparent) from both the valid translations. Yet, it must observed that the Pope and the Drew- Lazarus' translations appear to deliberately avoid having to relate their versions specifically to the topic of the decade, i.e., the giving of alms and make/intend their versions (to) conform to the general theme of the section in which the kural occurs; in other words, they rather draw attention to the general theme of VIRTUE at large and not VIRTUE as related to ALMS-GIVING. II - In my translation, I keep close to the topic (though I give nothing or only a little away by way of nuance) under discussion: Alms-Giving. III - Evidently, both versions are valid (though one or the other may be prefered by the reader at any given moment depending upon his/her participatory performance) , and hence it could be said the KURAL in question is AMBIVALENT, giving it an additional dimension in the reading. IV -It would serve to note that the indigenous exegetes like Parimelalargal and others opt for the individual topic explication. What this exceptional poet intended in the first place matters, of course, even if one cannot refuse disowning or accepting concepts such as 'intentional fallacy' or 'total intention', especially in a case where the whole is in the detail and the detail will/must not detract or displace art from the ultimate purposes of living life itself. The artful way of living the art of life is no less a life worth living. Does the one enhance and enrich the other without in any way detracting from the other? (I'm well aware of the tautological expressions in the above argument.) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Mnemonic Devices: Rhyme and Alliteration in the THIRUKKURAL, Canto 4, K35 Mnemonic Devices: Rhyme and Alliteration in the THIRUKKURAL, a random example: Canto 4, K35 by T. Wignesan alukkaaru avaavekuli innaacchol naangkum ilukkaa iyanrathu aram (refined, shorn of connective particles) The way of vileness, self-congratulatory aid, ire and foul-mouthing - these four attitudes will cause the charity-giver to slip from the natural path of virtue into ignominy. (Tr. T. Wignesan) I - Rhyme (ethukai: there are SIX kinds) in the Venba metre of classical Tamil poetry: (a) Initial Rhyme (idaiyaasethukai) : where the second letter/syllable of the first words in successive lines have to rhyme, e.g. alukkaaru/ilukkaa Here the syllable 'lu' (with a macron underneath the 'l' to distinguish it from two other 'l's in the Tamil alphabet) occurs in both the identical slots. (b) End-Rhyme (iyappu) : naankum/aram II - Besides, two other forms of rhyme can also be found: a) thalaiyaasethukai: the entire first feet in the two lines are identical, even if and because 'a' and 'i' are phonetic equivalents (of the same genre) : b) moonraamelutthonrethukai: the third letters/syllables of the first words in both the lines are in consonance - 'ka' and 'ka'. II- Alliteration (monai: here, too, there are SIX kinds) : For this feature to be valid, it is enough that the first letters of two or more words be either the same or one of its class, i.e., their phonetic equivalents: Here,1) the first letters of the first and second words are 'a' in the first line; 2) the first letters of the first and second words are 'i' in the second line. The above two examples of alliteration are known as 'inaimonai', i.e., where two successive words are in alliteration. Commentary: It's quite obvious the poet was writing at a time when widespread dissemination of his work was not available to him (and to others of his ilk) , and so poetry having been the principal form of expression for the Tamils throughout the ages, they developed the art of making learning by rote as simple as possible. If you knew that a kural consisted of seven feet in two lines, and that the initial rhymes fell on the second letter/syllable of the first word in each line, and that alliteration was an adornment Tamil poets could not do without, not to mention the special character of the seventh foot (cf. previous posts on the Thirukkural) , these features in themselves would be sufficient to aid constant and total recall. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Metre in the THIRUKKURAL: Kural 35 of Canto 4, a random example Metre in the THIRUKKURAL: Kural 35 of Canto 4, a random example. alukkaa ravaavekuli yinnaacchon naangku milukkaa viyanra tharam (unrefined, given in the original state of the connective particles of punarcchi rules) alukkaaru avaavekuli innaacchol naankum ilukkaa iyanrathu aram (refined, shorn of the connective particles) Tis virtue when, his footsteps sliding not through envy, wrath, Lust, evil speech - these four, man onwards moves in ordered path. (Tr. G.U.POPE) That conduct is virtue which is free from these four things, viz., malice, desire, anger and bitter speech. (Tr. W.H.Drew & J.Lazarus) The way of vileness, self-congratulatory aid, ire and foul-mouthing - these four attitudes will cause the charity-giver to slip from the natural path of virtue into ignominy. (Tr. T. Wignesan) Breakdown of the words and their individual meanings: alukku = foulness; aaru= way; avaa= desire, lust; vekuli= wrath, anger; innaa= unpleasant; chol= words, speech; naangkum= (the latter) four; [ili= slip down, fall down, become vile; ] ilukkam= ignominy; iyanrathu= that which has proceeded naturally; aram= virtue. Scansion: The classical VENBA metre with which the poet has to contend in order to compose a mere two lines - not to mention (I will treat of other prosodical and literary features in the next post) the elements of occasional ambiguity and ambivalence/multivalence with regard to the whole; allusions and symbolism, etc. First, there are in the Thirukkural 1330 couplets, i.e.,2660 lines, each word or groupings of words making up a foot. Each kural is made up of SEVEN feet. In other words, there are in all 18,620 feet which the poet had to assemble in a particular order according to very strict prosodic rules. This in itself is a formidable and trying task. In the VENBA metre, there are TEN feet, some have equivalents in the European tradition, like the iambus, trochee, pyrrhic, spondee, anaepest and dactyl, etc. 1) Now, the strict rule is that certain feet ending in a long syllable (THEEMA= spondee and PULIMAA=anaepest) must not be followed by one beginning in a long syllable. 2) Likewise, feet ending in short syllables (KUUVILAM= dactyl and KARUVILAM= proceleusmatic) must be followed by feet beginning with a long syllable. 3) The same rule applies to four other feet (THEEMANGKAI, PULIMAANGKAI, KUUVILANGKAI and KARUVILANGKAI) as in (2) above. The short syllable can be designated by 'u' and the long by '__'. Hence, the above kural can be transposed as uu__ / u__ /uu__ / __ __ __ / __uu / uu__ / uuu__ / uuU / The last foot in the kural has its own particularisms, often ending in the phoneme 'u', and in the present case, known as PIRAPPU. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Niitthaar Perumai, The Fundamental Role of the Ascetic: Canto 3, K29 and K30 of the Thirukkural Niitthaar Perumai, The Fundamental Role of the Ascetic: Canto 3, K29 and K30 of the Thirukkural by Thiruvalluvar (In these kurals, I give both the 'unrefined' versions using connective particles and modified post-positions (in Tamil: according to the rules of 'punarcchi', etc.) of the seven groups of words and, subsequently, the 'refined' versions where the alliterative phonemes are clearly apparent.) K29: anthana renpoo raravoormar revvuyirkkunc senthanmai poondoluga laan (unrefined) anthanar enpoor aravoormarru evvuyirkum senthanmai poondoluga laan (refined) Towards all that breathe, with seemly graciousness adorned they live; And thus to virtue's sons the name of 'Anthanar' men give. (Tr. G.U.Pope) * The virtuous are truly called Andanar; because in their conduct towards all creatures they are clothed in kindness. (Tr. W.H.Drew & J. Lazarus) * (*In both the above works, this kural is #30.) The Virtuous are deemed 'Anthanar'*, those who towards all creatures, being imbued with love, show respect, these will be so acclaimed. (Tr. T. Wignesan) *(meaning 'ascetics' or 'sages'; Anthanan= The Supreme Being) K30: urannennunth thooddiyaa noorainthung kaappaan varanennum vaippukkoor vitthu (unrefined) urannennum thooddiyaan ooraintthum kaappaan varanennum vaippirkuoor vitthu (refined) He, who with firmness curb the five restrains, Is seed for soil of yonder happy plains. (Tr. G.U.Pope) * He who guides his five senses by the book of wisdom, will be a seed in the world of excellence. (Tr. G.W. Drew & J. Lazarus) * (*This kural occupies the fourth place, i.e., #24 in the above translated works. The order of the couplets, as far as I can judge is of no great moment.) The man who persists in controling all the five senses from going astray His is the seed that will propagate in Elysian fields. (Tr. T. Wignesan) [It should be evident to the reader of these couplets in this Canto 3 of the Thirukkural that the poet had some other design in mind when he set himself the task of having to elaborate on one given and self-chosen topic or theme in a fixed decade for all 133 chapters, that is, his monumental task of having to encapsulate an entire philosophical perspective of the Hindu PURUSHA aims in life. The question is why would the author choose the extremely difficult and concise venba metre to restrict and confine his thoughts in? The answer should be evident to all. He was writing at a time when there was obviously no printing paper nor printing press. He had a code of ethics to impart, and he had to find a means to make quotation and repetition possible for all - the learned and the ignorant, so something that approximates the proverb would fall within his choice; and hence the reliance on mnemonics: alliteration and initial rhyme, the riddle in the form of the complex clause with the key word falling often on the fourth word or feet, not to mention the last foot in the form of a long syllable (neer) or two or three short syllables (nirai) and often ending in the phoneme 'u'. And as for the reason why the poet insisted on expatiating the kernel of an idea in a topic into TEN couplets, I do not think, however, it has anything to do with the Judeo-Christian penchant for the Ten Commandments by way of an influence. T. Wignesan) . © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017. Niitthaar Perumai, The Fundamental Role of the Ascetic: Canto 3, K27 and 28 of the Thirukkural Niitthaar Perumai: The Fundamental Role of the Ascetic, Canto 3 of the Thirukkural-K27 and 28. Translations and Commentary. K27: kunamenung kunreeri ninraar veguli kanameeyung kaatthal larithu. The wrath 'tis hard e'en for an instant to endure Of those who virtue's hill have scaled, and stand secure. (Tr. G.U.Pope) * The anger of those who have ascended the mountain of goodness, though it continues but for a moment, cannot be resisted. (Tr. W.H.Drew & J.Lazarus) * (*In Pope's book et al, n° K29) Resist not the visitations of ire of the ascetic who secures his powers by the requisite discipline won only after equivalent efforts at scaling mountain heights (for the consequences will turn out dire) . (Tr. T.Wignesan) K28: ainthavitthaa naarra lakalvisumbu laarkoomaa ninthiranee saalung kari Their might who have destroyed 'the five', shall soothly tell Indra, the lord of those in heaven's wide realms that dwell. (Tr. G.U.Pope) * Indra himself, the king of the inhabitants of the spacious heaven, is a sufficient proof of the strength of him who has subdued his five senses. (Tr. W.H.Drew & J.Lazarus) * (*In the respective books of the translators, n° K25) The very existence of Indra, the King of the gods who rules the endless heavenly spheres, bears testimony to the powers of the ascetic. (Tr. T. Wignesan) (Here again, there's some wayward proof that Valluvar, the presumptive author of the Thirukkural, was first a Hindu and then perhaps - by adoption - a Jain or a Buddhist; both these latter religions having flourished - even nationwide - since the great Maurya emperor Asoka's rule in the sub-continent. See my poem on the poet: 'Master Valluvan the long-misunderstood Tamil Mentor' in Rama and Ravana at the Altar of Hanuman: on Tamils, Tamil Literature and Tamil Culture. Allahabad: Cyberwit.net,2008,750p. First published by the Institute of Asian Studies, Chennai,2006, xiii-439p. Also available at PoetrySoup, PoemHunter or OccupyPoetry and in BLIND MAN's LANTERN: Poems that lash out, mock and rip into the dark. Allahabad: Cyberwit.net,2015,886p.) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Niitthaar Perumai: The Fundamental Role of the Ascetic, Kurals 24,25 and 26 Niitthaar Perumai: The Fundamental Role of the Ascetic, Kurals 24,25 & 26, Translations with commentary K24: niraimoli maanthar perumai nilatthu maraimoli kaadti vidum. The might of men whose word is never vain, The 'secret word' shall to the world proclaim. (Tr. G.U.Pope) * * In the Pope edition of the Kural, this's number 28. He who guides his five senses by the book of wisdom, will be a seed in the world of excellence. (Tr. W.H.Drew & J.Lazarus) In this world, the ascetic's greatness will reveal itself through (magically) unfathomable means. (Tr. T.Wignesan) K25: suvaioli pooroosai naarramen rainthin vagaitherivaan kaddee ulagu. Taste, light, touch, sound, and smell: who knows the way Of all the five, -- the world submissive owns his sway. (Tr. G.U.Pope) * *In the Pope edition, this kural is numbered: 27. The world is within the knowledge of him who knows the properties of taste, sight, touch, hearing, and smell. (Tr. W.H.Drew & J.Lazarus) Only ascetics who control the five senses: gustatory, visual, tactile, auditory, and olfactory - can influence (and possess) the world. (Tr. T. Wignesan) K26: seyatkariya seivaar periyaar ciriyar seyatkariya seikalaa thaar. Things hard in the doing will great men do; Things hard in the doing the mean eschew. (Tr. G.U.Pope) The great will do those things which it is difficult to do; the mean cannot do those things which it is difficult to do. (Tr. W.H.Drew & J.Lazarus) Men who have renounced this world can do what is out of reach of those who remain attached to this world. (Tr. T. Wignesan) (Here, it would be tautological if 'niitthaar' were to be translated as'great or noble' men in the sense of the 'jun tzu' of the Yi Jing. The emphasis is clearly on the element of sacrifice: the wilful suppression of the rewards of the five senses and their concomitant detachment of benefits available for selfish indulgence, so much so that a more literal translation would sound rather platitudinous, such as: Big things can be done by big people. Small men who attempt to carry out great undertakings will fail. In other words, the purpose of this couplet is somewhat dubious (it doesn't add to our knowledge) ; it rather looks like a 'filling in' of the decade. T.Wignesan) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Sun setting over the dark green fringe of a shivering lake Sun setting over the dark green fringe of a shivering lake on the last day of winter An old man still unbent sits on a deserted wooden bench with the load of his cares on his convex-ed back beside him a plastic bag full of weekend wares sags unable to straighten his cowed congested torso he blinks through mist hanging under barely-clothed branches hardly a soul trips over the jagged burnt-amber cobbled-bricks fresh bursts of prickly sweat teem under collar cramped armpits the unease of sticky underwear stretches taut legs but the load will not set him free from the pincer lock and spanner hold three score and the six year curse undermine the octogenarian as if a cast-iron sickle and chain hooked his mind to a runaway train he gasps and leans against the load his eyes smart assailed by the column of simmering myriad mirror chips dancing on the lake swept by swishing cold blasts of reed-tossed gleam over the never becalmed lake transparent linden and birch stare cropped and cut-up naked and unashaméd neither warblers nor crows crouch hushed in their lost fastnesses only the claret whistle-sharp tweets of a lonely but jolly Great tit cleave the air from sunrise all around the lake and skirting tenement-flats tree tops piercing clear over the crunch of tires stuttering hoots and growls of changing gears while the Song thrush apes and parodies the forlorn complaint past children yelling during recess after painted gaudy face rubber balls spilling over gated kindergarten railings for days now she or a he calls on every cluster of branch brush or bower breach dingk dingk/dingk dingk/dingk dingk dingk dingk dingk dingk ding.../ wher've ya been dingk dingk dingk dingk... have you/have you/have you seen my mate these days now/ have you/tell me now... the burnished listless eye of molten gold over the sill of mauve ether waves floating on grey eminences of pencil-shade cloud banks reflecting infinitesimal shiny scales all aquiver in the instant gaze till the yellow yolk gold stains the melancholy mauve looming larger than the eye yet for some more moments as the grave grey grow round as a robin flirt the demure circular twinkling of the garden warbler tweeting for a partner as the silver beam on the tired murky waters recedes even as it were there now now no more the mauve turning ever so reluctantly till grey cloud formations recall the silver-lining of a sunken undimmed molten globe © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Niitthaar Perumai, the Fundamental Role of the Ascetic, Canto 3 of the Thirukkural by Thiruvalluvar Niithaar Perumai, the Fundamental Role of Ascetics, Canto 26 of the Thirukkural, the Tamil Classical Treatise on Ethics, Translation and Commentary by T. Wignesan [Given the scarcity of information (mostly conflicting even then) on the origins and times of the author of this classical Tamil literary masterpiece, I have selected the above decadal canto for treatent in order to ease some of the contention over the author's weltanschaaung. The decade here also best illustrates some of his literary strengths and weaknesses, for not all his distiques stand up well to impartial scrutiny. His choice of elaborating on a topic through composing ten couplets a piece may perhaps have had other more elusive aims (on which I too have my own verifiable notions) , but this canto should serve to illustrate both his ingenuity as well as his forte at spinning out an idea -at moments - simply, it would seem, for the sake of it. The question is why only ten maxims per topic? Why not twelve? Or even twenty? Is the Judeo-Christian 'ten commandments' a possible influence in the form and/or content? Christian Tamils would be the first to rally to this hypothesis, even if Europeans like Pope and Zvelebil would less grudgingly decline such an honour. In some cantos/chapters, one gets the feeling he is merely exercising his talents by approaching a topic from various angles without, in reality, having added fundamentally to the perceptions some few couplets had already convincingly contributed to the élaboration of the case. Only the overall picture is being served here, that is, the author like most of his counterparts in the South Asian continent has had the main religiophilosophic PURUSHA aims of ultimate spiritual development in life in view: aram (virtue) , artha (wealth) , kama(m) (pre-marital love, sexual and wedded cohabitation) and vidu or moksha (release from re-birth through renunciation) , according to the purusha concept of the mainly Hindu aims and phases of development in life. Yet, even if a specifically entitled fourth book devoted to « moksha » is absent from the Thirukkural, there are many couplets which treat of the subject such as this section under discussion. The poet, himself, has come to be described as an « eclectic » thinker, a label first mooted by G.U.Pope in the nineteenth century and echoed by others like Kamil Zvelebil and a host of others in the twentieth. The Jains claim him as their own, not without reason, but, on the same score, perhaps the Christians ought to delve deep into the Dead Sea Scrolls to see how the Buddha's teachings seeped into their own.] Canto 3: « niithaar perumai » and a few translations to highlight the manner in which the poet Thiruvalluvar ensconced meaning in order to serve both literary and didactic purposes. K21: olukkatthu niithaar perumai viluppatthu veendum panuvar runivu The settled rule of every code requires, as highest good, Their greatness who, renouncing all, true to their rule have stood. (Tr. G.U.Pope) The end and aim of all treatise is to extol beyond all other excellence, the greatness of those who, while abiding in the rule of conduct peculiar to their state, have abandoned all desire. (Tr. W.H.Drew and J.Lazarus) The true worth of moral works ought to be judged by whether their teaching directs one to renounce all forms of possession through inner detachment. (Tr. T. Wignesan) K22: thuratthaar perumai thunaikkoorin vaiyatthu thiranthaarai yennikkon darru As counting those that from the earth have passed away, ‘Tis vain attempt the might of holy men to say. (Tr. G.U.Pope) To describe the measure of the greatness of those who have forsaken the twofold desire, is like counting the dead. (Tr. W.H.Drew and J.Lazarus) If one were to measure the greatness of those who have renounced the world, it would be tantamount to totalling up the number of deaths on earth. (Tr. T. Wignesan) K23: irumai vakaitherinthu iinduaram poondaar perumai pirangkirru ulaku Their greatness earth transcends, who, way of both worlds weighed, In this world take their stand, in virtue's robe arrayed. (Tr. G.U.Pope) The greatness of those who have discovered the properties of both states of being, and clothed themselves in virtue, shines forth in this world (beyond all others. (Tr. W.H.Drew & J.Lazarus) The highest attainment resides (in pondering and) rejecting both birth and rebirth [samsara], the ultimate achievement open to man on earth. (Tr. T. Wignesan) (to be continued) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 The Anatomy of a Kural: Maxim 245 of the Thirukkural by Thiruvalluvar The Anatomy of a Kural: Maxim Number 245 (taken at random) of the Thirukkural, the Tamil Classic on Ethics by Thiruvalluvar allal arulaalvaarkku illai valivalangum mallalmaa naalam kari (K245) " The teeming earth's vast realm, round which the wild winds blow, Is witness, men of 'grace' no woeful want shall know." (Tr. G.W.Pope) " This great rich earth over which the wind blows, is a witness that sorrow never comes upon the kind-hearted." (Tr. W.H.Drew and John Lazarus) " Misfortune the good-natured spares, the wind-tossed Great cornucopian world bears ever testimony." (Tr. T. Wignesan) allal=privation or affliction arul=kindliness, benevolence aalvaar(kku) =to those who manage or exercise; (ukku) =here denotes the dative case ending illai=negation (no/not) vali=wind valangkum=passing round mallal=abundance ma=great naalam=the pendant globe of earth kari=witness Now the task here for the poet is to put these senses of the words together in an arrangement of seven metrical feet to comply with the classical Tamil prosodic rules while incorporating certain rhetorical features, such as, initial rhyme (ethukai) , alliteration (monai) , exceptionally end-rhyme (iyaippu) , typical to a particular metre called 'venba'. Example of 'ethukai': allal/mallal. The rules require that the rhyme must fall on the second syllable, here: 'll' or as pronounced " il" . Example of 'monai': line one = a/a/aa/i/ (according to the rules 'a' and 'i' (or as pronounced " e" ;) for the sake of alliteration are phonetic equivalents. Feet: There are seven metrical feet in each 'kural' or couplet or distique, four in the first line and three in the second, though now and then this pattern may be reversed. The feet are represented by both the short syllable: '-' and the long: '_'. This distique (given the lack of adequate diacritical signs on my computer) could be transcribed as follows: -- -- -_ _ _ - - --_ ----_ --_ _ _ -- --* * lines above are short, lines below long. In order to respect the brevity of these pithy sayings, the author has also to constrict the grammatical structure of the sentence (often a complex sentence with a main and a subordinate clause) by the adroit use of ellipses through omitting case endings or post-positional morphemes, etc., and by the use of substantives to take the place of verbs and by juggling the words in groups through meaningful juxtapositions. To illustrate this device, see how he uses the negative particle 'illai' placed further away from the noun 'allal' which it qualifies; or see how he separates the epithet: 'valivalangkum' from the 'noun' it qualifies in the next line while interposing yet another two epithets in between. The last word, the seventh is almost always only made up of two short syllables. Thiruvalluvar has had to cope with all these poetical and prosodic devices and literary embellishments, such as, the use of imagery, metaphor or simile, and even ambiguity, all through 1330 couplets, arranged according to thematic chapters of ten distiques apiece. This exercise in itself is a veritable achievement, not to mention the overall philosophic treatment of his thesis which is the admonishment of a way of life for a people in all the aspects of the domestic, amorous, social and political spheres of their existence. Little wonder then why the Thirukkural has enjoyed the highest place of praise and pride in the hearts of an entire Tamil population which can boast of having engendered a totally unrelated/isolated family of languages in South India (including Brahui in present-day Pakistan) with a continuous corpus of literary masterpieces lasting over at least two-thousand three hundred years. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Villanelle: Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon Villanelle: Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon for the author - male or female, prince or pauper, playboy or priest - of the THIRUKKURAL*, the reputed 'bible' of the Tamils, the principal Dravidian race credited with having engendered the first literary heritage of the Indian subcontinent. Only one thing might be said of him with certitude: he tamed the language like none other and was more alive to his 'times' and his literary, inter-personal, romantic, religio-philosophical and political environment than any prince, philosopher or priest ever since. In my view, whoever he may have been, he was an unjustifiably oppressed individual like King Wen who wrote the judgments on the hexagrams and provided the explanations of their images and the Later Heaven arrangement of the Yi Jing, the Canon of Change. Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon Words come asunder blown on road side-table Debris of wanton collisions intone Long-gone ages singe the stylo his work shone Who knows what diamond crumbs spill disable Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon Sans case-endings morphemes participial pun Regimented feet in seven steps enable Debris of wanton collisions intone Who confined meaning in drumbeat phoneme moan Lest envy upper-caste knowledge expose enable Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon None know who he was nor what age saw he sun Savants pat cheeks his lines to render readable Debris of wanton collisions intone While lordly conferees seek to feather nests own His sculpted riddles tease meaning and jumble Whose terse lines lie entangled in the colophon Debris of wanton collisions intone * Thiru=Sacred; KURAL, meaning 'short' or epigrammatic composition in the form of couplets (1330: ten kurals allotted to each topic in three books with a short introduction) , composed and ordered according to the rules of a strict classical prosodical pattern: the 'venba' metre while adhering to complex rhetorical features, such as, alliteration, assonance, initial-rhymes and ellipses. The author was known as Thiru-VALLUVAR. One of the earliest commentaries on the Kural, still extant, was made by a Tamil scholar PARIMELALAKAR during the 13th century. (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Unquotable quotes: EVIL PEOPLE - VIIIL Unquotable quotes: EVIL PEOPLE - VIIIL (42) Animals (amphibians, reptiles) , birds, insects, dinosaurs and even imaginary beasts kill to eat. Humans for pleasure, pain and profit. Evil people never think of Evil lest they feel remorse over whether the extent, duration and intensity of their acts wrought the mostest and the damnedest on the object(s) of their wilful designs. Evil people never inflict harm on others unless it is to placate their gods. And their gods are always right, so say their prophets and their preachers. Crusades, conquests and colonizations are always under-written by the sacred commandments of holy texts rained down from above for the benefit of heathens only, for they are invariably the most devout. Evil people never understand why the evil they wreak is not always successful nor productive -from their point of view - for they fear to step out into the open from out of the grip of their conditioned reflexes they were bound into from babyhood. They rather not - they will not - believe their gods can be less than the plenipotentiaries of the multi-verse pantheon, even if the revelations of present-day astrophysics and quantum mechanics were unknown to their gods and prophets at the time of the composition of the holy texts taken right out of the mouths of their gods. Evil people always feel invulnerable when they lay their lives down for their beliefs and convictions: god before country, country before caste, race before religion, religion before rights, club before cause, sperm before spouse, money before madness, airs before achievement, avidity before nudity, the party before parents, the House before home, profit before principle, the prophet before poet, violation before violence, the President before peasant, His Holiness before humanity… Evil people always find happiness for the happy are those who are protected here-in and here-after by the powers that be. Evil people know they are always right for don't their leaders always remind them of their might. The Seal of the Saviours always sits well on evil people provided they further his/their side every time they have fun at the expense of those born with less in their pockets or much less grey-matter behind eye-sockets. Evil people always manage to stay afloat: watch how they gloat even in a leaking boat in the moat around their fortresses, far from the final departing coast. Evil people earn merit by trampling on those who swear by no holy spirit. Evil people all hate to be told they make no haste to read the texts of their ingrained faiths, nor that they take no vows to vie with other fellow louts. Evil people all dream of the day when their captains will call it a day to put an end to the melting mountains of ice by pulling the foolscap over their eyes. Evil people all drink and belch in the faces of those without the wherewithal to be merry for they know they can sell their souls as a last resort for a thimble-full of sherry. Evil people all put the blame on the nation for their trials and fibrillations of their fabrications owing to the wheezing bag of bones in the name of the people prone to a measly existence. The ancient Chinese classic of Change, the Yi Jing says: Retreat into yourself when you see evil people approach: they will go away by themselves. But maxim 1073 of the classical Tamil treatise on Ethics, the Thirukkural, says: theevar anaivar kayavar avarumthaam meevana seitholuga laan. Evil people resemble the gods in that They too may do as they please. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2017 Le Rat Noir - Translation of Iris Clayton's The Black Rat by T Wignesan Le Rat Noir - Translation of Iris Clayton's « The Black Rat » by T. Wignesan (Iris Clayton of the Wiradjuri tribe in New South Wales was born in 1945. One of nine children, six of the elder children were forcibly removed by the authorities and placed in « wardship » - according to Kevin Gilbert in Inside Black Australia,1988 - which amounted to « slavery », having to work for a pittance ‘as cooks, housemaids, gardeners, stockmen, and quite often being sexually abused and used as concubines.' This White Australia policy of « assimilation » was the motivating force behind the annihilation of aboriginal culture and traditions, even to the extent of severely punishing children at foster homes if ever they used aboriginal words. ‘A lot of the girls died from sclerosis of the liver, through alcoholism … some turned to prostitution, lots of them committed suicide.' Iris had six children of her own and worked for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal Affairs in Canberra, and she was determined to let the world know ‘about the injustice, racism, slavery and abuse that still happens in this country today.') T. Wignesan, Paris, December 17,2016. Il habitait la cabane dont le sol la terre endurcie, La porte fut composée des sacs cousus ensemble. Il était un soldat, un Rat de Tobrouk jusqu'à quarante-cinq, Il faisait partie d'une poignée qui rentrait vivant. Blessé et martyrisé, il battait pour cette terre, Et dès qu'il rentra, tout le monde s'apprêta à serrer sa main. Le prix pour lutter pour la liberté de l'homme N'a guère amélioré la condition humaine de cet Homme Noir. Il était allé à l'intérieur, mais ne trouva pas des copains, S'il osa boire une bière, il risquait la prison et une amende. Il a dû vendre toutes ses médailles qu'il portait avec fierté, Elles n'avaient plus d'utilité pour lui dorénavant. Confus et solitaire, il errait partout En cherchant du travail sans pouvoir trouver le moindre. Des défilés d'ANZAC, il les avait évité, Et ses camarades l'ont bien compris qu'on lui avait oublié. Il luttait pour ce pays afin d'être libre, Mais il n'avait même pas pu voter malgré son calvaire au désert. Et ces années au désert lui avaient coûté chers, Il s'est allé là-bas un jeune homme mais rentra un vieux. Grand de taille, il appartenait à une tribu des Noirs fiers, Il s'éteint tout seul - personne à ses côtés. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Les Souvenirs de Noel - Translation of Joy Williams's Memories of Christmas by T Wignesan Les Souvenirs de Noël - Translation of Joy Williams's « Memories of Christmas » by T. Wignesan (Joy Williams, b.1942 in Sydney. Since she was born « fair » of skin, the authorities forcibly removed her as a baby to be placed in a children's home, and at the age of 6 to be assimilated in a « white » institution. She later studied for a B.A. at Wollongong University in New Soth Wales. Joy's first born, Julie-Anne Joy, was taken from her at 10 months by the Aboriginal Protection Board. She worked for an organization called: « Link-Up » in Canberra with tentacles all over the continent whose prescribed aim was to bring together parents and children thus forcibly separated by the authorities. Joy, finally, « linked-up » with her family 42 years after enforced separation. - Info culled from K. Gilbert's Inside Black Australia, Penguin,1988.) T. Wignesan, Paris, December 16,2016. Les Souvenirs de Noël - Translation of Joy Williams's « Memories of Christmas » by T. Wignesan C'est 16 heures la veille de Noël et je pense de toi. Je m'amuse en rappelant de ce que tu as dit: Noël est pour les enfants - Je pleurais car je ne jamais étais un enfant. Je vois un arbre, tout allumé des guirlandes de Noël, J'aperçois la réflexion des lumières dans les yeux de mes enfants tandis qu'ils dansaient autour de l'arbre avec une anticipation joyeuse. Je me demande ce qu'elle aurait pu être la vie d'un enfant. Est-ce que mes souvenirs auraient pu être heureux au lieu de rien? Est-ce que mes enfants se souviendront de leur enfance? C'est le matin de Noël, J'entends des cries de joie, On m'a réveillé d'un sommeil agité et j'ai senti deux pairs de bras autour de moi, J'éprouve le sentiment qu'on a besoin de moi. Dieu, comme j'aime mes enfants! J'essaye d'apprécier le Noël à travers d'eux, mais, à l'intérieur, je pleure, Une nonne arrive avec une boîte de vivres et je me sens maladive et vidée, Elle comprend ce que je ressens. (Mettez la boîte là, je dis.) C'est le soir de Noël, Je suis fatiguée. On m'aime. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Le Probleme avec des blancs - Translation of Jim Everett's The White Man Problem by T Wignesan Le Problème avec des Blancs - Translation of Jim Everett's « The White Man Problem » by T. Wignesan (Jim Everett, Mawbana Pleregannana, b.1942 on Flinders Island, Tasmania, has had a chequered career and like almost all the aboriginal poets and writers in English of the first post-WWII generation, hardly made it over the primary school curricula. He's a poet, playwright and essayist (short articles) . Among the jobs he tried his hand at: telegram boy, factory hand, fisherman, merchant seaman, rigger, truck driver, public servant, aboriginal community worker and political activist. He was the national secretary of the National Aboriginal and Islander Writers Oral Literature and Dramatists Association.) T. Wignesan, Paris, December 15,2016 Des aborigènes ayant lutté ne cessent de perdre. L'homme blanc est venu pour répandre son fléau, Ils ont apporté leurs droits que nous n'avons pas choisis. Nous ne pouvons pas contrôler cette chose qui nous étouffe, Malgré cet obstacle nous devons nous faire avancer Et nous devons aussi rester fidèle à nos croyances dans leurs évolution, Dans l'espoir que l'attitude des blancs va se diminuer. Des hommes blancs ne s'intéressent pas à comprendre nos traditions, Ils pensent que leur technologie est la meilleure solution pour l'homme. Et ils persistent à nous faire renoncer à nos coutumes ancestrales Et leur ‘civilisation' continue à nous nous faire soumettre. Ils ne voient pas à quel point ils ont tort, Etant aveuglés par la gloire et le pouvoir. Leur pouvoir les empêche à distinguer le vrai but de la vie, Ainsi créant le problème des hommes blancs qui nous rende amers. Les problèmes des blancs s'avèrent être l'avarice et le viol, Et leurs dix commandements qu'ils désobéissent à volonté. Pour quelle raison ont-ils des telles lois s'ils ne peuvent pas les suivre, C'est toujours le cas des tous les blancs. La réponse devrait se trouver dans le fait de leur pouvoir, Exploitant d'autres pauvres blancs sans défense parmi eux. L'histoire de l'homme blanc se résume à: chacun pour soi-même, Que le problème de l'homme blanc n'est guère confiné à la couleur de sa peau. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016. Tali Karng: Le Serpent du Crepuscule-Transl go W Les Russell's Tali Karng: Twilight Snake by Wignesan Tali Karng: le Serpent du Crépuscule - Translation of W. Les Russell's « Tali Karng: Twilight Snake » by T. Wignesan (W.Les Russell, b.1949 in Melbourne, joined the Royal Australian Navy - where he received training in photography - in 1965. He soon found himself at odds with the hierarchy, and so he requested and obtained an honorable discharge in 1970. He worked for the Education Department in Victoria for ten years as a photographer, and thereafter served on many levels on various aboriginal uplift bodies in Victoria and Queensland; in the latter state, he helped to make the Aboriginal Mining Information Centre, according to Kevin Gilbert in Inside Black Australia,1988: « …one of the largest indigenous research bodies in the world… », and says of this poem in English that it « shows a control and imagery far beyond the parameters of the majority of Australian poets to that greater universal level beyond country, beyond life. ») T. Wignesan, Paris, December 14,2016. Tali Karng: the serpent du crépuscule: Dans le cratère se trouve le lac. L'eau brun roux: peu claire profonde; Le lac froid: un lit des feuilles et des écorces Déchiqueté raide le mur du cratère Tous couverts gris vert imposants Plantes alpines et Cendres de Montagne Où des oiseaux délicats de plumage éclatant cabriolent D'une branche à l'autre en chantant d'une voix douce Jusqu'à l'arrivée subite du soir doré Et: Tali Karng: le serpent du crépuscule: Est en train de chasser près des eaux du lac. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 L'octroi des droits a Jacky - Transl of Mudrooroo Narogin's They Give Jacky Rights by T Wignesan L'octroi des droits à Jacky - Translation of Mudroroo Narogin's « They Give Jacky Rights » by T. Wignesan (Note: The first aboriginal writer to have achieved - according to Kevin Gilbert's Inside Black Australia - international fame with his novel: Wild at Falling (1965) as runner-up for the Llewellyn Rhys Memorial Prize, in 1966, Colin Johnson who renounced his Christian names in 1988 for the aboriginal: Mudrooroo Narogin was born at Narogin in Western Australia in 1938. Educated at an orphanage, he was thereafter left to fend for himself on the streets of Melbourne. He has also travelled widely in Southeast Asia, Britain, the United States and India where he became a Buddhist monk for seven years. He is a published playwright, poet and novelist, and he co-authored: Before the Invasion: Aboriginal Life to 1788 (OUP,1980) with Colin Bourke and Isobel White.) T. Wignesan, Paris, December 13,2016. On l'octroie des droits à Jacky Comme le serpent tigre des droits à son proie: On l'octroie des droits à Jacky, Comme le droit d'une victime d'être visée d'un viseur de fusil. On l'octroie des droits à Jacky Comme on les donne à un bébé pas encore né Arraché de l'utérus par une mère insouciante. On l'octroie à Jacky le droit de mourir, Le droit de consentir qu'on fonde des mines sur sa terre. On l'octroie à Jacky le droit de regarder Comment sa terre sacrée du Rêve (Dreaming) devient un trou - Son âme meure, ses ancêtres pleurent; Son âme meure, ses ancêtres pleurent: On l'octroie à Jacky son droit - D'avoir un trou sous le sol? La Justice pour tous, Jacky s'agenouille et prie, La Justice pour tous, ils font des trous dans sa terre; La Justice pour tous, on lui accorde ses droits: Une cruche du vin de table pour calmer sa douleur, Et sa femme devait se prostituer pour ce cadeau. La Justice pour tous, on lui octroie ses droits - Un trou sous le sol pour y cacher sa méfiance et sa peur. Qu'est-ce que Jacky peut se faire sinon continuer à lutter: Les esprits de son Dreaming* lui rendent fort? •Dreaming/Alcheringa: The creation of the universe, the time known to most people as the Dreamtime or the Dreaming. (Oodgeroo, My People,1990.) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016. Buddgelin Bey - Translation of Rex Marshall's Buddgelin Bey by T Wignesan Buddgelin Bey - Translation of Rex Marshall's « Buddgelin Bey » by T. Wignesan (Rex Marshall, b. July 16,1943 at Grafton, belongs to the aboriginal tribe, Thungutti/Gumbaingeri of the Baryulgil Reserve in New South Wales. He studied up to 6th grade in primary schools and then set himself the task of working for the betterment of aboriginals. The Hardy company's asbestos mine, situated right in the centre of the reserve, accounted for the deaths (through asbestos poisoning; l'amiante in French) of many miners and their family members. Asbestos tailings were used for covering roads. Rex Marshall and his fellow kinsmen then set up the Aboriginal Embassy in 1972 in order to draw international attention to « the racist oppression and covert genocide of Aboriginals. » He served on various aboriginal organizations for the uplift of his peoples, both on the regional and national levels. (Inside Black Australia,1988) . T. Wignesan, Paris, December 12,2016. Les nuages noirs s'amoncellent loin dans le ciel D'un moment à l'autre l'orage va s'éclater Et Maman le tient à l'oeil sans cligner des yeux En tenant l'hache dans ses mains et en gardant les deux pieds bien firmes sur le sol Enfin elle se prépare pour se défendre Contre le vent déchainé et la pluie se tombant tout autour En accordance avec ses coutumes, elle devait couper les nuages orageux Pendant qu'elle agitait l'hache en chantant avec toute vigueur Un rite qu'elle avait hérité de sa tribu Cette coutume qu'elle pratiquait toute fière d'elle-même Elle acheva le rite en poussant le cri: « Buddgelin Bey! » L'orage est bien sûr dissipé. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Le vieil identique probleme - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's Same Old Problem by T Wignesan Le vieil identique problème - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's « Same Old Problem » by T. Wignesan (For Kevin Gilbert - cf. the introduction to Inside Black Australia (1988) - as quite obviously for Oodgeroo, too - aboriginal poetry refused to adopt the « 100th monkey imitation style that was so prevalent in Australia during the 70s. » Aboriginal poets « identified with the freedom poets of the lately decolonised countries (…) demanding a new perception of life around us, a new relation with the sanctity, the spiritual entity and living Presence within th earth and all life forms throughout the universe.' Aborignals strove to preserve their culture by vigorously opposing assimilation and by the need to protect themselves against abuses, such as, the sport of « ‘Lobbing the Distance' which entailed the burying of live Aboriginal children up to their necks in sand and seeing who of them could kick off the heads of the Black children to the farthest distance from the body. » Another sport involved the slitting of Black women and men's throats and « let(ting) them run in terrified flapping circles » before throwing them and Black children alive « into the flames. ») T. Wignesan, Paris, December 11,2016. Souvenez-vous de l'haine le taux de mortalité le taudis et la pluie les enfants qu'on enterre la douleur que vous dissimulez le désespoir et la dénégation vous subissez à l'intérieur du pays vous êtes désemparés, vous êtes battus il y reste quand même de l'ombre de l'espoir le passage du vent emmenant du soupir que vous ne pouvez pas vous expliquer mais de nouveau vous êtes leur problème dû à votre refus de mourir par votre obstination votre sac d'eau est vide les travailleurs mineurs vous moquent la poussière remuée par leur Toyota vous brûle la gorge aux Elections du Novembre les contestations abordent toujours les Noires il y a du fer là où votre Saint- coeur refuse de céder souvenez-vous des rivières d'eau vos chansons s'arrête point l'instant que les cavaliers apparaissent vous devez ‘smell off' (?) le bétail ‘vous ne devez pas boire ici les hommes de votre tribu ne doivent pas boire cette nuit les hommes de votre tribu seront assoiffés de vengeance cette nuit Vous voyez les Pléiades les soeurs et le serpent, le sacré dingo à la poursuite les esprits éternels qu'illuminent les cieux et presto! - une ligne brillante s'entache leurs visages une satellite tourbillonne là où les dieux promènent un autre endroit pour être sondé vous essayez d'être sages et retenez l'haine en pleurant des rivières pour les aveuglés vous penchez sur la pelle sachant par coeur ce que se passe un mec au gouvernement soupira ‘encore un mort, effacez son nom de la liste ces jours-ci ils crèvent comme des mouches.' © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Ceux qui celebrent '88 - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's Celebrators '88 by T Wignesan Ceux qui célèbrent ‘88 - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's « Celebrators ‘88 »» by T. Wignesan (This poem mocks the bicentenary celebrations of the founding or « settling » of the Australian continent by the British in 1788 from the point of view of the aboriginal.) Les feuilles bleu vert et grisâtres du gommier furent emportés derrière le banksia qui penchait avec respect suppliant sans dire rien - en deuil dépourvus du cercle des noirs qui autrefois s'étaient assis autour de son tronc pour le caresser et chanter des chansons lequel firent couler les fleuves en faisant enrichir la vie des légendes et la rivière aujourd'hui sont remplacées par des ravines rongées par les moutons et la boue lesquels entravent les rivières en battant la retraite finissent par s'accumulant la boue comme un signe de la défaite on entendait le croassement des corbeaux devenus plus lugubre en goûtant de la chair humaine en putréfaction sous la pureté du soleil depuis l'époque des pionniers aujourd'hui voilés par le smog qui empêchait même les fantômes de les s'apercevoir les colombes de la rivière s'arrêtaient de chanter par peur invitera le chasser apportant la mort foudroyante le kookaburra rie étonné puis garda la silence haletant tout en étant saisie par la peur Les plumes des législateurs en mouvement hésitaient comme des voleurs s'accroupis autour de leur butin combien de milliards eux ils octroyèrent pour fêter le Bicentenaire et faire dissimuler leurs tueries par la hilarité et donner voix à la chanson pour ne pas entendre le grondement du fourgon mortuaire. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 La Paix et le Desert - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's Peace and the Desert by T Wignesan La Paix et le Désert - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's « Peace and the Desert » by T. Wignesan Pendant que la braise du campement de feu scintille J'entendis l'appel du courlis annonçant la naissance ou la mort de quelques uns le vent du désert calmait durant la nuit et dans une voix tremblante poussa un soupire à l'entrée interdite des pas quand on entend le battement des tambours lointain le petit matin arrive en ne faisant pas trop de bruit la nuit des premiers âges est en fuite laissant l'impression frémissante des bruits du carnage et la puissance des carnivores immobile, malgré l'espoir d'un roitelet gazouillant un lézarde qui survive bougeant sur un roché un émeu, deux cherchant de l'eau dans une source d'eau les aigles fixent leur regarde en toute intensité heureux du fait de ce que la nuit pourrait les apporter les tourbillons s'élèvent inaperçus en remuant les arènes en convulsions par les pas d'une danse macabre s'abandonnant à l'ivresse des derviches aiguilles qui piquent mes joues mon front puis lance des cris de rage sur cette mer maintenant morte. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Le Vrai et Nouveau Hymne National - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's The New True Anthem by T Wignesan Le Vrai et Nouveau Hymne National - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's « The New True Anthem » by T. Wignesan En dépit de ce que Dorothea a dit sur le sujet de la terre brûlée au soleil vous ne l'aviez vraiment jamais aimé ni essayé de lui rendre plus précieuse vous polluez toutes les rivières et répandez des détritus sur chaque chaussée votre graffiti d'une telle barbarie défigurent la scène où des grands arbres poussent les plages et les montagnes sont couverts par votre honte l'injustice sévit sans restriction malgré votre insistance sur votre renommé les fleuves pollués alourdis de boue sont cachés derrière des barricades afin que des voyageurs et des assoiffés ne soient pas au courant où des sabots d'étrangers ne les piétinent votre âme dominée par la tyrannie et que vous êtes aveuglée ne voyant pas votre propre image votre manque de pitié et vos manières grossières aujourd'hui la marque de distinction de votre peuple Australie O! Australie vous aurait pu s'ériger en un pays fier et libre nous pleurons en étant angoissés et amers en raison de votre haine et votre tyrannie les corps brûlés des noirs se tordant dans des convulsions - humanité enchaînée - vol de terrain et d'assassinats raciaux vous vantez de vos gains en copeau et en uranium la mort angoissée que vous répandez laissera les enfants de ce pays un héritage mort Australie O! Australie vous auriez pu s'ériger en un pays fier et libre nous pleurons en étant angoissés et amers en raison de votre haine et votre tyrannie © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Klacatoo - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's Klacatoo by T Wignesan Klacatoo - Translation of Kevin Gilbert ‘s « Klacatoo » by T. Wignesan On nous avait coincé sur la rive de Lachlan un endroit qui s'appelle Klacatoo là où nous rassemblions au coucher du soleil quand nous entendions le cri de la Mort du courlis les femmes appelaient leurs enfants autour d'eux les hommes prenaient leurs nulla et lances en mains le courlis de nouveau sonna son avertissement on se sentait les pas de la Mort s'approchant de nous Barjoola sautait haut illuminé par le feu du campement Et en jetant son lance cria: ‘Courrez! ' son corps brûlé vifs dans la braise atterri par le coup de feu d'un fusil le cri perçant du courlis comme celui d'un sifflé fut submergé par l'éclat du tonnerre hommes femmes et enfant entrain de fuir tombèrent et s'entendait une voix: ‘Nous l'avons tous éliminé' et puis on entendait l'écho des coups de feu isolés mettant fin aux corps qui bougeait un après l'autre et au-dessus du bruit de la hémorragie coulant à flot on entendait le rire nerveux d'un homme déclarant: ‘Ils sont un peuple rusé, surveillez la rivière.' ils tiraient jusqu'à ce que tous ce qui nageait soient noyés mais ils n'apercevaient pas la famille Djarrmal se cachant sur le côté sous le vent de la rive Djarrmal dit aux autres: ' Si vous bougez, vous êtes morts iIs nous massacrent comme nous étions des chiens sauvages mettez des roseaux dans vos bouches - sous l'eau nous allons flotter sous la couverture de tronc d'arbre un coup de feu sonna et perça le tronc une jeune fille Kalara s'arrêta de respirer en se suffoquant plus tard elle deviendra ma arrière grand-mère et raconta l'histoire de la mort de mon peuple L'oiseau Yoorung pleure encore en cet endroit-là aucun poisson de taille grande ne nage dans ce trou mon peuple ne s'arrête pas quand-t-ils passent par là effrayés leur âme frissonnant la nuit quand les blancs se sont endormis se contentant à se rêver d'une manière moderne nous nous passons par Klacatoo avec hâte où nous entendons même aujourd'hui des cris qui nous font trembler vous dites: ‘ Ne chantez plus des chansons d'un temps déjà écoulé ne nous discutons plus de tout ce là' mais la question toujours reste sans réponse Comment pouvez-vous nous refuser comme faisait Pilate on nous privant des droits inaliénables. Le pays est maintenant approprié la scellé commun de la Couronne est un linceul pour cacher le vol de terre et les crimes d'assassinat lesquels ne suffissent pas pour suffoquer les rêves des gens d'une fierté digne. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Tu le fera, n'est-ce pas, Papa- Translation of Kevin Gilbert's Won't you, Dad by T Wignesan Tu le fera, n'est-ce pas, Papa? - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's « Won't you, Dad? » by T. Wignesan Si toutes les jolies mélodies de ce monde eussent été chantées et toutes les chefs d'oeuvres des maîtres fussent être exhibées dans des meilleurs galléries et toutes les statues de David et les poèmes et autres oeuvres de l'Homme eussent été mis à feu pour la joie de la Mort partout dans le monde, un petit enfant me regarda et en souriant et en étant tout fier rempli de l'amour et de la joie et il dis: «'Tu ne laissera pas qu'on explose la bombe sur ma tête, Papa. Tu les empêchera, n'est-ce pas, Papa? ' Son signe d'interrogation c'était comme un arque entouré des flammes Je lui répondis en toute confiance: ‘Nous les empêcherons, mon enfant.' Mais, dans mon coeur, j'ai peur et l'honte me consume de faites je PAYE l'HOMME pour fabriquer la BOMBE Je lui donne de l'IMPOT pour chanter sa chanson d'haine Je tiens le chien de guerre en laisse Je l'aide à éprouver la haine et la faire croître Je PAYE l'HOMME pour fabriquer la bombe pour garder le monde et mon enfant dans la peur Je ferme mon coeur aux autres êtres humains comme s'était j'avais peur quand l'amour est en train de m'approcher C'est MOI qui suis en faute c'est MOI qui fais bruler la chanson c'est moi qui fera bruler la jolie mélodie parce que j‘ai peur que d'autres humains près de moi peuvent d'une manière ou l'autre me faire remplir d'amour la flamme se chauffera et fera fondre les yeux de mes enfants en train de me regarder et demander aujourd'hui avec amour et confiance en moi: ‘Tu les empêcheras de faire tomber la bombe sur moi, n'est-ce pas, Papa? ' © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 L'Arbre - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's Tree by T Wignesan L'Arbre - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's « Tree » by T. Wignesan Je suis l'arbre la maigre et dure terre qui a faim le corbeau et l'aigle le soleil et la lune et la mer Je suis l'argile sacrée laquelle constitue la base l‘herbe les vignes l'homme Je suis tout ce qui est crée Je suis vous et vous n'êtes que rien mais par le biais de l'arbre vous existez et rien ne peut m'atteindre que par le portail de cette seule chose pour être libre et vous êtres toujours rien car toute la création - terre et Dieu et homme - est rien sauf qu'ils s'intègrent et devient partie d'une totalité de quelque chose ensemble s'intégrant dans une même conscience et chaque partie sacrée soit consciente vivante dans un même esprit d'affinité © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Maman - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's Mum by T Wignesan Mama - Translation of Kevin Gilbert's « Mum » by T. Wignesan Kevin Gilbert (July 10,1933 - April 1,1993) - father of Irish-English ancestry, mother an aboriginal from New South Wales - was orphaned at seven. His elder sisters looked after him until he left school at 13 to scavenge a living through hunting rabbits and kangaroo and thriving on what he could pick up from white peoples' rubbish heaps. He was also a seasonal worker, as he says, « …not just because times are hard, but because I was BLACK and the white man had taken my country from my people and kept me and my people as victims, as slaves. » In 1957, he was sentenced to penal servitude for life for having killed his white wife in a brawl when he was « pissed » in the wee hours of the morn. « …of which I can only say that, I was a Black boy in a white court where the jury, the judge, the lawyers were ALL white. What chance of justice? » He served fourteen and a half years in prison where he managed to get some training in printing: a good many of his works were self-published at first. He has the distinction of being the first aboriginal playwright (his first play, The Cherry Pickers, written on toilet paper, was smuggled out of prison) ; the first to anthologize aboriginal poetry; the first to produce a political tract or dissertation, and the frist to produce an oral history of his peoples in book form. Like his contemporary Oodgeroo Noonuccal, he enjoyed the reputation of being a great talker. This poem and the quotations are from his anthology: Inside Black Australia, Penguin,1988.) T. Wignesan, december 4, 2016. Quinze chiens rôdaient ils hurlaient sans relâche leurs poils sales broussailleux et leurs os désignaient leur forme rappelant d'un passé maigre voire, encore plus pénible autour de leur vieille maison dont ils restaient toujours fidèles comme si ils voulaient dire il y ait quelque chose plus que le manger que nous retiennent ici une qualité que nous nous sentons et apprécions laquelle fait hérisser et briller nos pelages par l'amour de ceux qui habitent là-dedans et en entrant par la porte de la tente je m'étais pris à la gorge je vis une femme sur un lit ses jambes pareilles à des boîtes d'emballages morte - elle resta immobile le drap d'une couleur jaune sale la couverture déchirée se trouvant sur ses pieds la condition déplorable de sa tente délabrée des casseroles enrobées de graisse m'ont presque obligé à pousser des cris d'horreur - mon esprit divaguait tout azimut - le bruit me tambourinait aux oreilles j'entendis la voix douce d'un homme: « Ma Mama elle est aveugle et pendant toutes ces dix-sept années je n'ai jamais vu sans rime ni raison la décision pour ne pas nous accorder un chez-soi ce fait témoigne de cette vérité-là: la tente le lit les chiens sont mieux abrités, ' lui dit-il. ‘Ma Mama, elle est aveugle, elle dors maintenant elle réveillera bientôt la vérité est que elle n'ira nulle part ailleurs que restait dans son lit La Commission décida: pas de foyer ne pas mérité ou Noire ou quelque chose et…' dit-il: ‘les chiens vivent mieux que nous dans ce pays et nous ne pourrions faire mieux que mourir ma mère, elle est aveugle, ' dit-il. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Un appel - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's An Appeal by T Wignesan Un appel - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's « An Appeal » by T. Wignesan Les hommes d'Etat qui ourdissent les lois de la nation Munis du pouvoir pour contraindre ceux qui résistent, Guidez nous réaliser le but de notre cause: Ceci est le devoir des dirigeants. Les écrivains dont la nation toute entière sont à votre écoute Vos plumes sont des sabres qui font reculer les opposants, Parlez haut et clair de ce que nous sévit Afin que tout le monde soit au courant. Les syndicats qui soutiennent la démocratie Protecteurs de la liberté sociale, Soyez sensible à la justesse de notre plaidoirie Et agissez-vous avec vigueur. Les églises qui prêchent le Nazaréen, Soyez de notre coté et intervenez en notre faveur. Montrez-nous ce que c'est l'amour chrétien Nous qui l'avons tant besoin. La presse qui est dotée d'un pouvoir suprême, Les déshérités vous en font appel: Mettez fin à cette injustice et le fléau Dont nous nous souffrons. Tous les blancs qui nous soutiennent, en dernier lieu Nos plus ardents espoirs se trouvent dans vos mains; L'opinion publique c'est notre meilleur ami Pour lutter contre l'ennemi. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Le Courlis poussa des cris -Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's The Curlew Cried by T Wignesan Le courlis poussa des cris - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's « The Curlew Cried » by T. Wignesan (Note d'Oodgeroo: Le courlis fut le frère d'aborigènes. Il venait trois nuits de suite pour pousser des cris près d'un campement afin d'annoncer la mort d'un entre eux. Ils croyaient que le courlis venait pour conduire les ombres des morts vers le monde Inconnu.) Durant trois nuits on entendait le cri du courlis, L'ancien avertissement tous savaient interpréter: Le cri leurs rappelle quelqu'un va mourir cette nuit. Tant frère qu'ami, il entre et sort En dehors de la Terre des Ombres La voix la plus insolite sur terre. Il a en sa charge le bien-être de ceux Dont chaque âme qu'il conduit à sa destination - A quel monde mystérieux, à quel étrange Inconnu? Qui donc devait nous quitter cette nuit: Le vieux aveugle? L'enfant handicapé? Tout le campement sera au courant demain. Le défunt malchanceux ne sera pas si effrayé, Le frère de la tribu lui tiendra compagnie Quand le voyage non voulu devrait être entamé. ‘Tiens bon, la mort ne pas une fin en soi-même, ' Il semblait dire. 'Bien que tu dois pleurer, La Mort est bienveillante puisqu'elle est ton ami.' Durant trois nuits le courlis poussa des cris. Une fois de plus Il vient pour accompagner les morts timides - Quelle macabre changement, quelle épouvantable rive? c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 La Tombe d'arbre - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's Tree Grave by T Wignesan La Tombe d'arbre - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's « Tree Grave » by T. Wignesan Quand-t-il s'était parti, notre défunt, Au-delà pour le Monde des Ombres, Pendant que nous poussions des gémissements, Nous lui avons enrobé dans d'écorce d'arbres, Et nous lui avons porté, en récitant Notre chante de mort lugubre, Vers sa tombe dans un arbre isolé Au bord de la Longue Lagune. Même quand nous sommes bien éloignés De nos feux de campements éparpillés Nous ne l'oublions jamais Ni de jour ni de nuit En faisant face à l'endroit où il sommeil Sous la lumière d'une lune blanche, Au bord des eaux scintillantes De la lagune silencieuse. Sont déjà oublié ses exploits de chasse Et les chansons qu'il avait composées; Le pauvre gars tout seul, Il aura surement de la peur Quand les vents de la nuit chuchotaient Leurs aires d'épouvantes Parmi les chênes marécageux hantés Au bord de la Longue Lagune. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Daisy Bindi - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's Daisy Bindi by T Wignesan Daisy Bindi - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's « Daisy Bindi » by T. Wignesan L'esclavage à Roy Hill, quelle honte profonde misère: Les noirs obligés à travailler sans paie l'année durant, L'esclavagistes encouragés par la connivence policière Avec la bénédiction subreptice du gouvernement. Mais une femme guerrière sans aucune aide Conduisait son peuple noir pour abolir la servitude. Saluons cet esprit fin, Daisy de la tribu Nullagine, Qui sans aide et avec vigueur Osa l'esclavage à défier. Daisy Bindi, la grande, pareil aux hommes chaussa les étriers, Entama les tâches de l'élevage dès le lever du jour Et les heures du ménage qui rendaient la vie pénible Les années durant, même sans paie hebdomadaire possible, Quand Daisy du coeur inébranlable organisa son clan Réclama la justice pour ses pairs et des Droits de l'homme. Toute honneur et l‘éloge A Daisy de Noongah siège Pour avoir mis fin à la tyrannie L'esclavage elle osa à bannir. O! les patrons la menaçaient, les patrons en vitupérant En faisant appel à la police pour contourner la loi, Et les hommes et femmes noirs furent malmené et attaqué Pour avoir résisté la dégradation fut battus et incarcérés, Mais Daisy, la militante, aucun homme ne pourrait dompter Celle qui réussi faire sortir son peuple de l'enfer. (Note d'Oodgeroo: Madame Daisy Bindi de l'intérieur d'Australie de l'ouest s'était fait connaître comme une meneuse des aborigènes. A Roy Hill Station où elle travaillait, les aborigènes éleveurs et domestiques travaillaient sans salaires ni récompense jusqu'à ce qu'elle motiva son peuple à lutter pour leurs droits. C'était une longue bataille parsemée d'incidents outrageux commis à l'encontre de sa race, mais le résultat final fut victorieux aboutissant dans l'instauration de l'admirable Pindan Co-operative Aboriginal Community à Port Hedland.) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Mon amour - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's My Love by T Wignesan Mon amour - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's « My Love » by T. Wignesan Me posséder? Non, je ne me permets pas L'amour que les autres connaissent, Car j'ai épousé une cause: Je me prive de tous loisirs de finesse. Vous voulez me posséder toute entière: Mon corps, mon âme et mon esprit; Mon amour est réservé à mon peuple En premier lieu, et puis l'humanité m'a pris. L'entité sociale, celle qui désigne mon Moi J'y ai renoncé depuis des lustres; Ma vie est vouée au service des autres, Aucun homme ne peut la ravir en maître. L'intolérance des blancs m'emprisonne, Des insultes et le mépris à me contraindre, Je me dois d'être libre, je me dois d'être forte Pour pouvoir lutter et les vaincre. Car il y a des injustices à rectifier, La malveillance des hommes à supporter, C'est un long chemin, un parcours de solitaire, Mais, Oui, le but est sûr et salutaire. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 C'est bientot l'aube - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's The Dawn is at Hand by T Wignesan C'est bientôt l'aube - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's " The Dawn is at Hand" by T. Wignesan (Note: In this poem - the title poem of her second collection - Oodgeroo has come full circle, la boucle est bouclée, come to terms with her and her people's predicament; no more the fierce apostrophising she filled her first poems with. Yet, disappointed with the Labour Government's refusal to enact the promised Land Rights laws, she renounced her Christian names: Kathleen Walker and assumed the aboriginal name: Oodgeroo, meaning the « paperbark tree » (of the Noonuccal tribe) and returned to settle in traditional tribal land in North Stradbroke Island on Minjerrebah enviorns. From then on her protest movement led her into militant political activity as an office-holder in aboriginal development affairs, both as a speaker and as a pamphleteer. In this translation, I have tried to keep to the original structure and rhyme scheme, not without taking some very minor liberties.) T. Wignesan, November 28,2016 Mes frères noirs, la première race australienne, Bientôt ils occuperont la place qui est les siennes Comme des frères, longuement attendus en triomphe, Jamais plus en habitants de la zone limitrophe. Pénibles, pénibles, les larmes que vous avez laissé couler Quand l'espoir fut anéanti et la justice restée aveuglée. La longue nuit était-elle épuisante? Soyez fort, clan noir, Le lever du jour est bientôt là. Allez de l'avant avec fierté et sans crainte Pour réclamer vos droits inaliénables, jusqu'ici restreints, Car d'ici peu l'honte du passé Sera enfin effacée. Vous serez le bienvenu avec l'esprit de camaraderie Dans toute entreprise et l'industrie; Aucune profession ne vous lancera des apostrophes Jamais plus en habitants de la zone limitrophe. Les noirs et les blancs à pieds d'égalité Dans des clubs et des bureaux et circulant librement dans la société, Vous sentirez l'amitié chaleureuse du pays Dans la façon on vous serre la main en paix. En partageant la même proportion d'égalité Dans des collèges et de l'université, Tous les labeurs soient manuels ou d'intellectuels Ne vous serons plus conflictuels. Car toutes interdictions et préjugés seront abolis, Le futur vous encourage d'avancer avec courage unis Pour accéder aux domaines des arts, des lettres et du monde officiel en triomphe, Jamais plus en habitants de la zone limitrophe. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Ne soyons pas rancunier - Translation of Oodgeroo's Let us not be bitter by T Wignesan Ne soyons pas rancunier - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's " Let us not be bitter" by T. Wignesan (Note: The fiery fearless rebel of Where we going (1964) and The Dawn is at Hand (1966) - Oodgeroo's first two collections - soon finds appeasement and forgiveness in My People (3rd edn.) . The overwhelming consensus of the Referendum of May 27,1967 conferring citizenship and voting rights to the estimated 400,000 aboriginals, together with her own projection on the international stage, must have contributed towards the thawing of her heart though Oodgeroo continued to rage against the Federal Labour Government's refusal to enact the promised National Land Rights laws. Oodgeroo's conciliatory tone in some later poems must attest to her own maturity as a poet - she had had to become a domestic servant again as a single parent earlier on when her husband deserted her. The International Acting Award she received for the film based on her life: Shadow Sister (1977) and the year she spent as Poet-in-Residence at Bloomsburg State College, Pennsylvania, during 1978-79, may have helped to ease the pain of not belonging anywhere in particular and paved the way towards adopting an enlightened attitude vis-à-vis her nemeses: " European Australians must let go of England. (…) American universities are the leaders in providing cultural role models for students.(...) …our universities must acknowledge and recognise the fact that their domineering and entrenched elitism still implements the mid-Victorian attitude of the ‘survival of the white tribe at any cost' and is counter productive to the racial equality of the future." (My People,1990) - T. Wignesan, November 27,2016 Finissons-en avec l'amertume, Mon propre Peuple basané, Venez, prenez position avec moi, avec le regard tourné vers l'avant et non derrière soi, Car un nouveau monde s'ouvre à nous tous. Il est temps que nous changions. Pour une éternité Le Temps s'était arrêté pour nous; nous le savons maintenant Que la Vie n'est que changement, la Vie est progrès, La Vie signifie l'apprentissage, la Vie continue. Les hommes blancs auraient dû apprendre à vivre selon les exigences de leurs civilisations, Maintenant c'est notre tour. Finissons avec l'amertume et la mémoire du passé insupportable; Faisons un effort pour comprendre le comportement de l'homme blanc Et acceptons-les de la même manière qu'eux nous acceptent; Essayons de juger les blancs par le comportement des meilleurs parmi eux. Ceux qui sont racistes sont moins nombreux que nous, Nous ne nous voulons pas du mal, pas plus qu'eux à notre encontre, Ne soyons pas amer, c'est une attitude négative, Un vers de terre dans l'esprit. Le passé a disparu exactement comme nos jours d'enfance au bon vieux temps, Le futur arrive comme le lever du jour après la nuit, Tout en emportant sa récompense. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's Dawn Wail for the Dead by T Wignesan La plainte au lever du jour pour les Morts - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's " Dawn Wail for the Dead" by T. Wignesan (Note: The style of the original smacks of hurried note-taking, say, by an anthropologist or that of just a mere diary entry.) Maintenant la lumière peu claire à l'aube Désigne à peine les corps de ceux qui dorment au campement. La vieille Lubra, la première à se réveiller, se souvient: Le premier devoir au lever du jour C'est de se souvenir des ancêtres, pleurer leur sort. Doucement au début elle pousse des gémissements Un après l'autre en se réveillant on l'entend, On la joint dans la plainte, et l'entier campement Pousse des gémissements pour les Morts Partis d'ici vers l'Endroit Sans Lumière: Eux ils restent présents dans la mémoire. Puis le devoir est complet, maintenant commence la vie, Les feux sont attisés, le rire se répend dès lors, Et un nouveau jour les appelle à la tâche. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016. L'age de pierre - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's Stone Age by T Wignesan L'âge de pierre - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's " Stone Age" by T. Wignesan Homme Blanc, ce que nous séparent ne que du temps. Il y eu une période dans le lointain passé quand vous habitaient dans des caves, Vous utilisaient l'hache de pierre, vous vous habillaient avec les peaux des animaux, Vous aussi avaient de la peur pour la nuit, vous fuyaient tous ce que vous ne comprenez pas. Retournez-vous à cette période-là, souvenez-vous de votre propre Alcheringa* Quand l'éclair semblait être produit par magie et vous vous cachaient Face au terrible tonnerre réverbérant aux cieux. La race supérieure blanche: ce qui nous sépare ne que du temps - Exactement comme certains sont des adultes et d'autres malgré eux des enfants. Nous sommes les dernières de tribus de l'âge de pierre, Attendant notre tour De la même manière que le temps vous avaient servi. •The creation of the universe, the time known to most people as the Dreamtime or the Dreaming. (Oodgeroo) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 La Femme Woor - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's The Woor Woman by T Wignesan (La ballade de) La femme Woor - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's " The Woor Woman" by T. Wignesan Le chasseur Bhoori demandit de la colline, Puisque le ciel à l'ouest était de rouge, Et le monde entier devenait triste et calme Les arbres chuchotait quand-t-il passa là-bas, Il n'y avait eu personne non plus. Il entendit Le chant poussé de crake et aussi celui du pluvier. Il s'était arrêté et regarda autour de lui. Là-bas dans la verdure Une étrange femme debout lui fixa des yeux, La plus belle qu'il n'avait jamais vu. Elle changea de position et courrait un peu, Puis elle s'arrêta et tourna son regard vers lui. ‘Suis-moi, suis-moi' dite-elle, semblait-il. ‘Si, je dois la suivre, ' dit-il. ‘Elle hantera mes rêves dorenavant Si je la laisse fuir loin de moi.' Une fois de plus elle s'éloigna, puis elle s'arrêta, Et continuait ainsi de la lui faire suivre Tantôt animé, tantôt un peu éffrayé. Jusqu'à qu'ils arrivèrent là où il y avait d' eaux, Le marais silencieux de la Femme Woor Où personne n'osait aventurer ni de nuit ni de jour. Au-delà il voyait des eaux qui brillaient. ‘Suis-moi, suis-moi, ' elle semblait dire. Bhoori continua de la suivre comme dans un rêve. Soudain sur les eaux devenues moins claires Elle courrait ses pas legèrs et y resta debout, Et là elle restait ses yeux fixés sur lui. ‘Je vois l'apparition, maintenant je le sais, Elle fait partie du Peuple des hombres.' Et comme l'accueil chaleureux et confortant Des feux du campement de sa tribu, Son peuple lui recevait en l'appelant par son nom. Mais Bhoori paraissait comme un homme envoûté, Son peuple à lui maintenant devenu des étrangers, Aucun visage lui fut familier. Son histoire on écoutait avec des yeux écarquilles Et tandis que certains souriyait, les vieux Témoignaient de la pitié et murmuraient entre eux. ‘C'est le signe de la vieillesse, ' disaient-ils. ‘Bhoori a vu la Femme Woor. Ici trois jours, il n'y sera plus.' © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Les Protecteurs - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's The Protectors by T Wignesan Les Protecteurs - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's " The Protectors" by T. Wignesan (Note: Oodgeroo never claimed to write poetry à la manière des poètes occidentaux; she said - without mincing words - her lines were sheer ‘propaganda'. Others thought otherwise: Judith Wright, a part-time reader for the then newly-founded Jacaranda Press and the young publisher Brian Coulson recognised the need for an honest and courageous voice to set right wrongs, and thus began a career to seek justice for the hard-pressed and humiliated aborigines in Australia. As Judith Wright, herself, says: " Those demands, and many more, rang out against a background of long-accepted silence, and they seemed to me imperative. This poetry had to be published and listened to, for it was a challenge and a warning as well as a new achievement./ Was it poetry? It could be set against the general run of largely boring and cliché-ridden verse that thudded on to publishers' desks every day…" (Oodgeroo, p.166) And here's a relevant quote, if justification to voice oneelf in poetry were thought necessary, from Oodgeroo's acceptance speech on the conferment of an honorary doctorate from Griffith Universty: " As a proud Aborigine, I have witnessed, among Asian and European peoples, the replanting of their grassroot cultures on my Aboriginal homeland, and I have seen only the continuation of prejudice and suffering for my people. Only the history of the European and English Australian, it seems, repeats itself over and over again in this, my country." (Oodgeroo, My People, p.104) T. Wignesan, Novmber 23,2016.) Trop de gens nous méprisent et nous exploitent Quoiqu'il en a des blancs qui nous aident, Mais non pas ceux qui sont nommés et des fonctionnaires salariés. Non, certainment pas la police des protecteurs feudales, Les protecteurs qui ne protègent pas. La police qui se trouve dans des bourgades à l'intérieur, Le Protecteur d'Aborigènes Qui nous déracines ici et ailleurs comme des bétails A la demande des surveillants et leurs épouses Nous nous sommes réduits à des animaux, propriétés du Sergent-Major, Le Protecteur qui ne protègent pas. En cas de viol d'une fille noire par un ou plusieurs hommes blancs Il n'y aura lieu aucune enquête; Il n'y a pas de remède, pas d'appel aux autorités. A qui pourront-nous fait appel sinon au Protecteur lui-même? Celui qui méprise les noirs. Le sentiment est mutuel, Sergent-Major! Lui, il s'en fou si les enfants noirs ne sont pas inscrits dans des écoles, Ou des femmes obligées à travailler du matin au soir sans relâche, se sentant emprisonnées et malheureuses; Il rit avec les autres en entendant comment les noirs sont dérobés par les magasiniers, Ils ne font que de la sourde oreille quant à tout cela, Ces grands patrons des bourgades dotés du pouvoir absolu sur nous, Le Protecteur qui ne protège pas. () T. Wignesan - Paris,2006 Le Passe - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's The Past by T Wignesan Le Passé - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's « The Past » by T. Wignesan Que personne ne le dise: le passé est mort. Le passé nous entoure et aussi là-dedans. Hanté par le souvenir de la tribu, je sais Que ce petit moment, ce présent accidentel Ne me définie pas entièrement dont la conception prolongée Est fruit d'un passé profond. Cette nuit tandis que je suis assis dans un faubourg de la cité Devant un appareil de chauffage enfoncé dans un fauteuil Se sentant chaud dû au feu rouge et brillant, je me glisse dans un rêve: Je suis partie Je me trouve autour du feu de campement des broussailles, parmi Mon peuple à moi, assis par terre, Sans aucun mur autour de moi, Les étoiles dans des cieux Des grands arbres autour que le vent fait bouger si peu Faisant sentir leur propre musique, Les douces chansons de la nuit que nous rappelons, là Où nous faisons partie des vies de la vieille Nature Tantôt reconnus qu'inconnues, Dans des endroits où nous étions bien accueillis quoique maintenant abandonnés. Le fauteuil profond et le radiateur électrique Datent que d'hier, Mais des milliers et des milliers de feu des campements aux forêts Se chauffent dans mon sang. Que personne ne me dise que le passé soit totalement disparu. L'instant présent ne qu'une partie infime, une si infime partie De toutes les années de la race dont font partie de mon être. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 La Civilisation - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's Civilization by T Wignesan La Civilisation - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's " Civilization" by T. Wignesan Nous qui sont arrivés en retard à la civilisation, Une lacune des siècles que nous ait laissé tomber, Lors de votre arrivé à nos terres nous vous admirions émerveillés Mais nous ne nous sentions pas effrayer. A l'époque nous n'avions rien d'autre que le don d'être heureux, Chaque jour un jour férié Car nous étions des humains avant d'être des citoyens, Avant d'être redevables aux impôts sur le revenu, Et locataires, consommateurs, employés, paroissiens. De quelle façon pourrions-nous comprendre Les stratifications de l'homme blanc, toutes rigides et sans appel, Vos totems sacrés, de Seigneurs et Dames, Altesse et Sainteté, Eminence, Majesté. Nous ne pourrions pas comprendre Votre étrange culte de l'uniformité, Cette adhérence totale à la ponctualité, discipline comme à programmer le travail. Confus, nous nous doutions De l'importance pour vous de l'urgence et de la signifiance Des cravates et des gants, de cirage, de l'uniforme. Des prisons et des orphelinats étant des nouveautés pour nous, Des locations et des impôts, des banques et des hypothèques. Nous qui possédons quasiment rien hormis les choses essentielles, Nous n'avions pas des policiers, des avocats, des revendeurs intermédiaires, Des courtiers, des financiers, des millionnaires. Ainsi ces choses-là, tous ces merveilles nous avaient rendu abasourdis Valeurs mobilières, le marché d'immobiliers, L'intérêt composé, des ventes et des investissements. Si nous avions pu nous en profiter et de nous faire élevés Avec des telles connaissances nouvelles peut-être un nouveau monde aurait pu nous accueillir. Absorbés de jour au lendemain dans de façon à vivre de l'homme blanc Nous voilà acceptions avec résignation tout avec joie et reconnaissance, Puisque c'est la voie de l'inévitable. Mais souvenez-vous, Homme Blanc, si par contre la vie est faite pour atteindre la joie de vivre Ne vous aussi nul doute éprouveriez grand besoin de changer. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Je suis fier - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's I am proud by T Wignesan Je suis fier/fière - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's " I am Proud" by T. Wignesan Je me trouve noir de peau parmi les blancs Et je suis fier. Fier de ma race et fier de la couleur de ma peau. Je suis abattu et pauvre, Je porte les vêtements usés et déchirés de l'homme blanc, Mais n'y pensez pas même un instant que j'ai honte. Des lances ne pouvaient pas nous protéger contre les fusils et nous étions vaincus, Mais quelques choses y restent qu'ils ne pouvaient pas arracher de nous ni de les détruire. Nous étions vaincus mais non pas dompté, On nous avait obligé d'obéir mais nous nous restions digne. N'y pensez pas d'ôter mon esprit d'indépendence comme certains blancs se soumettant aux autres. Je suis fier, Bien que humble et pauvre et sans abri A l'égal de Christ. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 La discrimination raciale - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's Colour Bar by T Wignesan La discrimination raciale - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's " Colour Bar" by T. Wignesan Quand d'ignobles d'hommes me méprisent parce que je suis brun de peau Ce là ne m'inquiète pas. Mais quand un enfant ridiculisé rentre à la maison le visage taché des larmes La colère féroce m'emporte. La discrimination raciale! Ceci révèle une mentalité D'une sorte d'idiotie. L'Homme n'est toujours pas sorti de son état médiéval tant que Une telle sottise persiste. Si seulement il pourrait s'apercevoir, ce con qui cherche à discriminer Qu'il renvoie le blâme au Dieu Qui nous a tous crée et tous Ses enfants Lui Il aime de la même manière. Tant que les frères sont bannis de la fraternité Vous continuez d'exclure, La Chrétienté que vous appréciez tant N'est qu'un mensonge, La Justice des paroles d'hypocrites, le contenu Qui renvoie aux précédents. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 L'Integration - Oui - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's Integration - Yes by T Wignesan L'Intégration - Oui! Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's " Integration - Yes! " by T. Wignesan Nous apprenons de vous avec gratitude, La race qui nous devance, Vous qui incarnent des siècles des usages et coutumes, Nous sommes des Australiens long temps avant Votre arrivé lequel ne date que d'hier, Que nous devons être disposer de changer, Apprendre à vouloir des choses que nous ne voulons pas du tout, Des nouvelles contraintes que nous n'avons jamais subis, La rançon de notre survivance. Une bonne partie de ce que nous aimons a disparue et devait disparaître, Mais ne pas les fondements profonds de notre être. Le passé fait toujours partie de ce que nous sommes, Il se trouve toujours autour de nous, toujours en dedans de nous même. Nous sentons les plus heureux Quand nous sommes parmi notre propre peuple. Nous aimerions pratiquer Nos propres coutumes vivantes, nos vieilles Danses et chansons, nos arts et nos corroborées.. Pour quelle raison devons nous échanger nos mythes sacrés pour les vôtres! Non, pas d'assimilation, mais l'intégration, Pas de domination mais de notre essor, Afin que les noirs et les blancs pourraient s'avancer main dans la main En paix et la fraternité. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Le gommier de la Municipalite - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's Municipal Gum by T Wignesan Le gommier de la Municipalité - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's " Municipal Gum" by T. Wignesan Le gommier qui se trouve sur la rue de la ville, Le bitume autour de tes pieds, Il vaudrait mieux que tu sois Dans le monde des espaces fraiches entouré d'arbres feuillus de la forêt Et des chants des oiseaux sauvages. Ici tu me parais Comme ce pauvre cheval de trait-là Castré, démoli, une chose écartée et damnée, Harnaché et bouclé, c'est l'enfer prolongé, Dont la tête baissée et le mien fade exprime L'espoir à jamais perdu. Le gommier de la ville, c'est douloureux De t'apercevoir ainsi Figé dans ta pelouse noircie de bitume - O concitoyen, Qu'est-ce qu'ils ont fait de nous? © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Translation of Aboriginal Charter of Rights by Oodgeroo Noonuccal La Charte des Droits de l'Homme pour les Aborigènes - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's Aboriginal Charter of Rights by T. Wignesan Nous avons besoin de l'espoir, pas de racisme, La fraternité, pas d'ostracisme Du progrès pour les Noirs, pas l'essor des Blancs: Faites-nous des égaux, pas ceux dépendent de vous. Nous avons besoin d'assistance, pas d'exploitation, Nous voulons la liberté, pas de frustration; Pas de mainmise sinon la confiance en soi-même, L'Independence, pas l'obéissance Pas d'insouciance sinon l'éducation, Respect pour soi-même, pas de la résignation Libère-nous d'une soumission abjecte, D'une Protection bureaucratique. Nous allons oublier des esclavagistes d'antan. Donnez-nous de la camaraderie, pas de faveurs, Encouragement, pas d'interdictions; Des foyers, pas des cantonnements et des campements de prosélytisme. Nous avons besoin d'amour, pas de la surveillance autoritaire, Qu'on nous serre la main, pas d'être fouetté par nos maîtres, L'opportunité qui range Les Blancs et les Noirs sur une base d'égal à égal. Vous nous dépriment, vous nous laissent sans protection, Vous nous proscrivent au lieu de nous traiter comme des amis. Faites-nous sentir le bienvenu, pas avec mépris, Donnez-nous le droit de choisir, pas la coercition froide, Un statut digne, pas la discrimination, Les droits de l'Homme, pas la ségrégation. Vous incarnez la Loi comme le Romain Pontius, Faites en sorte que nous soyons fiers, pas conscients de notre couleur; Rendez-nous ce que nous appartient lequel vous vous aviez Approprié de nous, Soyez gentille avec nous, ne montrez pas le préjugé d'un bigot; Laissez-nous sentir ambitieux sans interdiction, La confiance et ne pas la condescendance; Octroyez-nous le droit de prendre l'initiative, pas de restriction, Donnez-nous le Christ, pas la crucifixion. Bien que baptisés et bénis et endoctrinés avec la Bible Nous sommes toujours l'objet de tabous et de diffamation. Vous les pieux vendeurs de la salvation, Faites de nous vos voisins, pas d'habitants de bidonvilles; Faites de nous vos copains, pas des parents non privilégiés, Citoyens et non pas des esclaves dans des plantations. Devrions-nous le peuple d'origine d'Australie Compter parmi des étrangers sur notre propre terre? En abolissant toutes les restrictions et en détruisant les rigueurs (du système) de caste Qu'on arrivera à gagner ce que nous appartient de droit. (Note: In 1788, the first white settlers set foot on Australian soil after James Cook's maiden voyage of « discovery » in 1770. The aboriginal peoples were allowed citizenship and voting rights only in 1967, three years after the publication of Oodgeroo's first volume of poems.) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 L'Assimilation Non Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's Assimilation No by T Wignesan L'Assimilation - Non! Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's " Assimilation - No! " by T. Wignesan Born Kathleen Jean Mary RUSKA on November 3,1920, in the North Stradbroke Island, off Queensland, she was deemed as an aboriginal (poor whites too were subject to the same fate) - as was the custom during the White Australia Policy days Down Under - fit at 13 to leave primary school to labour as a houseservant, and in 1939, she volunteered to serve out the War in the Women's Corps. She married Walker, a fellow soldier - who spent his days in detention at Changi Prison in Singapore under the Japanese Regime - and had two sons: Vivian and Denis. After the War, she met and befriended for life her biographer, Kathleen Cochrane, a great solace to her during her " single parent" days. Kath Walker then wrote poetry, essays, stories and articles to highlight the plight of her downtrodden and despised kith and kin, and with the publication of her first book of poems: " Where we going" in 1964 (sold out in three days) achieved national fame, and other collections soon followed in 1966 to the eighties with the backing of the poet and critic, Judith Wright. Soon followed after international acclaim, even a doctoral degree honoris causa. Not just the first aboriginal poet to be published, she became almost instantly the spokesperson for her people all over the Continent, a people until then without a voice: not until 1967 were they even given voting rights, and not until recently has the government even proffered an " apology" for the way aboriginals had been treated for so long. Kath Walker - before her demise in 1993 - then assumed her native name: OODGEROO - " Noonuccal" being the name of her tribe. At the same time, she even chose to wear loose flowing garments as a symbol of her difference and achievement as the champion of the aborigines in Australia, a success story to reinforce the belief in poetry as the most formidable weapon of peaceful change in history. (Oodgeroo was also a competent cricketer, having represented the State of Queensland a couple of times or more, and it only goes to show that having mastered the finest art form of play known to man, versifying or poetising was mere child's play to her: it goes without saying that good cricketers make for dazzling poets!) Assimilation - Non! Versez votre cruche de vin dans la grande rivière Et où se trouve votre vin? Il n'y a que de la rivière. Le génie d'une vieille race doit-elle disparaître Afin que la race puisse-t-elle survivre? Nous qui désirons d'être des égaux de vous, un peuple digne, Nous devrions maintenant nous priver de trop dont nous aimons, Des libertés d'antan pour des nouvelles contraintes, Votre monde en échange pour le nôtre, Mais un noyau restant nous devrions conserver toujours pour nous mêmes. Vous nous faites changer et nous contraindre par la force afin que nous assumons une autre forme, Mais laissez nos racines ancrées profondément dans la terre d'antan. Nous sommes dotés des coeurs et des esprits différents Dans des corps insolites. Ne nous demandez pas D'être des déserters, désavouer non plus nos mères, De changer l'inchangeable. On ne peut pas persuader un gommier de comporter comme un chêne. Quelques choses se perdent, quelque chose est sacrifiée, mais Nous allons continuer d'avancer afin d'apprendre. Ne pas être vaincus et perdus, dilués, mais conservant Notre propre identité, notre fierté raciale. Versez votre cruche de vin dans la grande rivière Et où se trouve votre vin? Il n'y a que la rivière. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Ou allons nous: Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's Where are we going by T Wignesan Où allons nous? Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's " Where are we going" by T. Wignesan Ils sont venus dans une petite ville Une bande à moitié nue soumise silencieuse Tout ce qui restait de leur tribu. Ils sont venus à leur vieux territoire bora Où beaucoup d'hommes blancs maintenant vont et viennent comme des fourmis. La pancarte de l'agent immobilier dit: " Il est permis de jeter des ordures ici." Maintenant les ordures couvrent plus que la moitié du cercle de bora. " Nous sommes maintenant comme des étrangers, mais la tribu blanche est en réalité des étrangers. La terre nous appartient, sommes nous les héritiers des vieilles coutumes. Nous sommes la corroboree* et la terre bora. Nous sommes de vieux rites, les lois de nos aïeux. Nous sommes des contes des émerveilles du Temps de Rêves, des légendes racontées de tribus. Nous sommes le passé, les chasses et les jeux qui nous font rire, les feux allumés autour de nos campements ici et là. Nous sommes des éclairs sur la Colline Graphemba Eclatants et effrayants, Et le Tonnerre venant après lui, ce gars bruyant. Nous sommes le lever du soleil silencieux Illuminant pas à pas la lagune enterrée par la nuit. Nous sommes des ombres-épouvantes revenant subrepticement aux feux de campement qui s'éteignent doucement. Nous sommes la Nature et le Passé, tout ce qui comporte nos vieilles traditions Maintenant en train de disparaître ici et là. Les broussailles sont détruites, ainsi la chasse et la rire. L'aigle, lui, est déjà parti, l'émeu et le kangourou ont aussi quitté les lieux. Le cercle du bora a disparu. La corroborée a disparue. Et nous sommes en train de disparaître. *An Australian Aboriginal dance ceremony which may take the form of a sacred ritual or an informal gathering. 'Aborigines living in the coastal Kimberley region of Australia's top end sometimes dance a corroboree re-enacting the arrival of dingoes to Australia. (Oxford English Dictionary) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: The How of Democratic Kill - IXL Part Two Unquotable quotes: The How of Democratic Kill - IXL, Part Two No, tell me not my vote now does not count (Shakespearean Sonnet) No, tell me not my vote now does not count For with my vote you do what pleases you most You stoke the breath of dragons in Levant And melt the caps of ice encased in frost Tell me not my vote will make enemies flee And set right wrongs long festering in hearts My vote's my word you take and hold un-free In Senate and House with bickering darts You cursed and you conned your rival's public You lorded your worth with your campaign wrath Who would've wondered who I'd have to pick And make me rue my days gone behemoth Ask not for my voice to be raised in hope Lest you lay at my feet world in syncope ********************************* The difference between a Democratic State and a Dictatorship is that there is - in the ultimate analysis - NONE! when it comes to dealing with its/their socalled 'opponents' whom they consider 'persona non grata' within or beyond the State (likewise between States) , with the difference that Democrats - through long experience as colonisers of 'barbaric' heathen peoples - have acquired the art of best concealing their means: toolkits and tried and tested highly refined sophisticated methods of persecution. Dictators, on the other hand, don't much care what the world thinks of their art of enslavement which simplifies things for them. Within the Dictatorship (as with Royal Houses) , 'the family and favourites' assume and share power to the exclusion of even the army or the political party which may have at some pivotal stage permitted the rise and empowerment of the Dictator and which will have 'legitimised' his sway over the masses by permitting him to abandon the electoral processes and by dismantling the bicameral institutions in order to make room for direct rule by decree. In the democratic state, the leaders like to be seen to be courting the people with populist chants during election campaigns which somehow have the habit of turning into hollow promises during the period they stay in office, as if to say, 'If only the mandate had been for life! ' Under a dictatorship, the leaders subject the people to the constant fear of being held in a perennial court where the Dictator displays the art of taking the law into his own hands, whereas in the democratic state political-party leaders succeed in subverting the due process of law whenever it serves their interests. By contrast, in a Democratic State, even if all the semblance for the proper working of the rule of law appear to be in place, real power would seem to reside in monolithic political party heads, trade union leaders, industrial magnates, conglomerate bank CEOs, media over-lords, the secret service, the police and in some cases the very judicial apparatus, itself, and the chiefs of armed forces and veterans of resistance movements and other pressure groups, lobbies and their likes, but the truth is certain ethnic and/or religious entities and the not-so Free-Masons share the power to influence and shape the future of communities and townships not only within but also over the borders of nation states. Now the real or imagined 'personae non grata' in a democratic environment is often made out to be an 'anti-democratic' individual (when in actual fact the free-masonic and religio-ethnic groups brand the unwanted un-submissive individual as a bigoted racist or anti-semite) . Democrats are only as racist as their morals are free. If you watch carefully how politics evolve(s) mostly on the world stage, the driving motivating force is racial or religious/atheist in origin, no matter how much or how fervently politicians and religious leaders talk of love of unity and peace in the name of humanity at large. At an insignificant level, some like the Free-Masons may give the impression of wanting to transcend racial, religious, sexual or ideological divides, but this even in countries with five major 'obediences' reeks of hypocrisy: in one, you have to be a Jew; in another, a woman; in yet another, be mixed man and woman; in the fourth, a Catholic or Christian, and in the last, an Atheist. Just as there are dictatorships and democratic states, there are 'demidictatorships' all over the colonised world striving hard to imitate their mentors. (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Villanelle: Whose voice so insistent and so early to whine illanelle: Whose voice so insistent and so early to whine (I have just found a poem I wrote three days before I was tossed up and knocked down by a speeding car while I was mid-way on a zebracrossing on an entry-road to a mosque. I had the right of way. The curious thing was/is that I saw no car approaching from the right. The driver - a Tunisian in a hurry to pay his respects to Allah - did not, according to him, see me either. Curious! P.S. The car hit me right where there is a 30km speed limit signpost in front of a primary school, and the driver is still driving around in a postal services delivery van. Vive la France! Viva la Francia! The emasculation through isolation and the strangulation through noise nuisance continue unabated! The Brave New World! under Socialist management!) Whose voice so insistent and so early to whine Jabbering heads rap on the panes of my ears Can howling winds meticulous eke out Nature's design Last Exit to Brooklyn not by rote every line Requiem for a Dream's stream of consciousness leers Whose voice so insistent and so early to whine Do my words madly rushing winds now entwine Whose bones rattle in the shutters of my fears Can howling winds meticulous eke out Nature's design Does the magic fridge's realism pop pills divine Make me look the svelte creature the world requires Whose voice so insistent and so early to whine The Algebra of Need's burning cold in my vein Black dealer king's piston bursting through dry tears Can howling winds meticulous eke out Nature's design The gaping hunger in my soul sickens in my brine Spoon-fed needlefuls bloat attention in dears Whose voice so insistent and so early to whine Can howling winds meticulous eke out Nature's design (c) T. Wignesan, Paris - February 6,2015 Unquotable quotes: Addictions: Smokes, Drugs, Sex, Films and Sleep - XL, Part One Unquotable quotes: Addictions: Smokes, Drugs, Sex, Films and Sleep - XL Where the hand leads, the eyes close. When the eyes shut, imagination is on fire. What you don't really see is what you feel. When you feel at ease you fool yourself. No joy is real until the pain is turned on. If the pain digs in, illusion becomes reality. What's real never fails to be distasteful. Pray on your knees, the head'll rejoin them. Habit makes all things equally legitimate. All one asks for is a little bit of nothing: A chance to loop the loop on the tangent. When you fall asleep, you forget yourself. When you wake up, you re-mind yourself. Sleep forever in dreams, never to wake O! Happy Happy the Day! Tobacco consumes itself when lit up emitting hot air, smoke and stench, leading to cough, consumption and cancer; so does sex with the difference the more you do it, the more the gum comes unstuck. If you suck on a cigarette, cigar or pipe and fail to puff on it again and again, it will go out on you, so will your partner, however much he or she says… The film industry before the sixties thrived on making its actors chainsmoke at every appearance; since then it has added violent, bestial, sadistic sexual acts to its répertoire. What's left? Paedophilia or Incest or copulating with animals? Who made sexual preoccupation a figment of the imagination? Should women not entice once in a season and men knock themselves out for the privilege of siring the harem? How does the other guy or gal know what size fits - until they have tried them all at least just once? And have tried and tested them on tarmac, tree-trunk, bitumen, gravel, lofty stool, back-seat, bumpy bus, ferris wheel, crashing train, stair-case, kitchen-sink and toilet to boot? If the week had 6 days and the weak-end 9, the population of the world will return to the wild old filthy cave-dwelling days. Beat the carpet over and over again if you don't want to have to bite the dust by putting your wo/men in the lurch. The purity of the Brahmin caste and its spiritual aims can be gauged by the caste of the author of the Kama-Sutra. For decades since the post-WWII Independence spree, Western powers prised secrets by waving the white-young-chick muleta at African and Asian Brahma bulls: now that the muleta is torn to shreds by immigration and toros roam the arena at will, their horns bloodied-full with mini-skirts, what's the new secret weapon of the secret services? The harder the rock, the louder the battery drums and gongs: no wonder the baby bawls when born! Wilhelm Reich's designation of the sexual act as a method by which to free oneself of neurotic behaviour acquired through « sexual abuse » makes of it an art form that might spare the embryo dread and damnation! Non-mothers of course may happily envoyer en l'air by getting their Fallopian tubes bound up! © T. Wignesan, Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: The How of Democratic Kill - XXXIX, Part One Unquotable quotes: The How of Democratic Kill - XXXIX, Part One Born in 1868, Alexei Maximovich PESHKOV, better known as MAXIM GORKY and hailed as the chief proponent of Soviet literature, the veritable champion of the proletariat and the downtrodden masses, and who counted among his foremost friends LENIN, STALIN and TROTSKY, was poisoned with camphor by his doctor Levin at the instigation of Yagoda, the former Chief of Secret Police in 1936. His father passed away when he was five, and his paternal grandfather turned him out of the family home after subjecting him to merciless thrashings which had him bed-ridden for weeks at a time. He was condemned to roam the streets and wilds for a living right from his teens and his attempted suicide ruined his own lungs for life. His experiences, unlike those of the cosetted and untrammeled bourgeois Tolstoy's (whose wife besides slaved as his literary amanuensis: no resemblance to Patricia and Naipaul though) , fed his immensely popular stories, novels, plays, articles and his autobiographical trilogy, culled from living in Russia (Nizhny, Novgorod) , Georgia (Tiflis) , Italy (Sorrentino, Capri) and the USA (New York) . For Alexei Maximovich PESHKOV, the reputed " Father of Soviet Literature" Now the Cossack rode roughshod From Novgorod to Vladivostock Trans-Siberian rocked the railroad -40° suckled by deepfreeze livestock Tartar's shuddered locks splayed on docks On Syrian shores an Assad naval sword Levin commits sin in Stalin's Krêmlin Yagoda in Tsarist skin makes Lenin turn Putin Who executed the high Bolshoi entrechat on the battleship Potemkin Was it Kerensky or the scélerat or Rasputin under Romanov skin Unstrip the balalaika chez the Peshkov to let grandma kitchen tales unfold Levin commits sin in Stalin's Krêmlin Yagoda in Tsarist skin makes Putin turn Lenin Go now Ivanko! Cut hermit Miron's head off and his prayer for mankind eternally cold Ivan the Terrible'll make Daech listen to Lavrov no camphor poison could ever be Soviet sold Did Yagoda tell Saudi Prince Al-Qaïda off Or a Putin not bar lethal secret tatami hold Levin commits sin in Stalin's Krêmlin Yagoda in Tsarist skin makes Lenin turn Putin No petty Levin plied the Volga or bakery Escaped the pogroms under Stalin enmity The long arm of rivalry split Trotsky skull in exiled lost Méjico City Drained the peoples' lungs of victory In the proletariat Chief Maxim Gorky! Levin commits sin in Stalin's Krêmlin Yagoda in Tsarist skin makes Putin turn Lenin © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 A Soulful Cry of Anguish against Fate A Soulful Cry of Anguish against Fate (" The Tale of the Lonely Ghost" , a film (2013) by ANUP SINGH - who collaborated on the screenplay as well, an Indian, a Sikh born in Dar-es-Salaam but settled in Switzerland - enjoys the good fortune of an exceptionally brilliant Parisian: Béatrice THIRIET for the musical contribution: the tone/mood of the multi-tragical tour de force is struck right from the start and maintained right through to the end, a profoundly moving poetical elegy on the fate of simple village folk, victims of their own traditions and taboos. Set in the post-Independence India-Pakistan " partition" torn Punjab during the Hindu- Muslim and Sikh carnage in 1947, the film must convey even at this late date some of the stark déchirements of religious conflicts and political faux pas: a British magistrate who had no inkling of the ethno-religious set-up of the region merely settled the border issue between the two new countries by drawing a blunderbuss line across the map. The sets and frames vacillate constantly between desolate rugged terrain and other-worldly Rembrandtesque facial expressions whose under-tones depict fierce obsessions and helplessnesses in the wake of tradition and custom reducing every character to mere pawns in the fatidic drama of interplay with even the supernatural. Near the end, at the moment of dénouement Béatrice Thiriet introduces an excerpt of a song in the background which best encapsulates the spirit of the telefilm, at about 1 hour 13 minutes 53 seconds. Click on the link if you so wish to sample vicariously the pain. The transliteration is approximate, and my English translation takes directly after the French sub-titles - with apologies and thanks to the film property owners, if they have no objections for I do not know how to obtain prior permission.) http: //www.arte.tv/guide/fr/043014-000-A/le-secret-de-kanwar (This link will not open after October 4th,2016, so hurry up and torture yourselves.) roko ji kohi roko jaathu jagumathu jagumathu ji raathu va geindi kaali chaduthjar jaave lasuthaaraa lasuthaaraa lasuthaaraa chaduthjar jaave lasuthaaraa lasuthaaraa lasuthaaraa isukhi rathi ya kare shaara isukhi rathi ya kare share roko ji kohi toko toko ji kohi toko suhi saruthalu saruthalu ji raathu gaali La nuit glisse sur nous Un serpent de passion L'étoile rouge sang s'élève Impregnée d'amour elle nous fait signe Retenez-moi, je vous en prie La pas de la porte vibre Rouge, rouge encore The night slithers over our bodies A serpent of passion The blood-red star over the horizon The blood-red star over the horizon Shining with love beckons us Shining with love beckons us Hold me back, I implore you The doorstep quivers Red, still glowing red © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes Writers - XXXVIII Unquotable quotes: Writers - XXXVIII for Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra and Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoieski who let not even hope sustain them and who used their own last drop of blood for ink The time is at hand when robots tutored by " how-to-write" softwares are ready to take over from creative-writing teachers. Successful " robot writers" won't need penthouse apartments nor mountain resort hideouts to produce their masterpieces. The cut-up and fold-in method, the stream of consciousness and surrealist techniques are mere bird-formatons broken by airplane wings or shoals of sardines shattered by sharp shark strikes. Every living creature espies the world through a tiny aperture in its eyes. The writer perceives the same world with himself in the principal role. Writing unlike painting or composing music requires full-time living and for which you don't get paid: it's like living in limbo and you get paid once you're dead. A writer who has attained " sacred cow" status through, say, the attribution of a Pullitzer, a Booker or a Nobel, produces thenceforth manna and ambrosia fit only to be consumed by the Gods. Even the most prolific writers have only a few much-talked of books to their name, but the greatest only leave one - at the most two - to be remembered by: The Odyssey, Ramayana, Shakuntala, Manimekalai, Silappathikaram, Genji Monogatari, Monkey, Don Quijote de la Mancha, Gullivers Travels, Candide, Canterbury Tales, Crime and Punishment, Ulysses, excepting Shakespeare, of course, for he certainly must have had three pairs of hands. The self-published writer still perpetuates the hallowed lineage of the great writers of yore. You can always tell when a writer has nothing much to tell: the book gets catapulted into the eye from every bus-stop and train station platform. Isn't the best writer of prose always the poet at heart. Who is the true author of the book? Experience or the educated eye? Or both? Can a man or a woman who hasn't lived dangerously nor be in constant danger of being overwhelmed by life, itself, author a work of lasting value? Writers who autograph their books at a book launch can be assured the buyer will not read beyond the autographed pages. Post-colonial writing is exactly what it says: after the fashion of the colonial-canon: historical fiction, magical realism, anthropological travelogue, diary diarrhoea, testosteronal feminism, poésie à la mode de bourgeois sentimentality… War and Peace, Dr. Zhivago and Cien Anos de Soledad beget Midnight's Children, etc., and A Suitable Boy; Greek tragedy - The Road. And a good deal of what passes for poetry in South Asia and Southeast Asia where Eliots, Yeatses and even Horaces abound! The successful prize-winning author - in the eyes of the media - is a prophet: by rights he/they may pronounce and declaim on the fate of the world. The unquenchable dream of all unknown writers, not represented by top-notch literary agents: an Ayatolla FATWA! The facile tongue often betrays the true métier of the author: ACTOR! The pecking-order for authors in the limelight is ordered by the number of books sold. Writers who have made it into the eight-digit royalty class tend to shed wives like moulting skin: fill in the blanks - Arthur _______/ Marylyn ________. Don't " enfants terribles" writers let late starters walk all over their backs as " fast finishers" ? A wise writer will hold on to his best work while he lets the literary agent and publisher's editor re-write his juvenilia, until the hooked public acclaims his name. When you have finished reading a novel, and you are not totally and abysmally disgusted with every living human being still standing - including yourself - then, ask for your money back! Writing is like eating: what gets digested must of necessity be absorbed; the rest must be expelled. It helps to have sturdy Hemingway legs! If you became a full-fledged writer by following creative-writing courses, then you have no right whatsoever to your name on your books. Who said: " Don't ever (let your shadow) darken the portals of a university if you want to be a writer! " Tom Wolfe? © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Gals, Dolls, Bitches and Broads - XXXVII Part Two Unquotable quotes: Gals, Dolls, Bitches and Broads - XXXVII An adulterous couple soon make lying, cheating and downright treachery (not to mention their role as carriers of germs within the orbit of the family) the principal characteristic of an ethic which is underwritten and buoyed by hypocrisy. It may appear legitimate for the Sartre-Beauvoir tandem to have advocated the tolerance of one another's emotional and sexual lives, but they should also consent to bearing the responsibility (since they became, whether they wanted it or not, the role models for the intellectually-inclined youths all over the Western World which the East replicates apishly) for the wanton rot corroding societies all over he world. Being or becoming " intellectual" is not necssarily the hallmark of the possession of " intelligence" : it's everybody's responsibility to everybody else to foster the " health" of mores and morals in every society. It would therefore follow that sexual freedom is perfectly alright for those who don't have or don't want children, provided those who practise this art form don't impinge or impose their craft on those who accept the responsibility for the upbringing of children. The Reich-ian Sexual Revolution, to all intents and purposes, aimed at undermining and dismantling the authoritarian state's strangle-hold on the defenceless individual without proposing a substitute to replace the familyunit structure as the principal incipient force in the shaping of individual character. The Reich-ian solution of the orgasmic release as a cure for emotional blockages and all sorts of other psychological ills and phobias and neuroses has also accentuated the spread of venereal diseases, indulgence in perversions and sadistic behaviour which continue to find a repetitive crescendo echo in films from all over the world. Whether we like it or not, we have a duty, first and foremost, to ourselves, even if Nature has already devised its own overall plan for us in the long run. GOU - Hexagram 44: " Coming to meet." One Yin associates with five Yang (might even mean more) . Beware of the lean pig in June hoisting and flaunting her haunches in mid-autumn. The Yin's shoes fit the male's feet as well. Whatever fascinates makes you forget your own embattled situation. The quality of life depends on who is mother. No child can outlive the reputation of a mother gone totally or even partially astray. Curiously enough, though, if it were not for gals, dolls, bitches and broads, LIFE - as we know it - would not be perpetuated on earth. They are the principal drivers of the Yin's motor: they entice, rivet, pollute, distract and entertain and sap the Yang forces, and all they have to show for it is their ephemeral flicker of fun and release from the cares of the world; all to no purpose for they are made to self-destruct themselves unless they drag the Yang down with them, too; their saving grace being their role in the perpetuation of the human race, for better or for worse. Nature makes certain they don't wreak havoc all their living days. They may and do reign supreme between the ages of fifteen and, say, thirty-five, leaving them alone to their abject fate and their wiles in managing their own pleasure and pain thereafter. A sad plight! A very sad fate! © T. Wignesan, Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Gals, Dolls, Bitches and Broads - XXXVII Part One Unquotable quotes: Gals, Dolls, Bitches and Broads - XXXVII (No aspersions are being cast here, willingly or otherwise, on the fairer, stronger and infinitely more sagacious sex. Even if these over-used words are somewhat overloaded with derogatory connotations, depending on the circumstances, their use here in these " effete efflorescences" are not meant to affirm or deny the original sacred conception of womanhood which is made up of the qualities of the most refined, and, not to mention, the most beautiful " creatures" among the human or even animal species. No attempt is made to sidestep the issue: the spectrum of life forms include the best and the worst specimens, of course.) No apologies are tended, here, for the use of these terms: gals, dolls, bitches and broads since what they represent are the salt and spice and also alas! the vinegar of our daily existence: take a pinch or sip and feel the itch twitch for the rest of your days. Given the traditional roles of " Mother" and " Sex-Object" that gals are called upon to assume, it would only be fair to remind them: You can't have your banana and milkshake it as well! The choice is plain: Either you opt out of being a mother or you make the ultimate sacrifice - multiply the population of the world, but PaLEASE! Stick to one or the other! The quality of human life and the human race depends on your choice. All forms of morals and the enduring values of human existence depend on/await your choice. Not to make the choice by continuing to assume both the roles is the fatal error: you can't be a virtuous mother and loyal wife and - let's admit it - a " bitch" as well. Life would be an interminable Sunday morning liturgy on TV if gals, dolls, bitches and broads didn't make us sink deeper into the quagmire, that is, late Saturday night - only to wake us up early the next morn. Who is the more despicable a character: the thieving hound who hides out in the basement or the stairways till the husband shunts off to work or the adulterous bitch who hurriedly kisses her children and bundles them off to school? OR, or the husband who drops off the commuter train to bounce some other babe on the way home? If you're a gal and some guy called you " bitch" , or even - excuse the word - " bloody bitch" ! What would you do? Take it all lying down like a putdown paid broad? Or would you mount your charger and pound the guy in broad daylight down your street, cheered by all the dolls in your neighbourhood? Why is it an axiom that a really stunning-looking gal when ogled at would be generous with her poses and rewarding with her smiles whereas the opposite is the case with the passably pretty bitch or broad? Wouldn't wives give half their gold reserves to know what their husbands tell broads about themselves? Doll-makers know as much about the art of sowing wild oats as dolls about dark matter. If dolls can bitch about what kids did or do to them in a year, even a broad's ear will shrink from shame. Even if guys who play with dolls all day long keep bitching about it all, they'll sooner or later get them enthralled. Guys who fall for gals but refuse to tie the knot tend to make their dolls bitch, look and talk like sods. (End of Part One) (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Poets - XXXVI Unquotable quotes: Poets, Poetasters and Platos - XXXVI For James McAuley - in remembrance of a memorable week in Cardiff 1965 The greatest poet ever is NOT Homer, Lao Tse, Ovid, Dante, Chittalaic Chattanar, NOT Chaucer, Shakespeare, Dryden, Tulsi Das, Archipreste de Hita, NOT Goethe, Pushkin, Pope, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Quevedo, NOT Shelley, Keats, Gongora, Rimbaud, Yeats, Pound or Eliot, BUT as you all already must know: Ern MALLEY, for he draws on a thousand surrealist tongues. To be even greater, just emulate his creators! The difference between a poet and a prosateur is that the latter is honourbound - at the risk of exposure - to master grammar while the former is granted the licence to invent his own by those who cannot tell the difference. The real reason why poets continue to dish out what they write is that no one expects them to be intelligible, much less by those who put their work out. The less a poet appears rational in his creations, the more he'll be praised by those who do not or cannot understand his work, for they will read whatever they want into his work to conceal their own lack of comprehension. The great thing about being a poet is that you can say the same thing a million times over and over again and no one will mind, so long as you are less coherent every time you repeat yourself. If a poet understood or mastered the craft of poetry, he would still be composing the first canto of his epic at the end of his life. In other words, the poem is the shortest cut to the epic highway leading back to the first steps of the poetic phantasy which is the fine art of lisping with words without aim. This is why he who has never died alive cannot know the soul of the poet. No poem says nothing. Each word in a poem alters the meaning, if any, of a poem. The more the words, the greater the risk of deranging the sense, unless you really mean what you mean and not just let words mean what they mean anyway. Poets are born, not made, says the critic who is weary of reading more than he can take. Poets are born and made, says the poet who takes the trouble to read. Poets are neither born nor made, says the mad poet drunk with the sound of words. A poet who conveys exactly what he wants to say in a poem is a mathematical genius who has cracked the riddle of the poem and is eager to record his findings in an equation which he is convinced is a poem. A poem is like a person you meet for the first time: the more you get to know him, the less you might think of him - unless you remember while you talk to him (or read the poem again) what others who know him better than you have said of him. The most successful poems are those which like some (wo) men bend backwards to reveal every nook and crotch as long and as longingly as you want them to. Poems that taste good to the tongue reek often of bad breath and gums. A poem out-of-shape spilling out of the page is best read in the dark. A hot poem makes you sweat with joy. A poem which tickles your fancy is best read in the pantry. A poem that cannot stop giggling in bed ought to be pilloried and bled. A not tragically-inclined poem should be read post coitum when omne animal triste est sive….. Poems never die, only unpublished poets. Proverbs are poems distilled by the illiterate masses over the ages. Didactic poetry is the constant attempt to achieve proverbial status. Even an anthropologically lost or isolated tribe is survived by its sayings, jingles and rhymes. No great wealth or dominion, no nation, country or civilization can occupy the summits of glory if its heart is empty or even half-empty of poetry. The human soul is entirely made up of poetry which is when it entirely stops being human. Every people's greatest pride is their greatest poets, more than founding fathers or conquering victorious generals who spoke poetry to their wards and soldiers. The gods people invoke to soothe their woes make them wax poetic. The stuff of dreams is poetry turned to cash: stop dreaming and you end up among the poor mass. Even a Cyrano de Bergerac nose turns into a Marlowe's which launched a thousand ships through poetising with his love. The Republic everywhere is in shambles due to a Plato's hardened and un-poetic logic. Abuse a poet, if you will, with common pedestrian pun, and he will return the kindness with sweet lilting rhyme and fun. What poets love turn into pairs of lifelong doves. Skip a meal a day and buy a book of poems every day: Dieu vous le rendra! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Paris the last week of the August reprieve- XXXV Part Two Unquotable quotes: Paris, the last week of the August reprieve - XXXV Part Two II The first signs reek tell-tale Buffer-to-buffer parking lots choc-a-bloc Long insistent hornblowing concertos announce the Yin's arrogant blazè uppitiness Electric drillers sink deeper into the unconscious stirring unconscionable beasts still dormant Care-may-the-devil youths ride sputtering broncos rearing their muzzles revving their lawn-mower engines signaling their presences to their belles Even lordly crows scare desert languishing lawns pavements quadrangles Chinese crackers drop on the old and weary out to retrieve their morning baguettes Indoors slam the doors drop loads of toilet slam-a-dam-slam Skateboards grind parquets Dark stealthy hands whip carpets down terrace butter-cups Bumpy pubertied girls bounce basket-balls on every stilted cobble stone Harsh threats hurled by gardiennes on some lone defenceless decrepit ricochet between grainy gravely walls The monotonous neurotic beat of the rapper blares out of some open car door Stately high wooden horse-shoed chairs screech-scrape naked parquets The children upstairs take turns with parents to tap-tap with iron tongs your scalp trepanised by stilettoes Lèche-culs gather favourite crowds at your doorstep to wail their concocted woes Mothers dragging loads of holiday-gossip on steel-grip chariots scream at children they enroll for the new-born kinder-garten year Overhead cargo planes and pompier helicopters tie clouds in whirls of hurricanes The Mairie sends forth its armada of grass-cutters branch-lobbers road-washers to churn the cité in a putrefying maelstrom of carbon-monoxide Interminable garbage chariots bring lone scavengers looking for the mislaid meal their gastric growls louder than the grating wheels up and down the basement climb Heavy metal garbage vans pound kitchen utensils discarded car parts used-up batteries spades paint tubs sloppy almeirahs in the still darkened dawn Upstairs thick-skinned villains drop heavy spilling metal ball-bearings metal boxes their nasty bottoms on uncarpeted wooden resounding terrain Bulky chunky women stomp on high-heeled blocks all their way out of the entrance foyer down stoney stair steps to catch the early Metro No less than four-hundred sore throats yell into the intercom on their way in or out Late night revellers arrive in hitch-hiked cars to continue the yelling over the night-club din at the entrance patio never failing to rap on the first door Distraught women yell their chagrin into mobile cases out in the midnight moonshine Tiny tods drag school books paraphernalia through tarmac landing craft rumble The lèche-cul terrors draw tight round their scents conspirators from far Slavic lands Who said the Mediterranean didn't flow into the Black Sea Even the thunder over the lake recedes into the rear of the ear At the Carrefour cashiers' the queues thicken and stink longer III One dark perhaps failed actress, beer-can opened in hand, gives herself a captive audience: " ….I told him I'm forty-eight. He said: ‘What? Can't be! (takes a gulp from the half-crushed can) You are thirty, if a day! ' He shook his head, looked me over. (She pats and smooths out her streamlined abdomen.) …What's this world come to? Prices keep going up and up! You work all day (takes another gulp) , work all year (spittle spurt on the guy in front who dares not move, dares not look back, the fear - mixed with pity or sympathy - of those gone round the bend, the fear of what might stalk any one of us, the fear of being opted out of life, the wonder that is life keeping us all in check) …I told Mrs. Minelli, you know, my neighbour… You know what she said? (takes another gulp, her protruding lips on an otherwise elegant classic African-mask of a face, pouts) …What's this world come to? Who are we? One doesn't get a fair chance in this life." (her voice alternates between shouting and confabulating) …you give and give and see what you get in return? " The more she shouts, the more resounding the silence all over the shop-floor. A gathering cloud of grief grips those within ear-shot. Are all withdrawn into their own private shells? People avoid looking at one another. Some sort of guilt descends upon us all - a shroud a winding sheet? Yet, she's aware of herself; she knows what to do, how to use the self-service cashier machine. She pays and leaves no yells behind her now, her false straggly dull-blond knotted chiffon hair thick with dust, her worn-out décolté dirt-pink blouse slouches over faded bosom, soiled loose dark brown pyjama pants sloppy over hidden canvass shoes. Was the silence due to just one phrase, punctuated by curses? " What? You want a PIPE? " IV - Do turtle doves in love in the last week of August go where halcyons rendez-vous? © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Paris the last week of the August reprieve - XXXV Part One Unquotable quotes: Paris, the last week of the August reprieve - XXXV Part One I Even the turtle doves secretly in love in the sticky linden wake In the still chill of the lambent dawn recalling halcyon days The broods they raised gone to roost beyond the wooded lake In wild terrain where the socialist sickle cut no customary hay Where they told and re-told without halter nor sapping fervour Their simple untrammeled joys hopping about fluttering insects Over over-grown wild scrub lawns fooling around a grass-hopper Now old cockle-warming tales turn rumble-grumble no one forgets The short aptly-rhymed refrain rolling rough on gravel stone The close-cooing couples' complaint toss through sleep frantic The first leaves shed wilt down quilt shafts mementoes of bone Brittle the worrisome air burnt oxygen neurotic cataclysmic The Yin steal back in the witching hour of the frenzied night Lèches-culs lèches-bottes and their official vaunting supporters To hoist their flag still stewing in their murky muddy might Roasted chestnut to their undies charred looks of brazen looters Three months from June to hoist and foist their haunches Now to stomp deep in the silt of their care-may-the-devil guilt Rude thick the arteries pump up autoroutes to citadel ranches To continue to suck the sap from a world other sweat built The refuge of the kind who never seek to otherwise mind If turtle doves too may make the most of what they built Through the North and North-East passage of log-ice grind Into the region of Southwest complaisance tomorrow may find II The first signs reek tell-tale Buffer-to-buffer parking lots choc-a-bloc Long insistent hornblowing concertos announce the Yin's arrogant blazè uppitiness Electric drillers sink deeper into the unconscious stirring unconscionable beasts still dormant Care-may-the-devil youths ride sputtering broncos rearing their muzzles revving their lawn-mower engines signaling their presences to their belles Even lordly crows scare desert languishing lawns pavements quadrangles Chinese crackers drop on the old and weary out to retrieve their morning baguettes Indoors slam the doors drop loads of toilet slam-a-dam-slam Skateboards grind parquets Dark stealthy hands whip carpets down terrace butter-cups Bumpy pubertied girls bounce basket-balls on every stilted cobble stone Harsh threats hurled by gardiennes on some lone defenceless decrepit ricochet between grainy gravely walls The monotonous neurotic beat of the rapper blares out of some open car door Stately high wooden horse-shoed chairs screech-scrape naked parquets The children upstairs take turns with parents to tap-tap with iron tongs your scalp trepanised by stilettoes Lèche-culs gather favourite crowds at your doorstep to wail their concocted woes Mothers dragging loads of holiday-gossip on steel-grip chariots scream at children they enroll for the new-born kinder-garten year Overhead cargo planes and pompier helicopters tie clouds in whirls of hurricanes The Mairie sends forth its armada of grass-cutters branch-lobbers road-washers to churn the cité in a putrefying maelstrom of carbon-monoxide Interminable garbage chariots bring lone scavengers looking for the mislaid meal their gastric growls louder than the grating wheels up and down the basement climb Heavy metal garbage vans pound kitchen utensils discarded car parts used-up batteries spades paint tubs sloppy almeirahs in the still darkened dawn Upstairs thick-skinned villains drop heavy spilling metal ball-bearings metal boxes their nasty bottoms on uncarpeted wooden resounding terrain Bulky chunky women stomp on high-heeled blocks all their way out of the entrance foyer down stoney stair steps to catch the early Metro No less than four-hundred sore throats yell into the intercom on their way in or out Late night revellers arrive in hitch-hiked cars to continue the yelling over the night-club din at the entrance patio never failing to rap on the first door Distraught women yell their chagrin into mobile cases out in the midnight moonshine Tiny tods drag school books paraphernalia through tarmac landing craft rumble The lèche-cul terrors draw tight round their scents conspirators from far Slavic lands Who said the Mediterranean didn't flow into the Black Sea Even the thunder over the lake recedes into the rear of the ear At the Carrefour cashiers' the queues thicken and stink longer (continued on next page: Part Two of XXXV) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Olympic Antics - XXXIII Unquotable quotes: Olympic Antics - XXXIII Why do Judo-kas bother to wear anything at all since all they do is to try their very best to undress one another before hugging themselves on the mat? Wrestlers at least take up perverse porn positions right from the start. Besides, Judo-kas always also wait for their opponents to trip themselves up to end up on the latter while they are on their backs. Gymnasts are still in the invertebrate stage of Evolution. Archers in the Neanderthal. A rotating disc is a slipped-disc taking to the air. A horse well-trained is a horse ingrained with adductor muscles round the neck. A steeple-chaser without haute visée is a stapled tumbler in the first water. A long-jumper always leaves his hand-prints in the sands. The escrime épée bout is the art of electrocuting your own clout. The rugby sevens is a game meant to be played in the heavens by saints. The hundred metre dash is the extreme strain of the first fifty metre pain in the neck. Why do white skins turn dark at the end of a long-distance race? The four-hundred metre race occurs when you chase your own tail. The two-hundred metre race ends where your eyes cut round half the space-time curve. The boxing match is the art of avoiding being hit by closing eyes behind blindly-flailing gloves. A hit head is a swirling crown of sweat. The rapid-fire pistol contest requires first and foremost the staring down of the targets. The hop, step and jump is in fact a hop and step on your rump. The marathon is run just for the joy of completing the ultimate round of 400 metres in the stadium. The hammer-throw that rained nails down in throes. Th shot putt is a hollow putt. The javelin spun round in the air makes a permanent green-house hole in the stratosphere. The Marathon Man talked in his sleep while he ran. What vaults up a Pole comes down sans soul. The kerlin in a velodrome can land you in an aerodrome. The women's high jump can get you high up even before they jump. The mile takes only as long to catch your breath after the kilometre. The ten-thousand follows the five-thousand in the same steps all over again. The art of synchronised swimming is the art of making your rear speak up. Even walkers can walk on or under water without fins. All medium-distance runners hunch their backs after the run. To run a relay without a baton, you need to be Stateless. The flag-raising ceremony is the most un-sportif event in the Olympiad. If the hundred metres could continue straight on to another hundred even the Bolt of lightning in the intervening period will peter out. Those who run or cycle behind or after others deserve to lose. There's only one victor in every race or event - the commentator! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Janitor, Gardienne, Portero, Sereno, Hausgast -XXXII Part Two Unquotable quotes: The Janitor, Gardienne, Landlady, Housekeeper, Portero, Sereno and the Hausgast -XXXii Part Two The duties of the Housekeeper in the U.K. par rapport au Portero in Spain or the Gardienne in France is that the former is a sort of " official" who supervises the activities of others who carry out the menial jobs in bigger establishments like hostels, etc., while in smaller houses of two or three storeys, she lives in and also does the cleaning and services the rooms let out by the Landlady. In hostels, the overall authority is the Warden who administered the place much as the Regisseur in France who had charge of a collection of buildings under one or more owners. These days, the Syndic, whose agency might be located quite far away, performs similar tasks akin to the latter's. In Spain, the menial tasks fall to the spouse while the Portero, himself, occupies a niche in the entrance to buildings where - in the old days - he may play the telephone operator and check on anyone entering the building under his charge. In the not too distant past, the Sereno who was entrusted with the keys to all the gates to buildings in each street - from dusk to dawn - somewhat replaced the Portero. To gain entry into your building after dark, you had merely to clap your hands, and the Sereno would appear out of the dark doorways to let you in, and it was customary to tip them for they obviously belonged in the lower income brackets. With the advent of improvements in telecommunications, the Gardienne, too, need no more place under surveillance the entrances, for the intercom facilities have rendered this task superfluous. In post-war Germany, the euphemism " Hausgast" (family guest) served to mask either a paying lodger or a lover. Of course, the lodger left the cleaning and servicing chores to the landlady. The important thing to remember is that all these " professions" must have come about either from the need to house people displaced by social mobility - from rural to urban areas - or from out of the need to supplement the earnings of land-and-property owners, or contrariwise for both reasons. And it wouldn't be far-fetched to conjecture that such a situation soon required the services of a sort of " moral police" to keep a check on free movement in and out of houses and buildings. And morals like thighs ceded to pressure when palms were soothed with tight wads of notes! Yet, in recent times, with the growth of monolithic states, the authorities concerned could count on these building-and house-keepers as the primal source of information on the comings and goings of the inhabitants, and hence this lot is a protected and cherished " race" to be feared by all. A Malay proverb could best sum up this predicament: " Pagar makan padi." (Literally: The fence eats the paddy.) Or rather, trust not the protector! El Manco de Lepanto keeps Sereno Vigil over Espana Echoes hurry clapping in the Plaza de Espana Wake-stirs insomniac Quijote on flankless Rocinante His spear at the ready to serve his sweet Dulcinea Serenos slump stiff in doorways of lands Levante Slung tight over dark green clad Carabineros Silent the semi-automatics steel soft the duo tred Who goes there? Hark the Cornudo! Voice the Madrilenos In the bedded down velvet streets Senoritas bled Jingling keys turn in iron-cast chastity-locked belts Distressed Sancho gawks at windmills in la Mancha Who hears now El Manco of Lepanto's cry melts The snows of Guadalahara in copas de horchata Brothel brawls at Valladolid blamed him for brouhaha Was Cervantes the Sereno of today's lax morals Espana © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Janitor, Gardienne, Portero, Sereno, Hausgast -XXXI Part One Unquotable quotes: The Janitor, Gardienne, Landlady, Housekeeper, Portero, the Sereno and the Hausgast - XXXI Part One Be they so named or not in these here parts, visions of shrieking furies with Gorgon heads and frightful temple-guardian Dvarapalas and Gothic Frankensteins with blood-dripping fangs and gnarled claws loom into view at the very thought of these gentle folk. This class of saintly women cannot but live off the mass of urban populations under the pretext of serving the latter as their hand-and-foot maidens. Gare à vous! The C.S. (Conseil syndical) , the all-powerful co-proprietors council which decides what is to be done with the monies they require residents to pay for the so-called upkeep of the place under their control. The CS - mainly composed of women: housewives, spinsters, widows and old maids, with one or two crusty men thrown in for good measure - is supposed to be elected by the entire number of co-proprietors at the annual general assembly, but, in actual fact, the inscrutable ways of democracy being such the ring leaders canvass and obtain by proxy the majority of votes to do whatever it pleases them. The Syndic administers the accounts of the co-property: collection of provisions, payment for services rendered by plumbers, electricians, lift and intercom maintenance technicians, insecticide sprayers, including the payment of the whopping salary to the gardienne (and her otherwise employed husband) , and of course the famous organization of the General Assembly when decisions taken by the CS are put to the vote for the succeeding year's expenditures. The president of the CS also maintains a common account from which (s) he pays for certain emergency services, the sums of which (s) he recovers from the Syndic, however. Now, the rub is this: the Syndic receives payment for his services; the gardienne is paid a regular salary, but the CS, nothing. Their services are considered to be offered in an altruistic spirit for the betterment of the coproprietors, but is this the case? That's for you to decide. It is however a convention among all the residents that they may help themselves as and when they please to whatever appears appropriate in the circumstances and here much developed forms of imaginative speculation is required to guess at what they can do to pay themselves for what may be considered " work" whether foul or not. The gardienne has the quintessential role in this set-up. She knows the ropes, for her kind on a national level have managed all exigencies and are worldlywise about how to keep the money flowing. She informs and directs the hand of the president of the CS who then allows her a sizeable cut of the purse. For this purpose, a whole array of service providers who are willing to cooperate are called upon to serve them. And the coproprietors don't much bother about who benefits from what, so long as the job gets done, and they are not put out - much too much - of their pockets. Their least of all concerns is the legality of the situation. In this thieves paradise, the insurance companies' employees too willingly play the game by shutting a conniving eye to misdeeds. Little wonder then that in Napoleonic territory, the chief players in this particular form of laissez-faire hail inevitably from the Mediterranean countries. Only such a state of affairs could have provoked the greatest wit in these parts to comment: " …wherever you go in France, you will find that the(ir) three chief occupations are making love, backbiting, and talking nonsense." Cf Candide by Voltaire.) The Terror at the Door There she blows the tough lump twitching rude bums Riding on the mop stick between wily witchy thighs Nasty tongue lolling with itchy gossipy gums Messy breasts soured by curdled milk‘s retchy sighs Mean glutton button eyes on the lookout for victims Those without rich connections the lone occupants On whom she unleashes her venom her whims The hushed neighbourhood numbed by wails by rants Each morning the terror strikes at some bolted door Some migrant woman in arrears rent husband on dole Accusing the wretch of littering some space out of door Summoning to witness the mighty indigene soul Each night she'll scorch indecent threats on paper: " He who laid that lame cabinet down by the basement I know by name - Before the day grows duller I'll have him arraigned by holy writ's firmament! " So she'll whine and she'll grind her victims to pulp Till she's got them all on the run tout azimut While she fawns kiss-asses the rich who cuddle pup At the buildings entrance where she sets up court There to villify denigrate and condemn Those who dared point a finger at what she got To justify phantom expense free flat unearned gem The terror at the door the lèche-cul lèche-bottes This migrant terror who would not finish school Sports a sinecure even Ph. Ds cannot earn Add to that kickbacks from fake contracts drool And payments from useless chores money to burn Do Lords of the Manor tolerate terror at their door Turn masochist key in keyhole of prison What system of human rights permits such horror A land that's seedbed to such criminal poison Everyone's out to break the coded law at will Who's there to watch over other individuals' rights Can the system of Justice prevent wanton kill When the vast majority abhor others' written rights When rulers and electors are left to their devices All turn a deaf ear to open faults and crimes The people show brazen courage in upholding vices So long as those who suffer do not decry the times © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Beggars - XXX Unquotable quotes: Beggars - XXX Who said beggars cannot be choosers? Who chooses for them the place, the moment or the people they choose to beg from; the hours of the begging day; the alms they refuse; the advice they brush aside; the language they use - or the looks they reserve - once your back is turned (depending on the weight of the coin or the shape and size of the note) you place in their hands? There are beggars and beggars: beggars who beg to survive; beggars who beg for others: their children, their old and decrepit; and beggars employed by syndicates and cartels; professional bodies, the police, the fire-brigade, nonprofit associations and poorly-subsidized hospitals, charitable organizations who stoke the " waste-industry" with their mountains of publicity and return part of your contributions as bribes in the shape of quasi-useless objects; churches and religious orders, the Salvation Army, governments - crooks, criminals and thugs piously wrapped and quoting the sacred teachings; campaigning politicians, political parties who promise the world until they seize power and exact payment from the suckers who elected them by enacting laws to make citizens pay for their mismanagement of funds (though they do ensure the continuity of law and order and economic development through the existing apparatuses and institutions they inherit) ; secret societies through repeated threats of execution by making offers one cannot refuse, and so on and so forth. Who said beggars cannot be choosers has not tried the easy and flourishing art of getting rich quickly sans sweat. The lay of Parisian beggars in August Where have all the beggars gone on this cool bright summer's day To tan their skins they have gone on glittering swanky Riviera bay O! Why do they desert Paris gai Alone miserly muttering nay Oh! When will they be back, pray! for their daily euro handout frais Down by the Mall's five-foot way? They'll be back, they'll be back, you say Once they've jigged jingling bags away in their glad rags gay O! Will they be back, will they be back, say before winter's frost is here to stay? Fear not, fear not,0! gentle soul, Sire They'll screech their woes the blue jay Tweets tweets rude tales from yesteryear From yon winter passage lands gay O! Will the Croatian come cavorting, say on crutches of seeming porcelain clay? And on Prefecture fence let limbs splay And will the Haitian light butts, they say cocaine piths within lips dark grey? Yes, Mon Sieur, yes, he's gone Breton way to hear lone father in farmhouse bray O Why do they desert Paris gai Alone miserly muttering nay Across the road along Mall gates' marches lie devastated old women all day Their conniving Kosovan looks reflect touches Saracen swords cleaving mothers at play O! Where's she gone, gone, my Gypsy lassie ray traipsing down the Palais by walkers jay? Whose pipe-dreams she pops open today down dark alleys for frayed euros pay O Why do they desert Paris gai Alone miserly muttering nay Roumania! Mania! Screeches naughty blue-jay Will she be back to flaunt her chops anyway Decked in fineries while lords on horses neigh? Or that wayward child's drained cheeks may Now sprout vibrant goatee strands grey O Why do they desert Paris gai Alone miserly muttering nay © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Fat People - XXIX Unquotable quotes: Fat People - XXIX (I know this piece sounds mean and cruel but as every single parent must have experienced, this is also the expression of utter exasperation, and perhaps there's also the slightest hint of an iota of necessary truth in it after all. No offence meant to those who may feel hurt. If you can laugh at yourself, you are well on the way to a cure, even if what you read is of very bad taste.) The gravest danger facing mankind is NOT the Rio Olympics, NOT the greenhouse effect, NOT the nuclear arms race, NOT the organized immigrant or refugee terror attacks, NOT asteroids and meteorites slamming down on us, NOR the War of terrestrial gods coming to a head after three thousand years, but - you guessed it - HUMAN FAT, in other words, GLUTTONY! Be it deemed of utmost importance that LAWS be so enacted by common consent among nations, and approved by the United Nations' General Assembly, that whenever and wherever countries are stricken by widespread famine due to - or not - over-eating by over-sized people that these latter ought and should be slaughtered to feed the starving masses. And should this extraordinary measure not suffice to relieve the emergency, then other nations being likewise depleted by the self-same variety of culprits in their midst should come to the aid of the afore-mentioned stricken country by dispatching plane and ship-loads of their own excess fat at the first drop of the hat. (Here, my own donation to the cause: a fifty-odd excess-weight progeny who can eat anyone out of house and home.) Be it hereby known that it would be cheaper and easier for any nation to balance its payments if the State in question passes laws to put behind bars all who are oversized on the assumption, for once in there, they can be put on a starvation diet and forced to work to pay off their keep and chow, and this for the betterment of the human race at large. There's no crime more bloody or unseemly than the very act of becoming fat: watch the glutton eat and you'll want to commit a capital crime. The glutton will willingly forego sex to stuff himself in bed. Chew, chew, chew your food, gently chew your meat; merrily, merrily keep adding to your rude seat! Oh! How easy it is to say the fat man or woman is the victim of depression! True, do them a favour and save them from themselves - by force! What the future portends for them: Imagine a future Olympics with fat athletes, even if it will attract more spectators for obvious reasons: the marathon might take four years to complete, if at all. The Tour de France will have to be scrapped for no velo/bicycle will withstand the crush of the first downhill carambolage. Restaurants in the near future will carry sign-boards saying: " Dogs and Fat People Please Take to Your Heels! " All cars, buses, trains and planes will be equipped with single seats - half the size of those manufactured now. The entrances to public lavatories will be reduced to half their present size for the specific purpose of preventing fat people from entering these facilities. Fines for defecating in public places will be tripled or quadrupled. The manufacture of clothing beyond the small-medium or X-size will be definitely banned. Fat people who normally take up 90% of the walking space on pavements and sidewalks will be prohibited from wearing shoes and slippers. Prostitutes will make fat people pay a whopping supplement equal to more than three or four times the usual fee. The sale of chocolates and potato chips to fat people will be limited to one bar and one sachet once in a blue moon. Travel agencies will be instructed to put fat people in the front of the plane's seating arrangements to facilitate the de-capitation of the air-craft during the landing process. No over-sized person will be allowed to present himself or herself for elective office at any level of government. Beaches, spars and swimming pools will be out-of-bounds to over-sized people. The fire-brigade and the emergency health services will be authorised to refuse first-aid to over-sized people struck down by a stroke or heart failure. No over-sized person found in bed with or without another occupant in a nonplussed state will be given a burial according to his religious rites: he or they will be summarily immolated in that very bed without further ado. Furthermore, at the rate populations all over the world grow increasingly fat, sooner rather than later even the porn industry will go fart: one would need to fart vigorously to locate the apertures in concealed flabs and folds of pits! And, finally, to balance the weighing-machine, all manufacturers who grow fat on the weight-accumulating produce, such as, sweets, cakes, greasy meat, potato chips and the like that they churn out indifferently should be made to gorge themselves with their own merde! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Which paradise is not the elusive chimere Which paradise is not the elusive chimère? …how long does it take to live one life…learn the lessons of a lifetime…find the time to live…find the time to sort things out…know what you did was wrong…know in whom lay the blame…what court hears your plea over your unwanted unwilled birth…who is there to tell you here is where you went wrong in the choices you made…take you by the hand and tell you this is not your making…this is all a dream…a dream that'll never come true… what… is the maker a masochist…to what enduring purpose have you been asked to join the rest… would you want sex if you knew who you would put into this world… is there a crime more despicable than the life you engender into a world you cannot foresee… can you live as long as your progeny to protect them from the torture your genes prepare them for… can you provide for the unforeseen… for the dark that awaits you…your own faults visited on some one else you could never have conceived in thought…since the yonder is dark unknowable for all you know empty why continue… what ultimate purpose aeons from now affects you… is there a purpose to purpose…we search and search and see far enough only to be told we are getting closer and closer to the truth… nearer and nearer to the eternal truth… the one single formula to explain it all… the unified theory of theories… only to be told in between lie the dark matter the black holes three times the known dimensions of worlds hidden within unfathomable worlds of universes buried beyond sight beyond thought… all exploding colliding intermingling intersecting in the unreachable distance that may have been but never probably was…that the infinitely tiniest world releases the infinitely bigbangish universe… who is to believe we're going anywhere… who is to believe we are going some place…can you conceive of anything of anybody of anybeing of any self-making engine who/which can create an ounze of space let alone the mighty exploding skies hidden within the atoms… can you conceive of a plan so complex so minute so self-propagating so complete so thorough from time immemorial to time eternal from the ends of the endless space which could have inhabited some mighty self-sufficient allmightiness… and yet it is true… it must be true…how else can you explain this eternal laila this eternal ephemeral-ness this eternal dance…nadaraja stomping twisting flailing his six arms in all six pairs of eye-directions…siva the destroyer…siva the adept dancer…siva the twelve to twenty-nine strings dancing vibrating in dimensions unseen to the eye… IT is there to be seen and be wondered at to be felt and to be suffered to be thought of and to keep thinking about to be befuddled about and to be flabbergasted by… to know that IT exists… touch yourself and you touch the IT… think you're touching and you're the IT thinking… but spread your fingers and cry abacradabra… no matter materialises no ready-made canvass no finished book no symphony drivels drops drips from your fingers… is this a mystery… is this a joke… if i'm part of the IT why is there no nothing at my command… are we then part of the IT… can we be part of the IT… or is the IT split into smithereens… no more the IT… no more the creating preserving destroying omnipotent IT the dancing Nadarajah the thundering Rudra the wailing Vayu the slaughtering Kali the admonishing Krishna the cool beneficent Vishnu…is the IT then in need of its sundered parts…must we all come to gather come together to save the IT and put IT back into place… put IT back in ITS self-conceiving womb never again to see the light of the Brahma Day…is the IT in need of all the consciousnesses IT split into to constitute ITS once inconceivable consciousness…is this the Christian redemption… is this the Arabian heaven watered by streams of milk by date-palms… oases… to the sound of the singing of seventy-two virgins…nay…succulent dates…'a book of verse/a jug of wine/and thou singing beside me in the wilderness/and the wilderness is paradise enow//" …is this the Buddhist nirvana… is this the Taoist-Stoic submission to the ways of Nature…if not what purpose is there to a finalising finite world… what purpose is there to extending a quest for betterment when the Aztec sun drunk with human blood never rises again…when suns quasars galaxies universes are all doomed to be exploded out of their orbits… what purpose to so much human suffering and animal and insect and plant degradation…but gaseous-mineral stoicness…. Abstracted from T. Wignesan. Ice in my Eyes…Paris,2004-06, pp.308-310. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016. The reading of Villon poems at West Berlin's Free University during the 1957-58 Winter Semester The reading of Villon poems at West Berlin's Free University, Winter Semester 1957-58 for Fleur Adcock (b. February 10,1934) The hall was packed full, and the audience seemed particularly restless. No announcement was made from the stage, and the programme spelt out Villon's rather sleazy background: a string of poems to be read, together with some excerpts. That was all. (We) were to listen to the work of a great fifteenth century French murderer and thief turned into one of the finest lyric poets. He was banished from Paris where he was a student reading for his Master's degree at the Sorbonne, for having killed a priest in a street brawl. He then roved all over France. On being pardoned, he returned to Paris, only to be sentenced to death after being found near where a serious offence had been committed. The theft of five hundred " crowns" earned him also a prison sentence. He was then banished from Paris again and was never heard of thereafter. He is however admired for his frankness about himself and his times, and for his ballades and rondeaux. Scheduled to start at six-thirty, the rather youngish audience began to fidget and chat out loud. Students rose from their seats and hailed others in other rows. Some turned around and leant over their seats to chat with some others. A good many were making their way up and down the aisles. The stage remained cloaked in darkness. Then, without any warning, a voice from the audience rose above all the cacophony. A young man in a long white overhanging shirt and brown tight drainpipe hose(s) , his long straggly hair tied roughly over his nape, a leather pouch hanging from a stick over his shoulder, rose from his seat, or perhaps from the steps in the aisle, quoting a Villon ballade and made his way to the front. Lights dimmed. Piped background instrumental music was turned on. Everyone was caught in mid-conversation. Every eye followed the speaker. He virtually sang Villon's lyrics. A great hush descended on the hall like when a Tube/Metro comes to a sudden halt in-between stations. ………………………………………………. Everyone there was quite obviously struck by the dramatic opening scene. The man playing Villon then moved up stage, continued his recitation, then went up the opposite aisle, right to the back of the hall as the entire audience - apiece - turned their heads to follow his movements. He never let up. He recited from the little and the great Testaments. And the background accompaniment of organ and some stringed classical instrument rose and fell with his voice, in unison. Some parts of his recitation were followed by German translations in another voice. Even if those present could hardly follow every word or line, they appeared to register the soul-stirring performance, something to stoke their minds with and let their spirits wander away in a rigidly measured rhythmic world of iambics and anapaests in tetrameters. The sound of florid persuasive language soon relaxed and alternatively electrified their bodies, the fluctuating vowels spinning torrid scenes of squalor and prayer as they let themselves be permeated by torrents of words without immediate meaning, a virtual frontal assault on their sensibilities and consciousness. …………………………………………………………. …me a murderer murdered in my tongue in my steps in my rovings beyond words lost in the bylanes of history my death unknown my life interred in the bones of a jean genet from hotel bed to prison bed my story rolled in toilet rolls i go unrecognised in my garb of a trouvère my bag of musical words blowing in the gusts of backtracked time through drinking hovels among hail-fellow-mets my stolen crowns all five hundred of them clinking through the veins of my rondeaux lines straining into ballades my eye on the envoi my mental feet tapping to the tetrameter en cette foi je veuil vivre et mourir tell your son o maria up high in heaven de lui soient mes péchés absolus the almighty son taking on our weakness laissa les cieux et nous vint secourir and gave to death his very dear youthfulness en cette foi je veuil vivre et mourir et Jeanne la bonne lorraine que les anglais brûlèrent à rouen où sont-elles où vierge souveraine mais où sont les neiges d'antan mais où est le preux Charlemagne prince vous ne sauriez chercher de toute la semaine ni de toute cette année or all your life where they are sans qu'à ce refrain je vous ramène but where are they gone the snows of yesteryear where true may he have gone the valiant charlemagne now alas my song is done ici se clôt le testament et finit du pauvre villon come ye all to his burial when you hear the carillion dressed red like vermillion car en amour mourut martyr ce jura-t-il sur son couillon quand de ce monde vout partir and do you know what he did when it was time at last to go un trait but de vin morillon this villon this villainous villon this villonous villain but where are they gone the snows of yesteryear Abstracted from T. Wignesan. Ice in my Eyes Smoke in yours. (A Novel) . Allahabad: Cyberwit.net,2016, pp.317-320. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Outsiders and Odd Men - XXVIII Unquotable quotes: Outsiders and Odd Men - XXVIII for Colin Wilson (1931-1913) regrets for the " provoked" faux pas To each his own: to Colin Wilson his alienated creators, doers and thinkers - Lawrence of Arabia, Nijinsky, Van Gogh (to name but a sample) , but what about those who sweated their lives out within soft screen to hard covers: James Mason's " Johnny McQueen" in Carol Reed's version of Green's Odd Man Out; Steinbeck's mute mice and merciless military men in Viva Zapata; King Wen of Chou trapped within the hexagram Ming Yi for six years in the tyrant's dungeons made ultimate sense of stray lines on tortoise shells or El Mancho of Lepanto languishing for years in Algerian stone quarries for want of 30 thousand ducats hatched his quixotic plot to appease those who let their whims overwhelm them; like a Ho who would not let a defeated people go down on their knees to superior fire power; like a Gandhiji who elevated and enshrined hundreds of millions of Dalit sous-hommes in articles of human rights in the subcontinent's Constitution; like the Midnight Oil's wail to keep sleeping on while their beds burn Down Under: ‘A fact's a fact/It belongs to them/Let's give it back'; like Kurosawa's Seven Samurai come to the rescue of guileless peasants at the mercy of brigands and the waywardness of seasons; like a Mandela who steered his beaten down and trampled apartheid victims into the clear ground of fairplay in the aftermath of Botha detention; like a Lenin unwilling to let the Tsarist insouciance feed on the under-fed and over-worked proletariat corpse: like Mao who took his diehard followers on the Long March to re-possess his ravaged country equally from traitors and infiltrators and scheming conqueror hoards; like the general who turned the tables on his colonial masters to found the nucleus of the Republic now in Washington; like a Lincoln who forestalled Jefferson's segregationist and cleansing plans of repatriation to bind the Union in mixed blood; like the ever-faithful Castro ready to sacrifice in bon-fires his women and children to face the Roman conqueror onslaught…. All all " outsiders" who harbour the spirit of the " odd man out" in their psyches and willing at all cost to pay the ultimate price for wanting in their dreams to change this incorrigible world in the grasp of bigoted profiteers…. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Limericks crochetes: What if what he warns's true sin Limericks crochetés: What if what he warns's true sin? Is he the wrong man said the right thing Though it'll be wrong to agree with him Who know darn well we mean Such the omen of Djinn Now it's just as likely he might win Thumbs up or thumbs down winds favour him He can go on saying the same thing The more he thumps same thing More the votes he'll reap in Better be wise let him badly win See how and what he does once he's in Till he undoes self in the West Wing There's no way he can grin And keep himself within Right or wrong he must face music's din © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Fashion modeling with an eye on footballers - XXVII Unquotable quotes: Fashion modeling with an eye on footballers - XXVII Isn't " haute couture" like " cordon bleu cuisine" ? Both equally edible? You still have to pull the shrimp scales apart to get at the meat. What do models model more than their own bodies? And are their bodies any the more worth modeling than the cuts and slashes of draperies they model? Isn't the art of modeling the art of walking on stilts and keeping from tripping on your shreds? The mincing gait or the panther stride, the blazé look, the exposed adductor thigh muscles, the tight twitching taught tantrums, the nonchalant swagger and the prayer in the tréfonds du coeur to stay the stumble - what more can the model wish for? The model is the only member of the human species forced to walk from side to side, the art of walking by crossing one leg over the other being an optical illusion, an art footballers all dream of acquiring in order to avoid the yellow or even red card. What makes the final turn on the modeling stage a gasping breath escape - exposing the twitching cherished view from the rear - the return to oblivion? Will the fashion industry die the day models take to the Mohicun-multi-dyed cuts footballers now sport? Contrariwise would footballers take to modeling hair-cuts now in vogue on Euro pitches and turfs? Touch a model and you touch bone, and you'll be lucky if you don't get a wellheeled stiletto in your face; touch a footballer and he'll crumble and tumble and go sprawling and writhing on his face until he gets a free penalty kick. Put a ball between the legs of a model and it'll stay stuck in there all the time she goes gallavanting down the turf; put a ball at the tip of a footballer's toes at a penalty shoot-out - and leave the goal empty - and he'll still aim high enough to place the ball at the bawling gawking crowds behind. Where do the pick of the Tout Paris want to be seen to be thought chic/chique? Gawking up by the modeling walkplanks, of course. Where do you think opera singers go to clear their throats and yell their heads off? Yesteryears' discarded fashions - whom do they adorn? Do kept " wives" and " darling boys" walk the streets to accompanied piped lilting music and canned stage lighting? How many the unemployed if the fashion industry just closed shop to let each and everyone design his own wear without conforming to the tastes of a dictating few - however brilliant - or to custom-imposed straight-jackets? When billionnaire " daddies" cloth their damsels and dames in haute couture, whom do they show off? There's talk now and then, here and there - certainly from vicious sources - about fashion designers collecting and distributing models like trainers their footballers - the only difference, one imagines, is that no models are forced to warm the reserve benches with their butts. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Journalists - Dedication to Andre Fontaine - XXVI Unquotable quotes: Tale-Carriers, Gossip-Mongers, Courrier-Pigeon Caretakers, Smoke-Signal Puffers and Tom-Tom Thumpers - XXVI Could there be such things as political shenanigans or inter-continental warfares, even catastrophes, natural disasters, tsunamis, irruptions, conflagrations, inundations, landslides, typhoons, tornadoes, hurricanes, plagues, pestilence, famines, accidents, police brutality, paedophilia, fratricide, patricide, racism, anti-semitism, corruption, assassinations, bankruptcy, elections, stock-exchange slumps and ruptures, parades and protests, street demonstrations, hooliganism, gangsterism, sexual scandals, incest, money-laundering, illegal migrations, airplane crashes, train derailments, highway pile-ups, weather forecasts, UFOs, even " Trumps" without journalists pouncing to remind us of them all the time? Has anyone wondered how our forefathers managed to live without them? If you want to know what happened yesterday - too late - when you were asleep, then read the newspapers. If you want to know what happened a week or a month ago when the floods had already washed your cherished possessions down gaping ravines, then read the weeklies and monthlies. If you want to know what is going to happen the very next minute - or even moment - then watch TV breaking news - only be prepared for the long haul - baby bottle warmers and napkins at the ready. As you all already know, the only use left for the radio is to keep truckdrivers from dozing off on the thighs of hitch-hikers up on high winding mountain trails. If you look carefully at a TV interview with politicians, you are bound to see a safety zoo rocky pit and railings between the interviewer and the interviewees: your guess as to who play the fauves or predatory immunised overlords. Have you ever wondered why even the most powerful politicians in a TV interview never fail to use the catch-phrase: " A very good question! " - either as a shield for their embarrassment in not wanting to reveal the truth or as a ploy or ruse to appease the blood-thirsty interviewer. The Pullitzer awaits the interviewee who can devise another catch-phrase like: " Great question! , I'd never have in a million years even.! And Lo! a golden sunlight beam lassoes the Sultan's turret in a noose of fright! '" Every one-man/one-woman show is an excuse for the host to voice his or her own opinions on any or all subjects: the guest-invitees serving as mere sounding boards. Why is it that TV literary programmes always shy away from having to examine the contents of books in lieu of the authors, critics and publishers' personal and inter-personal relations? The football commentator spends 90% of his time telling the tele-spectator just what transpired two minutes previously, and the rest of the time reminding us of the idiocy of the coaches on the losing side for keeping the real stars stuck to their reserve benches. If only there was a button on the TV remote control to shut out the commentators' grumpy voices at the annual Euro-Vision Song Contests! Even the studio-commentator's voice hushes when the golf-ball is about to be hit! The difference between a news anchor-man and an anchor-woman is that the latter makes the former envious. Do failed writers take to journalism? Or do writers who want to get published take to journalism? The press conference is the most frequent opportunity journalists have to embarrass and expose politicians. The wise politician appoints a Press Secretary to avoid the debacle - for it is he and he alone who can put an end to the conference. There's a Franco-German workday news review run by a winsome bubbly, quickthinking lady - given now and then to lewd jokes - called " 28 Minutes" on ARTE (the liveliest and most intellectually stimulating " University" in the World) which brings together intellectuals and savant commentators who vie with one another to out-talk themselves all at the very same moment, and if you put together all the words uttered in one line, it would wind its way through our Milky Way and re-appear as fulminating and salivating volcanic cheese. If anyone still wonders who inherited Imelda Marcos's wardrobe, you don't have to look hard or long at the show every evening! Every so often, guest cartoonists (male, saucy females) appear on the scene, and even before the cartoons are flashed - subliminally - on the screen, the debators would have laughed their heads off, making it all seem (except to the French, one hopes) the very private jargon joke of the journalists' trade cracked in a French café. If only journalists could be nurtured on Alistair Cooke's " Letter from America" (1947-2004) , the (Manchester) Guardian correspondent in New York, the world would appear less harrassed and be put through less turmoil, and be amused by his detached but curious eye, while being titillated by his avuncular tone. Just think Orson Welles' " Citizen Kane" and his radio series on the Martian invasion of New York - after all - goaded him to lament: " I spend 98% of my time looking for the funds to make my pictures…" (or words to the effect) . Had André Fontaine, Chief Editor of Le Monde, accepted the offer of the top diplomatic post in Peking during the seventies, would the paper sway Presidents and PleniPotentiaries today? Report an isolated act of injustice, and the people will want the culprit lynched; report the repeated acts of injustice of a given State, and a whole lot of States within the Bloc will rush to succour the beleagured ally. Stop reporting these acts of injustice, and they will diminish on their own - for the perpetrators love the limelight. The more one sees and listens to leaders on the tele, the more they become entrenched in their " self-martyred" positions. Thanks to journalists, the World lies at the tip of our fingers: we can eat and watch, we can eat and computer-read; and we can eat and listen to the tell-tale tom-toms. Or NOT at all! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Witch-Doctors and Tribal Headmen - XXV Part Two Unquotable quotes: Witch-Doctors and Tribal Headmen - XXV (Part Two) Which Asian " King" would crown himself " Emperor" during an elaborate theatrical ceremony while facing and exhorting the ruins of his Illustrious Ancestor's capital? Which commoner army captain would seize power through skill and grit to crown himself " Emperor" with his own hands and appoint his siblings kings, queens, princes and princesses of his conquered territories? Which dear old Royal Dame Head of State reads the Racing Post from cover to cover every day? Which pauper prince might not have received even a secondary school education had it not been for marginal largesse loot only to open the royal gates to thugs, rogues, swindlers and pimps of the moneyed kind? Which royal playboy groomed by a dictator would go off on an elephant hunt funded by the State coffers when his people chalk up 30% unemployment figures? Which Far-Eastern village chieftains issuing from a self-appointed Hindu " king" appoint themselves sultans with rights to elect kings from their ranks claim in the process descent from Alexander the Great? Which class of hereditary princes by caste set themselves the task of deflowering the greatest number of virgins presumably to convince themselves of their virility while their subjects battled their conquerors to free themselves? Which heir-apparent to an illustrious throne surrender his " god-given" rights for a commoner divorcee only to abandon her to her " chauffeurs" while he cubbed little " choir" boys in one wing of the hereditary castle? Which future king would abandon his virtuous " princess" spouse for a divorcee only to hoodwink her for Russian prostitutes in another capital? Which Pacific son of the Rising Sun would make a pact with hereditary warriors in uniform to rape the down-trodden masses of the Asian Continent? How many the centuries scientific truths lay chained and condemned in deep dungeon irons by Witch-Doctors who feared the debunking of their " holy" texts? How many the orphaned hostel boys sworn to dumbness through soul-splitting shame and psychic drubbing stuffed by bible-quoting Witch-Doctors? How many the virgins and dejected spouses gone to confide and beg for solace stuffed by Witch-Doctors chanting mass and morning prayers? How many the orphaned virgins sacrificed to temples as dancers for a fee at the mercy of Witch-Doctors' whims? How many the billions forced to abandon common sense and reason for fear of the fire and brimstone promised by Witch-Doctors if they did not swallow the dictates of their " holy" texts and hasten to slaughter, sack, soil, slay, sully, suppress, shame, slander, sicken, shun, swindle, slap, swat, slog, sling, spit, split, scuttle, soften, straighten, sink, stink and sell their souls to keep them (Witch-Doctors) in place? How many the Witch-Doctors who would anoint themselves as Messiah-Kings in the centuries to come? How many the Witch-Doctors still to escape from the World in order to find refuge in the Cuckoo's Nest? © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Witch-Doctors and Tribal Headmen - XXIV Part One Unquotable quotes: Witch-Doctors and Tribal Headmen* - XXIV-Part One The Uhr-Father of the embodiment of spiritual power since the Middle Ages must certainly have been the Witch-Doctor of primitive societies who shared power with the Headman of the Tribe (to which each of us separately belongs) . The roles Witch-Doctors and Tribal Headmen assume and enact out in every society has never changed, though in some cases both roles have coalesced into one and the same person. Quite conceivably, the Headmen are those who manage to seize power over the rest of the clan through intrigue or by brute force. In some cases, they might quite conceivably have been born leaders who came to the rescue of their fellow-men through sheer courage in times of hardship by displaying a sense of justice in the face of corruption and terror, though their hereditary successors fall in line with the Witch-Doctors. On the other hand, the Witch-Doctors - the close associates of the Headmen, one needing the other - might resort to power through the agency of " magic formulae" and the use of spells, mantras and dubious ceremonies claiming ownership of the " unseen/unseeable" dark forces which could either be interpreted as " spiritual" or " daemonic" and with which they threaten the unwary laymen - and likewise the Headmen - with retribution and damnation herein- after if the others didn't submit themselves to their own will and demands. The primordial role of Witch-Doctors is the consecration and anointing of Tribal Headmen who thus become invested with Divine Rights permitting the setting up of Royal Houses with hereditary lineages through heavenly transfusion of " blue" blood. Likewise the " anointers" get to arrogating this right from the Almighty Himself or, at least, this is what they would like the common folk to think. The most lethal weapon ever conceived by the human mind is " the fine art of indoctrination" : Burrough's Algebra of Need - catch them early, catch them dazed and hungry, is the motto. Power operates by stealth: through intrigue and secrecy. He who wields power has access - without your knowledge or consent - to your soul and to your purse as well. The Witch-Doctor and the Tribal Headman are by nature Slave-Traders. The idea is to device a bait, something to drive terror into your psychic depths and hold you prisoner there, and nothing works as well as " fear" - fear for your life, for your children, for your kith and kin, and for your tribe and country, but most of all for the here-in-after, the fear of the Unknown, the Unknowable being the Almighty: for Hell. From the moment the Witch-Doctor instils fear in you of the hell awaiting you, you are his slave. And in this, the Headman will be his closest associate. Hence, with invented texts of " holy" authority the Witch-Doctors manipulate the masses. They control and guide your life on earth by soothing your psychic pains with words of comfort, according to each of their denominations' doctrines, tenets and beliefs. The Witch-Doctor - mind you - is not responsible for the Dead. The Witch-Doctor is protected: his job is to keep the flock in his charge at his beck and call or at his disposal. The Witch-Doctor declines responsibilty for the damage the indoctrinated inflict upon some rival's followers. The Witch-Doctor is a slave to his Lord and Master and must do the bidding of his Alma Mater's managers. In short, he is the paid employee of his own concocted " god" , not the Almighty, for that would mean working for all " gods" , that is, the entire populations that have inhabited this gullible earth. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Dancers - XXIII Unquotabe quotes: Dancers - XXIII Dance like Cassius Clay, Sting like Muhammad Ali. The dancing Dervish's ethereal trip makes the Sufi's Qawwali breathlessness sound like the radio-astral waves dashing on the beaches of their consciousness. The only unlicensed dance free of feet is that of the honeysuckle moth's at the dying of the day. Would a Ginger Rogers marry a Fred Astaire if he didn't have a pair of electric flying feet? The Hindu temple dancers are little virgins offered by their silly parents seeking religious merit as a sacrifice to their gods in order that priests may loan them out to those who can pay to fill the temple coffers. Astro-physics traces the movements of astral bodies through the Dance of Siva (one of the Hindu Trinity of the Godhead Brahman) . The difference between a professional dancer and an amateur is that the former legitimately makes every effort to project that part of the anatomy which we are accustomed to concealing while the latter is hard put not to make the effort. The dancer's raison d'être is to serve the voyeur through twists and turns. Even (s) he who dances for joy must be seen to be thought coy. Disco dancing is aught but coïtus interruptus. Dance all your troubles away so long as you can make it back even on one leg limping all the way. The ballet dancer is one who is always on the verge of taking off either by spinning on his/her toes or by floating on his/her hefty thighs whereas the flamenco artist and the tap dancer are continually trying to drive herself/himself underground. The trouble with watching classical Indian dance meant to communicate epic anecdotes and mythical dallying of the gods by making the body - eyes, fingers, limbs and body postures - speak renders the performances intelligible mainly to the deaf and mute. Dancing to the beat of the tom-toms develops the paps from puberty. Dancing with tomahawks in hands before going on the war-path develops the biceps for splitting heads. Dancing by jumping up and down and swaying in a mass to the blaring beat of the rock-n-rollers develops an acute sense of gradual deafness to the meaning of unheard words. Dancing in disco joints with blinking psychedelic forms in variegated colours can induce in some epileptic reactions while others simulate these contortions wide awake on the floor. Dancing to the jog of thudding beer mugs on wooden logs and stamping trooper boots develops the art of the clash of battering rams. Dancing to the sweep and lilt of waltzes on smooth ballroom floors develops the art of sweating elegantly under gowns and mufti. Dirty dancing like salsa is hard-core porn turned to art. He who has never danced to abandon has never broken out of the walls of his prison. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Philosophers - XXII Unquotable quotes: Philosophers - XXII Take Socrates: the insignia of a true philosopher is the bald pate and the luxuriant beard - the very reason why women make for such pathetic philosophers. The bald pate facilitates the evaporation of the scorching heat generated by deep thought, and the beard attests to their forgetfulness - from the moment philosophers wake absorbed in hectic phrenetic activity - in getting a shave. Philosophers are supposed to supply all the answers: that's why they merely ask the most difficult questions which - thanks to hermeneutics - get interpreted as the right answers. When in doubt, ask a philosopher: he'll complicate your doubts even further. A philosopher who has all the answers is not a philosopher: he is God (whatever the latter word may mean) ! A philosopher who takes time to think is faking it. Ideas make the philosopher - not the other way round. A philosopher who proclaims his thoughts in a book is most certainly trying to conceal the fact that he has picked somebody else's brain (the latter most likely in the plural) . An undisciplined thinker is not a philosopher: he is a poet. When two philosophers meet in peace, one is most certainly a disciple of the other - or a future widow. Pick a philosopher's brain, and your thinking is bound to get muddled up. The difference between a philosopher and a professional philosopher is that one makes you think; the other requires you to think. If philosophy as a subject in any field of thought is developed by practitioners to make things more clear to both the specialist and the layman, why is it always possible to go on splitting hairs on almost any given aspect of the issues at stake? Are philosophers mystificators? In other words, are philosophers by nature unwilling to be intelligible, except with their own disciples who are reared to perpetuate the Master's all-pervading vision of whatever the " mystificator" propounded. Why is it that the most influential thinkers of yore never penned their own thoughts down? One possible reason - the Buddha is supposed to have said: ‘Don't believe anyone who says this is what I said. Reason it out first for yourself. If you find it reasonable, then believe in its truth, if you so wish! ' (or words to the effect) . When philosophers gather to expound their theories, the onlookers and eavesdroppers hold their own silence (and even their breath) for fear of disclosing their utter lack of comprehension. The more complex and continuous and never-ending the discourse on any given topic, the more profound the admiration the ordinary or average individual is willing to accord the debators. The proportion of women philosophers to men philosophers is so lopsided that one is encouraged to ask (be it ever so politely and with the utmost deference) if women are not so well-disposed to the actual act of profound reflection. It is curious how high a place established philosophers occupy in the hearts of those of their own social, ethnic or racial ilk - sometimes even to be condemned and discarded by opposing religious groups; so much so one wonders not why there is a developed science of war and an enhanced state of the art of waging war? Since a philosopher devotes many hours in the day to solitary reflection, what does his wife do during those hours? Philosophers would gladly - and obliviously - inhabit ivory towers, if only the world would mistake the towers for light-houses! A country without a philosopher can always boast of a prophet. ‘No man is a prophet in his own country, ' says the lonely household philosopher. All you need is a philosopher to make even a " happy" world look delirious - if he speaks his mind. Why do philosophers prefer hemlock to the guillotine? Probably to keep their heads intact. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Teachers - XXI Unquotable quotes: Teachers - XXI The pupil, the bitch and the walnut tree, the more the teacher beats them, the better they be. In the old days, teachers were born to the métier like poets; today softwares do the teaching for them. A teacher a day makes the parent all gay and given to play. There's nothing one teaches that cannot be learned by oneself on his own; aren't the best teachers self-taught? Every girl remembers well the arm-pit odours of teachers forced to lean over them in their over-zealousness in imparting knowledge. Do you wonder why the French call teachers a " sale race" (a dirty damned race) by parents? Is it because they wield such ultimate authority over their progeny, and their opinion of those in their charge never equals that of the parents? A teacher's myopia is his pupils never-relenting phobia. Mimicry as an art owes its charms to teachers, for which teacher's mannerisms have not been the subject of imitation by his pupils? A teacher who really tries to teach, that is, who takes himself and his subject seriously, is always trying to convince himself he can teach. Pupils love teachers who suffer from a bladder problem - in spite of their disappearance from class every so often. Pupils always remember the ticks, swear words and expressions and idiosyncracies of their teachers more than those of their parents, for parents are always grateful to see their children off during the better part of the day. The wise teacher waits until his favourite pupil finishes school before he proposes marriage. The teachers one remembers the most are the ones who dish out more than the marks we deserve in our exam papers; yet the teachers one never forgets are the ones who shamed us in front of the rest of the class. Oddly enough, a teacher's favourite never really makes it in life. He or she can never figure out why his peers and elders overlook him or her in their choice of a pretender to a higher post. Most teachers at the school-leaving stage teach subjects they hardly knew much about the previous day or two. A teacher who accidentally or not farts in class is remembered for life, probably due to his penchant for pungent cuisine, the cause probably also why pupils raise such a din during the immediate recess. A teacher who punishes an innocent pupil for the noise/ruckus his class raises makes an enemy out of him for life; the victim's dreams then on take on the dimensions of a nineteenth century Gothic novel with the teacher on the operating table. Why is it that a teacher who makes his class repeat after him always gets called all sorts of names under breath? A teacher not prone to failing his pupils stays popular all through school but earns opprobation thereafter. A pupil who asks the teacher an awkward question which puts him in a spot is likely to find himself the object of incessant interrogation from then on. Teachers always bring home the germs of their pupils in exchange for those their children bring home from other teachers. A most conscientious teacher is one who volunteers to stay back in class to supervise the homework of pupils who are bound to become fashion models. A teacher who does not know or who has forgotten the answer to some question never fails to put the question over and over again to his class until some pupil by chance gives the correct or false answer. Everybody knows the greatest teacher is Life itself - not the parent nor the school-teacher but that which delivers the hardest knocks and setbacks. Teach a donkey to trot and he'll make an ass of you. Teach not a dog how not to bark. Never teach anyone the art of writing: you might deprive him of the enormous pleasure of discovering original writing for himself, and you risk multiplying the host of lack-luster imitators and plagiarists - not vibrant creators. The truly original teachers teach by example without wanting to: the Shakespeares, the Jonathan Swifts, Euripides, Aristophanes, the Dantes, Lady Murasaki, Cervantes, Ilango Adigal, Liu Wu-ki, Lao Tse, etc., etc. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Lawyers - XX Unquotable quotes - Lawyers: XX (No aspersions are willfully or otherwise cast on the honorable profession of the Law. Though I'm not a Barrister, I passed - through self-study - all the subjects at the Bar Examinations set by the Inns of Court School of Law, London, by 1956. And my knowledge of the practice of the law is derived from being compelled as a litigant nearly all my adult life.) " The Law is an Ass" for lawyers often squat on the Ass. " Only a fool goes to court without a lawyer" , yet only a nincompoop/dumbkopf/retardé mental will go to court - period! When lawyers get together, they talk Culture, the commodity they most wish they could own. Whenever you are in the presence of an unsuccessful lawyer, be truly aware you're in the presence of the next President of the Republic. The first time you walk into a lawyer's chambers as a client, you'll be convinced there's such a thing as Divine Justice. Then on, you'll walk the plank without being pushed. Notice how when lawyers go on strike, the breast of the Lady of the Balance of Justice heaves more freely and gently. Never ever lend an ear to the suggestion that lawyers all should be put on the government's payroll: this is worse than downright blasphemy. If you have plenty of money and you don't know what to do with it, then go see a lawyer - he'll help you be free of it. Remember, from the very moment you walk into a lawyer's chambers, you put yourself at his service twenty-four hours a day preparing your case - for him. Always remember when you go to see a lawyer with your case: you want to put a stop to a life-threatening nuisance; lawyers don't ever want that to end. When a lawyer tells you to do something, always make certain you DID it. Marry a lawyer and you'll most certainly make an appearance in the dock for something you have not done. Always choose a lawyer of the opposite sex in your divorce case: (s) he'll aid and abet you in your wrong-doing for the purpose of first-hand evidence. Don't forget that the time you spend in a lawyer's office is 90% used up with personal calls under the guise of in-coming calls from other clients, but you foot the bill for all. The more famous a lawyer is, the more schooled is he in the art of losing cases with oratory and panache. Do not wonder why the crucial documents you gather at great expense for your defence - at the request of lawyers - somehow never get mentioned or produced during a trial or hearing. A lawyer who takes on more than he can chew always turns up late for the hearing/audience/trial - only to ask for a postponement. Some lawyers oddly enough forget on whose side they are pleading their case - much to their own surprise when the judgment is handed down. Don't ever forget that the lawyers' own disciplinary boards are elected by their own ilk. Lawyers don't marry lawyers for fear that the divorce case might last longer than the marriage. Is the solicitor (in England) a tout between the barrister and the client? Lawyers are never guilty of negligence or ignorance even if their clients are obliged to appeal the lower court judgment. How many crimes get to be committed in the actual deliberations and formulations of procedures in cases? Has anyone made a count? How many the billions who simply let torts, crimes and wrong-doing submerge them - day in and day out - without respite? Everybody knows the bigger the name, the bigger the lawyer's fees. The more money you have, the better your chances of getting off the hook. When an innocent man is condemned, who is to blame? The prosecution? The Bench? Or the lawyers? Or all? Do they ever pay? Legal aid is another form of grudged hate. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016. Some men die to survive Some men die to survive the Hard endures the Soft succumbs stews in juices reproduces exults disappears the heartless breaks cracks crumbles drags the Ephemeral down the ravines of the also-ran rivers dissolves explodes The myriads and myriads who breathe but spent air the haemoglobin of genetic change all the ephemeral dust of pain destruction and damnation Now and then one hears talk of everlasting Oneness of undying Truth and Salvation whose whispers linger longer than the astroidal rain's howling phantom winds holocaust blasts in the ears of ovens pent-up change piercing permanence Some men die to survive nothing remains of them but the hollow word they shaped and filled with sense common sense the word that thinks creates the Void Even the Compassionate Prince's plain truths grow limp and fall on hardened ears his tooth a colossal myth piercing the sky common words of common sense fetched in Essenic straw-buckets of Dead Sea scrolls whose words survive on the lips of those who cannot lie who remember only the Law words will uphold what Truth will never connive mind-full messages torn from tongues long silent come crashing from mountain-top roofs the frozen trek down tricky treacherous slopes words meander through slots of seething ice-packs the Wanderer surrenders with squeezed-out bated breaths the burden of ages preserved on the lips of the deathless errant Everyman handed down by the Pauper-Prince become the common man who strolls through untrodden paths the simple obvious truths which never stifle throttle How many stark truths make up the ultimate whole Truth will Truth out no matter what The naked Truth is not for Man he needs his truth cloaked clothed to be unraveled made a mystery of by mystificators by authors who only know how to speak with their hands accompanying gestures of effete moral preachment skeins embroidering the skies that shift and shatter with the times Some lisp the Truth heard only by the few and made to look all anew afresh bestowed given as life-renewing elixir and let others connive whose skills lie in making It ring true in caverns beyond lost horizons by starlight gathering mists hugging low the Dead Sea growls Take the worshipful apostle myths away a hundred a hundred and fifty odd years gone the myrrh the high-quality incense the barn-birth and the Three Wise Men led by a trekking star the carpenter's intestate Holy Virgin the Sermon on the Mount the bared cheeks and you still hear Shakhyamuni voice not doubt on the Cross Eli Eli Lama Sabachthani © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Nurses - XIX Unquotable quotes: Nurses - XIX A nurse well-dressed is a nurse well-thought of, even if she administers the coup de grace. Prick a nurse and she'll pamper you; pamper a nurse and she'll prick you. Displease a nurse and no doctor can save you. Report a nurse's malfeasance and you'll find yourself on a stretcher at the morgue's entrance. (This is from personal experience.) A nurse a night can make a patient feel much better over-night - since the bed is paid for already for the price. Always address a nurse as " doctor" ; she'll not think you need a doctor. Always make it a policy of hoarding the presents you receive on your hospital bed; the nurse will almost certainly help you lighten the load. To relieve the back psychological itch, always ask the nurse to scratch your back facing you. When the nurse is absent from the ward, so is the ward doctor. Always ask the nurse how she spells her first and last names while pretending to write on a pad; you're bound to raise her hopes about the contents of your last will and testament. Always remove the ring on your third finger whenever a nurse enters your room. In the presence of the nurse, always remark aloud how the nurse's uniform fits her Brigitte Bardot form. Never fail to attribute the low humming and buzzing sounds emanating from nurses around hospital beds to Maria Callas. Whenever a nurse approaches your bed, just whistle: " Jeepers, Creepers, Where d'ya get those eyes? " Must the percentage of patients dying in hospitals always stay the same when nurses go on strike? Marry a nurse and become an eternal patient. A nurse in need calls a Hemingway to arms. A nurse in bed raises the Dead. Nurse a nurse and you'll always be fed…..up! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: Leftists XVIII Unquotable quotes: Leftists - XVIII (Note: What goes for the Left can go for the Right, too. All you need to do is to interpose the words wherever possible. Don't read ideological warfare where there is none intended.) If the Left is right, the Right cannot be in the right. The more the Left splits right down the middle, the more the leftists in the Right. Since everything on the Left is supposed to be socialist, on which side stands the National Socialist? Or do socialists refuse to subscribe to the notion of the Nation State? In the now tamed Wild West, socialists of various sorts prefer to parade as democrats - an open affront to the European Welfare State. The Left's greatest achievement - first in the Western World and now everywhere else - is the un-buckling of the chastity belt, all due to a world famous French couple double. To be thought of an intellectual, just affect being liberal and " leftist" , but make certain you first bury the silver spoon you were born with: you can always dig it up when no one is looking. Leftists band together to oppress a fellow leftist when they fear the rattling of socialist skeletons in their own socialist sub-consciousness cupboard. When the Right is bereft, the Left denies and denigrates the theft. Why is it that less attractive girls always - well, nearly always - parade with leftist stamps and stickers on their bosoms and bums in order to appear " chicly" artful and/or intellectual? On the other side, it would appear they prefer them straight and loose without the packaging or the slogan-chanting. The Leftist label fits all who play ball with those screwballs who throw balls at night fall. The great thing about being Centre Left is that at some time or other you'd rub shoulders with the Far Left to the Far Right of your rubber neck. The Far Left suspects the Left more than the Far Right, for the Left insists on being thought of as the sole arbiters of rights. Don't turn Left unless the road ahead is blocked; in which case, turn Rightround and come back. What feels good about being in the arms of the Left is that the Left's lefthand comes right round to the Right - around your back. Leave the Left and you'll be left with no Right whatsoever. Left hand and Right hand lock to form one big hug. Left in the lurch is a right for no Church. Left to yourself is a State no Right can dislodge from the ideological shelf. The Centre Left can neither fall to the right nor to the left for its hands stretch out for balance to the Far Right and the Far Left. Keep the Left hand and the Right hand always out of reach, and they'll always be dirty - for does one know what the other does? He who comes to equity must come with clean gloves even if the hands stay dirty. Left side, Right brain; Right side, Left brain. Why does the left-handed batsman always confound the right-handed bowler? Is it because the right-handed bowler has no arm left? Left by Love is Right bloody rough; right in love makes one an incorrigible bluff. Left hand, Right hand, two faces of the brain span - minus the pineal gland. Pinch each hand to see which can outstand the other. © T. Wignesan - Paris, May 18,2016 For old Star-Gazer Master Khayyam - a name like Shakespeare's for some other giants - Part Two For Old Star-Gazer Master Khayyam - a name like Shakespeare's for " some" other giants - Part Two III Is there an answer to this gaping question Will that something which follows on behave Here at least we know death despises life What do you call that which you have Do you die too after what length of time What do you do while you wait for the end What space d'you occupy in our timespace Or does anti-self exist in a parallel dimension Not that these make worrisome questions Nice to know we don't quite disappear Right out and that we go on despite reasons Or perhaps for nothing much after all Here we are caught in swirling whirlwinds Of petty time-pinching emergencies We give what we can of our might to those We care for reserving the best for ourselves Sooner or later the world would just peter out First the sun would give up its nuclear fissions Slowly fizzing down while its body bloats out Then the earth and planets would fry out Would you be still around or would we be too And when the solar system freaks out What will be the fate of your bodiless forms Or would you be hiding in some safe black hole IV What good would it do to know the final outcome If you are caught in a terrestrial fateful bind So do we all the ultimate spacial expanse become Locked into it all by no-backtracking time Does what matters to you be of no moment to us Do we need to be wily to hanker after heaven We're either just alone or wholly naked forsaken Or fused in a mounting blinding swirling circus Some may call this the ultimate form of Oneness Some the Godhead that directs all our wills Some might prefer the wayward terror of ghosts Some just can't bother one way or the other Some who suffer ill the womb of common unity Decide to come together only to wreak hell These harden without mercy for what they wreak They whose work you put down to devilry So where lies the good of your worry-dispelling verse Long have we lost the feeling for your example Yes at first yes repentance we experienced at parting Sorrow at what we might have wanted to curse But all that jitterbug's gone past by now We know darnwell better now the dance No use bothering with what anxious selves see Over what will or will not after be There is just this enormous monstrous engine It throbs on seemingly without and within Who knows why or who deemed it must It simply rumbles on whether you think it just Myself when young did dwell so long Upon your sweet O deep forbidden verses Draughts in tankards quaffed I with song Dreams couched in nubile cascading tresses TAMUM SHUD June 16/18,1996 © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016, revised from: longhand notes (a binding of poems) , 1999. For old Star-Gazer Master Khayyam - a name like Shakespeare's for some other giants - Part One For old Star-Gazer Master Khayyam - a name like Shakespeare's for « some » other giants - Part One I Why don't they ever come back? Even if it's just to say We are still there or gone for a while Or just too damned busy That's the reason why we're absent And not for what people say We're gone with the last breath Gone for good into the beyond If that's so then just let us have a sign Why more than just a sign Make Shakespeare direct our hand Let loose Hamlet anew on the Strand And if that's too difficult Ask of Aristotle The text of his lost poetics Cast in a hard disc Better still command the Son of God To make a grand appearance Fanfares heralding the event In a technicolour firmament Or make known to us The lost masterpieces The great forging inventions Bombed to ashes in wars Or for the departed father To come set his house in order Brother against brother For want of a better master O Where have they all gone Leaving us in their muddles Such a kyrielle of contortions We leave for those behind us Those of us who piled effort upon effort For a better day for ourselves Now going we rued the tightfistedness And the bitterly whining quarrels II We have no need to come back To see the mess we've left behind We who ourselves had to sort out Our fathers' mighty ill-windfalls Nor to see what each does in quiet In your sleep in lavs behind walls What we ourselves did of course And thought no one ever the wiser To see how each of you clings to his shell To make it shine best of all Only to see how ours turned to loams Or into a fistful of ashes and bones All all for the pleasure of another body Bodies oozing with slime and foetid stench From all we stuffed them with in contempt Worse still what the voracious brain we fed Is it for this carpe diem reason And for all that they say is vanity For the futility of non-interference In whose favour might we intervene Since all sides pit against all sides Just to keep the inter-twining yin and yang In constantly conflicting tug-of-wars That makes for progress of sorts That we see no reason to pull either way For you do it well enough without aid Though some amongst us wish for revenge And perhaps tilt the balance now and then But you are none the wiser in your pain For you think only of your body's gain And those in whose breeding chain You thought you couldn't lose in vain But where's the justice in this all Living we too strained to achieve Dying we saw the futility of it all Just a game dying from boredom Better we know now we see you in tether There's no justice either way Somehow the particles come together And strive to make sense of one another With the result there is life There is a building in strife Mounting to an ultimate prize The creation of the perfect monster Once the form is gone the content Takes no form of its own The content is the form's overall product Born of a lifetime's construct Dying thus gives fresh birth To what is not of this earth We are free to roam and rollick Though we see no point to it Being without form we may merge Into one whole formless mass Or simply drop out inane As you the voyeurs in a train Here they waft those great Persian savants A sardonic smile all that's left of them They who best knew how the heady wine Made one forget the burden of the grind Yet none read his verse for fear of contempt Those who do make little of the rhyme Others cried foul for he preached the impossible Are wine women and song bought for a dime Turn away from us for your time has come No need to ask us the reason for your end You too will know the total of your sum And face another dilemma round the bend June 16/18,1996 © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 from the collection: longhand notes (1999) growing up too soon growing up too soon you said: is there anything more excruciating than lagging behind being passed by a hasbeen still knocking on portals twitching toes twirling thumbs in fidgety drawn-curtained waiting rooms and the always taken-for-granted toiling mothers maimed in mid-life stoopbent under rotting burdens eternally putting-up with their disgruntled men pining for fresh meat their children far too busy suckling roaming the woods for stray milch cows are parents less prone to feeling deserted or girls when young given to much much too much you know to what the side-saddle bum flabs the hangdog lips and nose-tips and nostrils sore grainy red innocence crushed (wu wang hexagram 25) the conning leer lurking behind the simulated orgasm blazé finicky O dear my split varnished nail the mignardise growing up too soon leaves you a little behind hesitant no fresh tarts nor the leisure of making belief the privilege of mending emotional fencesnor the time to toast things over in the backburner or prepare for the day when you may retire in style proclaim to the world your ardent wishes convictions reforms revolutions growing up too soon leaves you a toddler thrusting up in the hunched back regrets simmering in the bitterly polluted taste buds chewing the tongue neither the leisure to pipedream muted laughing peels reverberating rocambolesque within soiled sheets keeping the persona humoured till you stand up wide awake stripped nor the frolicking flaming female mid-summer fudge growing up too soon is not just bypassing a whole generation of ghosts you look back dazed to watch grand nephews and nieces twittering in space-curved time living in a sort of limbo in a cramped attic crib snorting the crawling dust unread books breed heating for the third time your oat meal porridge casting stolen looks from behind drawn curtains wondering who's going to benefit from your garnered gains watch callow lads and frisky girls and wonder when was it you last grew up dallied amongst them unsure you knew any of the kind you see as women today growing up too soon is to forfeit something you never had nor can ever have yet you refuse to let it go even as unwon bread all through your teens seizing handouts the rightful boon until the recurring pain of tendons exploding make you see round the foreshadowed corner round the spacetime's curve and know there's really nothing to cry about nor there's anything you can do without the damn thing which slips through the thinning crop straggly on your bald pate growing up too soon's a blessing you know you want for the maimed for the gnarled and contorted for the ill-provided for the luckless for the inglorious damned to a vapid existence in the cave of their shameful lameness how you'd wished you were so blighted 1997 © T. Wignesan - Paris, re-worked from: longhand notes,1999 anyone for humiliation anyone for humiliation do even the best cringe in shame at the bottled-up look they take of themselves most in fear of being found out others the damage they must have wrought in the image they have of themselves but all all by the tasks and choices their lives lead them on to either through the immediate pleasure that can be got or for wanting to shine in the midst of peers they cling to the glory their imageselves chase after O it'd be so easy to say life after all abuses every one humiliates every precious person puts us all to the acid test some hapless irreversible irreparable disaster inadvertent mistake lapsus even for the insignificant wayward nonentities and leaves us all less proud of our makings our fathers mothers it's even easier to seek the fault in our genes or insist that such and such was the compelling circumstance put the blame on this damned unrequiting thing we call Life which after all must come will come to a final self-defeating end There are others who'd say this life of ours was precisely for this purpose precisely given to make of us the gods we were never born to be but to hanker after unless we sought the feet of the Almighty batter death down and survive into aeons of bliss on the mindblinding petals of the Golden Flower How many may take this death-defying firstclass deluxe flight and for what purpose if the Almighty himself as they who come as messengers say directs all lives in secret is he looking for an assistant Who cares if one is born again since we remember not where or from whom we came and take everything here on earth for what it's worth what can the isolated adult do the most corrosive abusive power rides in the vaults of mindless banks l'appareil judiciaire the police the secret services the chiefs of armed forces the cabals the cartels the secret societies masons or not the media Kings the monolithic political party bosses trade union cadres and in those who wield psychiatric netherworld control of the mind and souls the priests in skirts all all managed by the hungry few in the line of succession in the hierarchical hereditary edifice the age-old royally pontificating pyramidal straight-jacket world must we not then accept our lot try as best we can to let things not get much worse but if the chips fall right only in the other birth think little of the setbacks and come back again stronger all all wishful self-numbing reverie May 8,1997 © T. Wignesan - Paris, revised from: longhand notes (a binding of poems) ,1999 In Bed In Bed The central nervous heating system pumping the womb floating free in seminal fluid sucking on the umblical chord Curled in the bed in the Reichian curlicue between clean silk sheets in the cosy cage away from the cold and the sleet's scorching bone beat tumbling only when the flushing revolving door pulsates the thunder knocking to come crashing in the blood in the mother stream choking in the throttled rush Who wants to be out in the rain in the shine worrying about work about degrees no work lack of opportunity of hurts through making love warding off pain shame and the retributing conscience of justifying every action every little game of the mind from our own standpoint by running everybody down even those who stand up for us brother sister mother father backbiting in the sweating bed in the haven imagining triumphs glories rosy utopias Who hates not some one hates himself hates some body if not his maker at the thought of his plight out the safe mother oven harrowing hate turning the dynamo of pretence hypocrisy basking in blind bigotted bile hate stoking the intense rocket-thrust furnace consuming the guts till everybody hates everybody the most intense force hidden in the pleats of the neuronal strata hates the entire world all humanity the strongest human force generated by man Who would want to be out before time before we're called upon to mind others we have put out of the womb of the world of the safety of the dream bubble bed unless if you call we can say go away i'm in bed or hold on just a sec come to bed bed with me till the morrows never end or something like that and keep the terror of the slinging mind from plunging through the cul de sac for yet a while longer April 26,1997 - Paris © T. Wignesan - Paris,1997; revised from the cvollection: longhand notes (1999) Thinking materially gaseous Mineral Think(ing) materially gaseous Mineral if anything can be thought to be certain what thinks thinks up the multiverses in the first place minus the ego so solipsistic faramineux worlds as the solitary thought can contain other diachronic universes thought up likewise by our anti-selves hidden by necessity to our Selves behind blind coulisses sliding door dimensions opaque window views for some perhaps all = black hole in the head mundane life an out-of-space experiment well why not robots evolving into Pavlovian mice-minded humans but experiment and life equally part of the thinking ding an sich neither beginning nor end the maddened dog spinning after its own tail keeps us in the space-time curve the robot cannot understand nonsense or c an it be programmed for away with avatars saviours prophets messiahs gurus soothsayers mystificators give us this day our four fundamental truths and forgive us our ignorances for Thine is the Big-Bang for ever and ever till Big-Crunch Day drums at your four firm Judgement feet who lives to prove this if answers must always be sought by Einsteins discoveries awaiting corroboration for once gone you're gone for ever UNSUPPORTED CODE for THINE is the Big Banged Kingdoms for ever and ever till bigcrunched balls litter your four law-bound feet May 5,1997 © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016; revised from the collection: longhand notes (1999) Where do we come in Where do we come in in medias res not knowing nor caring when doesn't everybody pine being number one we leave behind our lives in pages pictures or else make for images of what we saw dreamt of as part of our lives in marble stone rock twisted metal scrawled hieroglyphics of the tortured deserting mind do we have to leave then or when or do we strain for more ours and others lives in one vista of the whole on the tele they are playing games plentiful games rubber boats caves and scaly cardboard mountains in gluey-glossy plastic colours each team was flown in on the sponsor's purse each team member tailored for each part sporting spotted crocodile scales bunny tails blown butterfly ears bearhair streaming down from head to toe in a brownish hugging fur hue before and after the sponsor's exclusive breaktime slot invited guests clapping deaf on peak dinnertime and for millions and millions of others relaxing at home or maybe standing leaning against the open door or lolling on sofas sweetmeats within reach of crawling fingers highballs in handsafter lush juices streaking down protein-heaped plates turned to a gravy curd on the low table that the au pair would remove before the programme end while the prize board chalked hundreds of thousands for those who merely did nothing else other than have themselves a ball in whose stomach-holes do the golf balls sink the postman in the morning brings in the Waste Industry's thick envelopes stuffed with multi-coloured magazines together with ball-points with your name inscribed as though you were to be called on to affix your signature to international treaties that last only as long as the ball-point would that is to say three and half days if you use it only twice your name and add elegantly embossed on handsome stickers asking for handouts with glorious recall of their efforts for the poor the sans abri the diabetics the heart-stricken the spastics the handicapped the endless medical research for cancer how many million times can research be duplicated and all those lush colours in deluxe printed covers if only they could print a poem for some poet without a literary agent every time they send out a bulging envelope you give to one and the whole damned carnival is at your door cymbals clanging voices hymning every week of the year year in and year out they send you their mag with professional photos of dying but well-fed sick forsaken-looking children posing from Ethiopia India Costa Rica ha the Rich Coast what you give in return cannot cover the cost of stamps after a mere stream of au secour calls for oeuvres caritatives during a period of weeks or months in whose sick souls do the golf balls sink what are they doing so wonderful that is not like the blaring blazé voice of the compère on the tele on a Saturday evening primetime show who gets paid in the hundreds of thousands just because he's a celebrity and all the made-moiselles in the front row with tongues lolling would at the slightest glance be ready to lick their hands a tincan Saturday night chivalrous mounted charger whom the hebdomadaire hounds write pages and pages about their visits to any old place what they wear which senorita worshipping at their lapels so often that people don't look at their faces anymore for they know every feature by heart every trait every dimple and pimple in whose brain holes do the golf balls sink right round the year shine tennis stars the same faces jumping up and down the ATP grunting and swearing after balls that bounce out and away from their needless hands their eyes straining beyond all measure of human endurance each ball they hit virtually a hundred dollar bill and when they are pushed down in the ATP list by the fresh teens buoyed by muscle tyre-lessness there's always the clowning in the rigged up exhibition matches or the doubles or mixed doubles Man and John Yan and JM to take the laugh out of the bounce in the yoyo ATP also-ran list in whose psyche-holes do the golf balls sink what do they send in the post to the directors of the beggars' opera what do popstars contribute they who sell the I heard that classical melody song on bandaid to millions and get gold in return infinitely more than they can use who filled the paupers' grave with Mozart who gives a thought to the lonely pilfered Cervantes but the Sancho of his delirium in whose a-holes do the golf balls sink was that MJ gyrating grabbing his crotch in a spacecraft the decor specially ordered and paid for for the nonce what did it cost what's the cost of an Ethiopian peasant Indian meal a day uncooked corn or flour douzed in tinned or dried milk the surplus waste of white markets all above-board of course eaten out of rusty discarded worm-twirling tins and cans and shells of infested coconuts in whose dream-holes do the golf balls sink where do the directoires of the beggars' opera dine what do they suck on and how often do they sup together in the name of the needy all over the romping world do they wine themselves while gobbling on foie gras caviar shark's fin and pheasant or is this an impudent question you the charity-mongers so here we come in in medias res it ain't mon problème that the needy can't ask but in the street i'm not the conscience of the world the grapes of wrath the martyrised conscience of the common Indian patting tortias on the mud patch a strong people don't need a strong man how do you make a people strong if not with tortias and chilli con carne are they still strong where Zapata left only his riddled body in straw sandals has the Indian peasant still enough fight left in him where drug cartels rule a kingdom where ideals hardly thrust up on reefers follow the golf balls and squirm jumping up and down in a squirting frenzy on the mons veneris © T. Wignesan -Paris,1997 From the collection (revised) : longhand notes (a binding of poems) ,1999. Prizes for Ultimate Sacrifices - Part Two Prizes for Ultimate Sacrifices is there a prize for living for caring for doing what is right for waiting for the end without making it come any nearer for not trying to opt out and away from the responsibility of pure common sense for not believing in the dogma of resurrection heaven and hell for not assuming there may be something else on the other side waiting a prize a new favoured life a higher caste a place at the right hand of the Heavenly Father how about the Heavenly Mother in everlasting peace and plenty in an idyllic existence forever and ever not wanting not caring with the temperature controlled by mammoth air-conditioners the gorgeous meals prepared and served by angels from Maxim's or the ending of the ending endgame through Brahminic moksha liberation forever and ever by joining up with the Atman the Godhead unborn undying forever and ever and who the hell cares if there was a Big-Bang or if there is going to be a Big-Crunch and whether there are laws physical laws governing everything the four fundamental laws of the universe the universe not having a beginning before time nor where all the material came from the trillions of trillions of trillions of trillions of trillions of centillions of megatons to the square root of 32 of hydrogen helium carbon particles particles within particles and particles within unseeble and unknowable particles which way do the Blackholes suck and into what universes those that are parallel how many billions are there of them and those that are continuous in what direction and for how long can we ever see them with huge Hubble telescopes perched on the edges of spinning galaxies is there any prize for knowing at the very last moment the truth whoever comes back to set things right or even to semer la pagaille who cares to set the yang and the yin apart and stop the conflict forever and ever from the surface of our planet whatever happens elsewhere not being our concern who has come back to bring to justice his murderer who his deprecator who her rapist her child-abuser who his constant oppressor traitor swindler brutaliser who who who WHO... April 2,1997 -From the collection: longhand notes (1999) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Prizes for Ultimate Sacrifices - Part One Prizes for Ultimate Sacrifices prizes for the abstemious for abstinence chastity? the countless occasions for love you let slip prizes for stopping smoking by yourself drinking even Bordeaux munching on the meat of beasts crustacean flesh fish fowl or eggs for honesty with oneself for commitment to lost causes the ability to see through their deviousnesses and refraining to do anything about it at all for helping them at one's own peril for giving away what you direly need for yourself and your dependents for not thinking of your own future just to bolster someone else's for depriving yourself of the pleasures of the day when you can go out and buy them with what you got and still have enough leftover for spending hours and hours every so often just listening to those who need to unburden themselves on you while you serve them aperitifs then coffee/tea and finally end up cooking dinner and bedding them down in your only bedroom while you may hardly stretch yourself out in amongst the books and things and boxes of files of unread drafts and such and wake in the middle of the night because the suffering soul behind the wall is moaning and tossing and apostrophising aloud in your bed calling your name out at every fiery phrase for all you know accusing you for all his troubles plus those of his friends near ones dear ones and/or dependents prizes for doing everything by yourself looking after yourself cleaning the kitchen washing the clothes by hand doing the dishes in cold water showering cold to save on hot water repairing the car with spare unfit parts from the breakers learning languages all by yourself typing your own manuscripts and those of others starting your own journal and publishing others typing writing setting up photocopying designing printing binding marketing writing letters and posting them after long waits at queues attending to the plumbing redoing the parquet papering and/or painting your own but rented walls shopping on the cheap after hours and hours of comparing prices at different places keeping tabs on your dependents defending yourself against marauding civil servants politicos fighting your own legal battles after reading up on difficult incomprehensible legal texts writing dozens and dozens of letters before you take them to court and lose because the blasted bugger who represents you in the civil case makes it a point of holding back the essential documents which you know were never submitted to the judge although the list of documents exchanged lists them and you can't check on the judge's file because you are not a lawyer or solicitor legally constituted in the case and you need a lawyer to represent you in a civil case prizes for putting up with women who tell you they love you to distraction and would rather die than be parted from you even during the live-long day who vow by suttee but who use you make you marry them by piling lie upon lie present you with a baby not your own while they get pumped by others and let you share the slime the spittal and the shit in their system and the syphilitic rot that will gnaw at your spine years and years hence and leave you with the baby to bring up while they harrass you with complaints and cases about how you may be bringing him/her up with right of access charges rights which they never really exercise themselves and when the baby is no more a baby come around to collect the lad or lass as a crutch for their old age by telling him/her all the lies about how you let them down how you tortured and beat them up how you shat upon them how you made them slave day in and day out and to top it all didn't bother even to shag them prizes for keeping quiet and taking it all in without riposte without carping without being even rude in return for bearing with all the slithering over crimes they rob you cheat you shit with your wives twist your children's minds up into a multiple Turk's head commit missed murders against you and when you discover their intentions the criminals commit more crimes to cover it all up use misinformation as a superpanacea to lull themselves into believing they are innocent dogooders after all doing it for the patrie for the defence of their nation the raison d'Etat without making it known how you the victim without a proper background without a useful education without friends who would swear by you without the citizenship bestowing rights without the State any state on your side without the passport to secrete yourself away without a job without the money put away for the purpose of facing up to them these the faceless cowards hiding behind their secret societies their secret services their secret cabals their secret clubs schools lodges cafés cabinets centres yachts arts and crafts academies royal this and royal that my foot college unions parties and programmes (Continued in Part Two: owing to length restrictions) April 2,1997 -From the collection: longhand notes (1999) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 The fear of The fear of... being thought of the less than what one thinks of railing vengeance against detractors three or four generations all that one might stretch back to and even then with all the woes blights missed/thwarted chances the few that one gets to know in a tightening district of stifling confinement a few might remember and try to forget the awkward recall of some mishap the not-so-good side of at worst the public suicide in the family something left over funereally if only one knew how could agree to let go of one's eddying image the regrets that teach too late does it matter who thinks what years shave away the three-day old beard on a Monday the thoughtless throttling words of anger and the repeated awkward clanger the longing lascivious looks unrequited futile fights in courts spilling over in Kafkayesque dreams affidavits closure of communication of proof in the solicitor's sheets the plaidoirie that omits the crucial documents in the wrapped womb of watching TV alone eating one's insides out the mountains of hours hunched over shoring up that image zeroed in from diverse angles really who or what those who leave behind a name leave not their inner laces graces meannesses gawkiness their stench nor sneezes only their fear of being thought of less than what they thought of dearly cherished mis-spelt polished names the-dare-may-the inhabits the unkempt bearded beggar taking a crap on the edge of the thoroughfare by the Elysian fields of mode-minded graces in full view of the policewoman on the beat won't this his forbears remember in triumph May 23,1997 From the collection (re-worked) : longhand notes (1999) . © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Soliloquio del Individuo by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan Soliloquio del Individuo by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan (Homage to Nicanor PARRA,1914-2018, the Chilean ANTI-POET, winner of the 'Cervantes Prize' (the highest literary honour for writers in Spanish) , four times nominated for the Nobel Prize, studied Physics (Brown University) , Cosmology (Oxford University) and taught maths and physics for some 40 years, but styles himself as the Poet who writes 'Anti-Poems' - a fresh chastising wind to debunk self-styled poets hardly born to the métier but drunk with their own effete and ephemeral voices. T. Wignesan, Paris,2016. For the original stanzaic format of the poem, check the original, if you please.) The Individual's Soliloquy I am the Individual At first I lived in a rock (there I carved some figures) . Later I looked for a more appropriate place. I am the Individual. In the beginning I had to procure food for myself, find fish, birds, look for firewood (and other matters also took up my time) . To start a bonfire, firewood, forewood, where to find a little firewood, some firewood to start a bonfire, I am the Individual. At the same time I asked myself, I escaped from an abyss full of air; a voice answered me: I am the Individual. Then I tried to live in another rock, there too I carved some figures, engraved a river, buffaloes, carved out a serpent, I am the Individual. But no, I became bored with the things I was doing, fire bothered me, I wanted to see more, I am the Individual. I went down a valley irrigated by a river, there I found what I needed, encountered a savage people, a tribe, I am the Individual. Saw that there they undertook some things, they carved figures on rocks, they kindled fires, Yes, they kindled fires also! I am the Individual. They wanted to know from where I hailed. I answered in the affirmative, that I entertained no fixed goals, I answered in the negative, that I would keep going. Good. I took hold of a piece of stone I found in a river and began to work on it, began to polish it made of it a part of my own life. But this is far too long. I felled some trees in order to set sail, looked for fish, looked for different things (I am the Individual) . Until I began to get bored all over again. One gets bored with tempests, the thunder, the lightning, I am the Individual. Good. I forced myself into thinking a little while, stupid questions filled my head, false problems. So I began to wander through some woods. I arrived at a tree and yet another, I arrived at a fountain, I arrived at a pit where one could see rats: here it is I who comes, I then said, have you seen a tribe hereabouts, a savage people who know how to light a fire? In this manner I kept going towards a westerly direction in the company of other beings, or rather all alone. In order to see, one must believe, they said to me, I am the Individual. In the dark one could discern forms, perhaps clouds, perhaps one saw clouds, one saw lightning; all these things had already taken place some days past, I felt like I was dying; I invented some machines, manufactured watches arms, vehicles, I am the Individual. I had hardly enough time to bury my dead, hardly had I time to sow, I am the Individual. Some years hence, I conceived some things, some forms, crossed frontiers and remained stationary in a sort of niche, in a boat in which I rowed for forty days, forty nights, I am the Individual. Later on droughts set in, some wars ensued, varieties of colours appeared in the valley, but I must keep going, must keep producing. Invented the sciences, immutable truths, fashioned he tanagras*, published books running into thousands of pages, let my face swell, invented the phonograph, the sewing machine, then the first automobiles began to appear, I am the Individual. Somebody set apart the planets, trees segregated themselves! But I separated the set of tools, furniture, stationery for the writing desk, I am the Individual. They also built cities, roads, religious institutions went out of fashion, they looked for what was said, for happiness, I am the Individual. Later I spent the better part of my time travelling, in practising, in practising languages, languages, I am the Indiviidual. I peeped through a keyhole, Yes, I did, what am I to say, I did in order to opt out of doubt, I did look through, behind some curtains, I am the Individual. Good. Perhaps it would be best to return to that valley, to that rock where I lodged, and begin to carve sketches again, from back to front I engraved the world upside down. But no: life is devoid of meaning. *statues of human forms made in Tanagra of Boetia. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 , Hay un dia feliz by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan Hay un dia feliz by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan To come by a happy day (In this poem, Parra maintains lines of twelve to thirteen syllables with every other line ending almost in a mono-rhyme: " a" ; I prefer not to follow the same pattern, for I cannot quite see the virtue in forcing the translation into something sounding rather artificially humdrum, given its length.) Soliloquio del Individuo by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan (Homage to Nicanor PARRA,1914-2018, the Chilean ANTI-POET, winner of the 'Cervantes Prize' (the highest literary honour for writers in Spanish) , four times nominated for the Nobel Prize, studied Physics (Brown University) , Cosmology (Oxford University) and taught maths and physics for some 40 years, but styles himself as the Poet who writes 'Anti-Poems' - a fresh chastising wind to debunk self-styled poets hardly born to the métier but drunk with their own effete and ephemeral voices. T. Wignesan, Paris,2016.) I dedicated this afternoon to combing the solitary streets of my village with for company good ol' twilight who's the only friend I have left. Everything was exactly as earlier on, autumn and its diffused light (reflected) by snow just that the weather had invaded everything with its pale-looking cloak of sadness. Never thought, believe me, for an instant that I'd see again this beloved land, now that I have returned, don't know how I could have kept myself away from its portals. Nothing has changed, not even the white houses nor its aged wooden gates. Everything was in its place, the swallows in the tower taller than that of the church; the snail in the garden; and the moss in the wet grasp of stones. In no way one can doubt, this's the kingdom of the blue sky and of green leaves where each and every thing has its singular and placid legend: even in my own shadow I recognize the heavenly looks of my grandmother. Those were the memorable facts which my early youthful days brought up, the post office in the corner of the square and the dampness in the aging walls. O! My God! Good thing! Never thought that one can appreciate such a truth, when we imagine that to be yet far away is just when it feels even closer. For the life of me! For the life of me! Something tells me that life is nothing more than a chimera an illusion, a dream without end, a small cloud on the wing. After all, at times, I don't know quite what I say my emotions get the better of me. Since the time to keep silent has chimed when I embarked on my singular enterprise one after the other in muted waves, returned the sheep to the stable. I greeted them all in person and when I was standing opposite the grove which entertains the ears of the traveller with its ineffably secret music I remembered the sea and counted the leaves in homage to my departed brothers. Perfectly well, I continued my voyage like one who has nothing to look forward to in life. I passed in front of the wheel of the mill, I stood for a while facing a shop: the odour of coffee is always the same, always the same moon in my mind; between the river of yore and that of the present I am not able to make out any difference. I recognize it well, this's the tree my father planted in front of the door (illustrious father who in his best moments was better than an open window) . I dare affirm that his behaviour was a faithful copy of the Middle Ages when the dog was sweetly sleeping under the right angle of a star. At such heights I feel I'm enveloped by the delicate odours of violets that my loving mother cultivated in order to cure cough and sadness. How much time has passed since then I would not be able to say with certainty; nothing really matters, of course, with wine and the nightingale on the table, my younger brothers at this hour must be returning from school: only that time has erased all things like a white tempest of sand! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Poyecto de tren instantaneo entre Santiago y Puerto Montt by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan Proyecto de tren instantaneo entre Santiago y Puerto Montt by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan Soliloquio del Individuo by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan (Homage to Nicanor PARRA,1914-2018, the Chilean ANTI-POET, winner of the 'Cervantes Prize' (the highest literary honour for writers in Spanish) , four times nominated for the Nobel Prize, studied Physics (Brown University) , Cosmology (Oxford University) and taught maths and physics for some 40 years, but styles himself as the Poet who writes 'Anti-Poems' - a fresh chastising wind to debunk self-styled poets hardly born to the métier but drunk with their own effete and ephemeral voices. T. Wignesan, Paris,2016.) The Anatomy of the Instantaneous Train (plying) between Santiago and Puerto Montt The engine of the instantaneous train occupies the place of the destination (Pto Montt) while the last coach straddles the station of departure (Stgo) This type of train affords the passenger the advantage of arriving instantaneously at Puerto Montt at the very moment he boards the last coach in Santiago The rub is in order to continue voyaging the traveller has to keep moving with his luggage through the train until he gains the first coach Once the passage has been realized the passenger may proceed to exit the instantaneous train which has remained stationary during the entire voyage. •Observation: This type of (direct) train serves only the uni-directional journey. Source: Poem read by Nicanor Parra as invitee to the International Poetry Festival in the Netherands in 1989 (?) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Viva la Cordillera de los Andes by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan Viva la Cordillera de los Andes by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range! I'm seized with a mad rage to yell long live the Andes Mountain Range may the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain The reason I can hardly divine but I can't hold myself back: Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range! May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain! For forty full years now I've wanted to step over the horizon, go far beyond the limitations of my myopia, but I just didn't dare. Now, by no means, Gentlemen is there an end to my ratiocinations: Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range! May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain! Have they heard what I said? There's an end to my ratiocinations! Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range! May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain! Doubt there's none over my lack of response if they sever my vocal chords (in such a case as this it's almost certain they will) well, if they do stifle my voice I would like to say I have no choice but to accept the dashing of my very last hope. I am a merchant indifferent to the positions of the sun a professor clad in green-coloured trousers who comes apart drop by drop as dew an insignificant bourgeois is what I am in what way do red clouds matter to me? Nevertheless I appear on balconies in order to shout out what I offer: Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range! May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain! Pardon me if I'm going out of my mind while in the garden made by Nature but I have to keep shouting till death: Long Live! The Andes Mountain Range! May the Costa Mountain Range lie low slain! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Madrigal by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan Madrigal (Although the poem's title takes on a well-known 16th Century form of Italian origin, made famous in Spain by Gutierre de Cetina,1520-1554, here, Parra only manages to keep to a seven-syllable line at best, the rhyme scheme being quite wayward: abc/ddd/efeg/dhi/jkl. I have therefore not followed his wilfull versification.) I'll become a millionaire in one night thanks to a trick which will permit me to fix images in a concave mirror. Or convex. It seems to me my success will be complete the moment I invent a coffin with a false bottom which will permit the corpse to slip into the other world. Indeed I have burned enough of the midnight oil in this absurd horse race in which the jockeys are kept from riding the wild beasts and they're going to tumble into the throng of spectators. It follows therefore that I should create something which would permit me to live comfortably or at the least permit me to expire. I'm certain that my legs tremble I dream that my teeth are falling out and that I arrive too late to attend some funerals. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 The Test by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan The Test by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan What's an antipoet: a trader in urns and coffins? a priest who does not believe in anything? a general who entertains doubts about himself? a vagabond who laughs at every thing until old age overtakes him unto death? an interlocuter of bad faith in a dialogue? a woman who dances at the brink of an abyss? a narcissist who loves everybody? a bloody humourist deliberately miserable? a poet who dozes off in a chair? a modern-day alchemist? a pocket revolutionary? a small-time bourgeois? a charlatan? a god? an innocent? a peasant of Santiago de Chile? Underline the sentence you consider correct. What is antipoetry: a storm in a tea cup? a sleeve of snow robed round a rock? a shallow tray full of human excreta as Father Save-the-Earth believes? a mirror that tells the truth? a big slap on the face of the President of the Society of Authors? (May God preserve him in his holy kingdom) a warning to younger poets? a coffin in river rapids? a coffin of centrifugal force? a coffin of paraffin gas? a burning chapel without a corpse? Mark with a cross the definition you consider correct. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Poetry has washed its hands off me by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan Poetry has washed its hands off me by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan I don't say I'm done with everything I don't feel deluded in this respect I would have liked continuing to poetise but the course of inspiration has run out. Poetry has continued to behave well it is I who is guilty of horribly bad behaviour. What do I gain from saying that I (too) have behaved well that poetry has not been of good behaviour when everybody knows I'm the guilty one. Serves me right that I made myself out to be an imbecile! Poetry has continued to behave well my behaviour has been despicably horrible Poetry has washed its hands off me. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Letters to an Unknown Woman by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan Letters to an Unknown Woman by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan When years go by, when years go by and the air having excavated a ditch between your soul and mine, when years hurry past and I be the only man to entertain feelings of love, a being who hovered an instant in front of your lips, a poor fella dejected from walking through gardens, where will you be? Where will you, O! child/daughter of my kisses! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 The Imaginary Man by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan The Imaginary Man by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T. Wignesan The imaginary man lived in an imaginary house in the midst of imaginary trees on the bank of an imaginary river From walls which are imaginary hang ancient imaginary framed paintings irreparable imaginary fissures which recall imaginary events which took place in imaginary worlds in imaginary places and times Every imaginary afternoon he goes up imaginary staircases and leans over the imaginary balcony to survey the imaginary landscape which is made up of an imaginary valley surrounded by imaginary hills Imaginary shadows approach from an imaginary path singing imaginary songs to the demise of the imaginary sun And during imaginary moonlit nights dreams with an imaginary woman who offered to him (toasting) her imaginary love once again he felt this same pain the very same imaginary pleasure and once again began to palpitate the heart of the imaginary man © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Coplas on Wine by Nicanor Parra, Translated by T Wignesan Coplas on Wine (here, the famous AntiPoetic Chilean Poet Nicanor Parra, b.1914, uses the more popular form of the « copla » genre that he contains in quatrains of 8 to 10 syllables with two lines of each quatrain rhyming at random, though not in perfect rhymes, in order to approximate the lilting « song » forms. He does not adhere to the syllabic and rhyme schemes of other more fixed forms, such as, the « Copla de arte mayor » or the « Coplas a pie quebrado », rather he favours the form known as « Malas coplas », songs composed and sung by the blind in the streets. Parra also uses words which are particular to Chilean expressiveness.) Feeling nervous, but not without defiance towards all that constitutes competition in the face of those who deprecate, I beg pardon and consdescension. With my face deadpan in coffin and my butterflies of old I also wish to affirm my présence in this solemn celebration. Is there (anything) , I (dare) ask more noble than a bottle of wine well interposed between two twin souls? Wine possesses power to command respect and to destabilize transmuting snow into fire and make fire turn into stone. Wine is all things: it's the sea boots for twenty immeasurable distances the magical interior insulation, the sun the parrot of seven tongues. Some drink to slake thirst others to forget obligations and to espy tiny lizards and cracks and fissures in stars. The man who's not drawn to drink his cup filled with liquid like blood cannot be, so I dare think a Christian of staunch descent. Wine can be sipped from vessels of silver, crystal or clay but it's best when in copihue* in fuchsia or in white lily. The poor allot themselves their portion in order to placate their duties which they are unable to fulfill neither with tears nor with strikes. If I was asked to choose between diamonds and pearls I would choose a portion of grapes white and black. The blind man with a cup sees sparks and lightning streaks and the lame of birth who break out dancing the cueca.* Wine when one drinks it with sincerity inspired only then can it be compared to the kiss of a Virgin damsel. In the name of all this I raise my cup to the sun of the night and drink this sacred juice which makes brothers of us all in heart. •copihue: flowering plant cultivated as adornment. * cueca: popular Chilean dance. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Antipoetic cricket: Chalkup the Score Board Antipoetic cricket: chalkup the scoreboard for the Belgium blast victims Someone's crying Someone's dying Someone's lying if it ain't this ‘tis that each gimmick's a trick lemme ge' at ‘im he go' oneon me one up is one down one down packs tonnup for the side if it ain't for this who'd not bowl from the other end someun's go' to bat someun's go' to bat the score must go on board the ducks and duck-breakers alike cannot hide the innings defeat comes after one side fields twice it ain't cricket to chalk up a draw rain or no reign August 3,1997 (re-worked from the collection: longhand notes,1999) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Did I say What I said You said Did I say What I said You said You said looking a little forlorn a little redundant the contradicting crosses in your eyelashes thrusting forth the brazen prophet in you for the day only no country nor community at your command bashfully What is this life? Once you're dead you're gone gone forever! some coarse stele the five a three or perhaps a nine raven rot working into the rubbed-out stone long the frangipani branches drifting with the tide severed from the scarred bones What you said I could have the wooden broad sword of your scouring words scathing my back my nape stung awakening the nakedness of futile words fixing memory vain memory some lines here or there some thoughts culled out of your hands how might I eject sense empty the void of your accusing pain your desolation retain keep only the one possible denotation of the moment Whose ancestral voices linger in my thoughts in yours stray strands of concepts trapped in subliminal dimensions caught just a while in the slanting light cutting through your escaping inturned eye interstitial arrows darting through undead time Will my time age out of time in the dead of time conflict between those who beget you conflict between those who assess you Is there lack of those who'd hate you enough to love your enemies come back a reformed reformist and make the comeback what you want No one opts out for even gone some remember the harsh things you said the hurtful things you did and all the things you should have but did not Or do you depart in disgust at all this fuss over nothing the grating chores of shoring up your image the unbending pride made you the arch-enemy the fear too late of mending your name the fumbling efforts to repair for those you cared the coffee serré with four cubes let your body go the rubbing spasms in stolen moments all heinous crimes and more Better be dead you said than remember the Dead and wondered why you tolerated living so vilely in fear unfree a prisoner of your own will I too may look back over my shoulder and see a gaping vast expanse and look for words teeming words in lieu of you a curlicue crescent balancing on a lame branch in limbo June 7,1996 (from the collection - re-worked- longhand notes,1999) (c) T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Limericks crochetes: All the trappings of the rough-neck cult Limericks crochetés: All the trappings of the rough-neck cult All the trappings of the rough-neck cult Baby-faced blond Aryans exult Under star-striped umbrella State seal insignia Some Dad yells « OUT », muscle-men catapult Can SUN also set in the Wild West Where the cash - the Man says - will come to rest How many will share wealth How many get free health Deplete coffers for great job conquest? The tragic loss of a rising star O! Mark « Blond » face! He'll shine yet afar! Blocked not by Destiny But by peer fear envy: Winsome mien sage's ears passion galore! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Limericks crochetes: Once a cardsharp comic called Don Dump Limericks crochetés: Once a cardsharp comic called Don Dump Once a cardsharp comic called Don Dump Made father's money jump during slump Dreamed of ruling this earth Joined campaign (in) stand-up mirth Made people laugh without using trump. He played to the gallery hirsute Soon his jokes turned sauerkraut through soot Before long they cried: Heil! Jackboots clicked, people wail In goose-step, give: Sieg! Heil! salute. Moral: « Listen not to funny man Dump! Migrants all know how to scale wall jump. Ten million there love US Minus some (who) think like louse! Live not solipsistic world on rump! » © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Villanelle: Who rules what is or what's not after the fact Villanelle: Who rules what is or what's not after the fact Who rules what is or what's not after the fact The first poem struck wasn't it a cry of hope Words gushing from constricting throats militant act Who must with calipers measure the creative act Draws hot blood choking in dungeons where poets lost grope Who rules what is or what's not after the fact Who lays the laws down robs the poem from the poet Post-mortem never reveals how thoughts in body cope Words gushing from constricting throats militant act Words feel through emotions un-thought by Eliot Though Bousono makes poets mindless on tight rope Who rules what is or what's not after the fact Words at random plucked by the senses speak with tact Not so Essay on Man by Alexander Pope Words gushing from constricting throats militant act Songs of joy set to music in dance speak not slack No Aristotle could glean rules where poets dumb mope Who rules what is or what's not after the fact Words gushing from constricting throats militant act © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes - XVII Unquotable quotes - XVII The more the spread of the Multi-Verse(s) , the less the possibility of purpose in our lives on earth. In a world chock-full of people where almost everybody wants to be heard, be seen and be remembered, only fools listen to fools and the vain watch the vain and the duped remember the duped.. Only evil-doers think and act as though they can get away with it all for good. Life humiliates ALL, so what's the difference if one rises or falls. Every born being is a ridiculous thing, and most of all the king. Thinking one can remedy it all - get the better of one's detractors - before one's end is the height of gall. No individual can in all certainty be indispensable to - even - one's own galaxy - to keep it believable: Is our world of any moment to all the other possible worlds? What remains unseen/unseeable is always a mystery to everybody but a few who appear to be inhabited by some alien spirit. Why do evil-doers always find it always easy to triumph over do-gooders? The contrary is the case the other way round. Nothing can change what lies out there - not even with all the goodwill in the world: no man, no god, no will, no sacrifice, no suffering, no prayer, no brilliance, no nothing. Odd that the most obssesive form of pleasure is still rooted around the portals of birth and excretion. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes - Friends - XVI Unquotable quotes Friends - XVI Can friends also be lovers; not certainly under covers. Can friends do one another harm and stay calm; not unless they have lost their sense of alarm. Can you make a friend do what you will not do yourself; what's the use of having a friend who will not. Can you ask a friend for a recommendation which will get you a better job than his; if you were him, you'd check to see if the signature was his. Can you ask the friend running the marathon race with you to keep you company until the end; if he does, dump him before you take the last bend. If you asked your friend to take your sick dog to the veterinarian's and if he agrees, give him your chihuahua, your kakatua, your Siamese twin and your cochon d'Inde, for a start. Keep the anaconda for a little later. If you have a friend who has a large family, especially of the right sex, ask him to bring his entire family to your nudist camp at the local beach for the club's commemoration day; if he doesn't, he cannot be your friend, so try another; if the fool does, make certain the battery pack for your movie camera is fully charged and within reach. Can friends who know one another well enough share the same dreams; yes, if they lick on the very same vanilla-flavoured ice-creams. Can friends you call on the phone at home after hours not hang up before you do be trusted to fork out a loan for your mortgage payment; if yes, then go and live with him or her at once. Can a friend who backbites and carries tales about you be trusted to give your bride away at your seventh nuptials? Yes, he most certainly can! Can a friend who reviles his fellow candidates in an election primary be trusted to offer a longstanding friend a cabinet post in the event of a final resounding victory? Indubitably, otherwise they wouldn't be friends for that long anyway. Can you let a friend take from you to give to a sworn enemy; of course you can if you have been trying to get rid of her for a very, very long time. Can a friend who never ceases to talk of having saved you from your friends be counted among your enemy's best friends? Wives of friends who are always alone need to take up the trombone or trumpbone. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016. Villanelle: Who but Great Powers make World look like market place Villanelle: Who but Great Powers make World look like market place Who but Great Powers make World look like market place The crib courtyards of Russia China and US Who reigns in the United States concerns all in space Don't tell the down-trodden rest they're out of the race Even sinking island states may hope for prowess Who but Great Powers make World look like market place Lebens raum's an excuse for Conquistadores Spices for regal banquets stolen art pieces Who reigns in the United States concerns all in space A hundred years of wars deprives Man of grace Leaders thrive on gullible populace nonetheless Who but Great Powers make World look like market place The more the whine the more the fish-market brag place What counts is the clout each Big Brother promises Who reigns in the United States concerns all in space What makes a nation great if not the populace Can any man then replace what's good in US Who but Great Powers make World look like market place Who reigns in the United States concerns all in space © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: friends - XV, Part One If you stick your neck out for a friend, you're likely to lose your head. A friend is a potential enemy in disguise as a loving wife just before vowing ties. Friends are of all kinds but the kind you want them to be. A friend you use is a friend you abuse and who has no use of you. The friend you call upon in need is always in greater need. If you give a friend an helping-hand, make sure you take it back as soon as you can. If you trust your friend with your girl, you're the biggest dope in the world. When friends meet, they always talk about beating meat. If you take a friend to dine, make sure he leaves his horse behind. The friend with daughters is the kind you wished sported blinkers. A friend who works in banks, we always drop in - in person - to say thanks. The friend's wife even if she's a bad cook is no chinook to hook. If friends go on vacation with their wives, they always know who connives. Friends who live close-up always end-up in the lock-up. A friend with an axe to grind always uses it on some friend's uterine. A friendly father is one who takes a lasting interest in his daughter's girl friends. A friend who loans you some dough is always knocking on your door. Only a friend who walks his dog picks the hour your wife goes out for a jog. A friend at your beck and call must be wondering why you don't him enthrall. A friend by any other name is a still a friend you can put to shame. A friend is someone you can entrust your shame with, but never your fame. Keep your distance from the friend who shouts in your face for it's a downright disgrace he spits in your face. Friends who work for rival companies tend to share daily work memories. Friends who work in different embassies are thick as thieves. The greatest friends are those married couples with very large families who realize far too late they are/were really homo-sexuals. Friends who give one another too many presents ought to look for friends who only give presents. The best friends are those who need no psycho-analysts for they can see each other without waiting for appointments. Childhood friends always end-up wishing their friends on other friends. A friend of a friend always turns up for a spend or a lend. Long lost friends who meet to go out for the night leave behind wives happy, whallop-py and tight. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Villanelle: Those whom the gods disdain bloat tough in hubris Villanelle: Those whom the gods disdain bloat tough in hubris Those whom the gods disdain bloat tough in hubris Vesuvius sank isle strung duckweed in Mid-Sea Tectonic plates clash Zeus' curse sinks Atlantis Tough talk across Atlantic makes Olympus hiss Triumphant magnate tandem with pale Yin on knee Those whom the gods disdain bloat tough in hubris No Plato to lament holy Lost Angeles Split through Grand Canyon guts out at New Jersey Tectonic plates clash Zeus' curse sinks Atlantis Meru's father stomachs no campaign mudsling blitz: « Stop the la-di-da now or I'll make you float free! » Those whom the gods disdain bloat tough in hubris « Let Minerva win or I'll split Oval Office! I'll not say it again: You'll lose Land of Free! » Tectonic plates clash Zeus' curse sinks Atlantis No curse worse than what shatters Olympus bliss « Come to your senses now: Trump card will make you flee! » Those whom the gods disdain bloat tough in hubris Tectonic plates clash Zeus' curse sinks Atlantis © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 The idea is to The idea is to... steep oneself in panacea scriptures when times seem too unbearable irretrievable finding solace in public place pageants waving papier mâché penants but not lingering too long in the cowed comfort of feeling blameless take courage then and return to this tortured blighted ephemeral existence How else may you live knowing nothing of what lies beyond bad enough while we're here too many things to worry about time to get up the effort to sleep long enough remember not long ago about four hundred million years ago there were but twenty-two hours to the day did the cavemen then sleep two hours less than we who see through our cataract lids the catharsis of the late-night Tolkien saga the cleaning the endless cleaning to stay the smell the dirt the germs the endless spliced and spiced nourishment for the body the brain the damned boredom to look out for those we put on this earth for those who put us on this uni-directional road and for that to strain to study find a job and climb on slippery backs to scale heights of O far too late comfort that would give us a name fame be looked upon liked loved cherished admired glorified followed remembered deified by seven-day wonder blighters fight for what is proclaimed Right for the race for the nation for the class caste community lay down our lives for the faith for our founding-fathers mutilated families who may choose to be born chooses to die the idea then is to seek relief for as long as the cure us sustains and return to the fight to our diurnal plight and hope in another four-hundred million years we would evolve into highrise cavemen needing no sleep nor faith nor bonds of bloodied brotherhood nor food nor sadist sex nor thoughts of selfhood beings evolved beyond the gods their descendants our forefathers handed down to us though on the way we may have laid waste wreaked havoc with the contours on this ekedout earth and all that stood in the way of our will not to hold back yet another monstrous bigoted world July 2,1997 From the privately pub. coll. (rev.2016) : longhand notes (a binding of poems) ,1999,115p. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes - XIV Unquotable quotes - XIV Don't trouble trouble until trouble gobbles you; don't rubble rouble until rouble rubbles you. Don't marry a woman out of pity; she'll make you regret her lack of fidelity for a ditty. Don't lose your temper with any old party member; they are all in league licking the leader's member. Don't meddle with paddles if you have never rowed on water; it's not the self-same action you practice with your partner. Don't run to get insurance coverage when you're hanging from a ledge; better wait for the dredger to empty the valley of sludge. Don't go to the cinema to rub or warm thighs and legs; what you're watching is not what you see. Don't climb mountains only to be rescued in the public eye; there are other more subtle ways like making naked love to appear on TV. Don't crack jokes to make others croak; crack their skulls open with a rebuke. Don't eat with your fingers noodles soup; drink the soup first, then slurp the noodles through fingers. Don't tease the neighbour's daughter for lack of laughter; for all you know she may be Bob Hope's screen writer. Don't turn tables in a fight if you haven't got the might, unless you're John Wayne in a Western with a broken hind stern. Don't squirm in bed dreaming of Clark Gable; his teeth kept great actresses crying out for a gargle. Don't swim against the current pretending to be Tarzan, unless you have a Jane willing to put up with any bane. Don't cry for help with a mere yelp. © T. Wignesxan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes - XIII Unquotable quotes - XIII Follow love for it's free, free love and it'll flee. Do unto others as you would have them undress you. Easy come, eenie meenie mini go. Practice makes sex a maniac. God helps those who help ten elves. Never kiss a gift horse in the mouth. People who live in glass houses should not throw boomerangs. Two heads are no better than none. Actions speak louder than burps. A watched pot suffers from boils. You can't make a cutlet without breaking legs. Hang on the hand that feeds you. All good things must come to a fiend. If you can't beat ‘em, grind ‘em. If it ain't broke, don't make it work. Dislocation is the greater part of valour. There's no place like eohm. A picture is worth a thousand broads. Better late than dump her. The pen is mightier than the sword for those who're illiterate. One man's trash is another man's pleasure. Beauty is in the dye of the painter. Myopia is the mother of the optician. Familiarity breeds when people camp unkempt. Good things come to those who know how to put on weight. A drain is only as long as the longest drink. Absence makes the heart go ablunder. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him blink. In teaching others we teach ourselves to teach others. If you want something done Right, don't look to the Left. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes - XII Unquotable quotes - XII To catch a monkey, you need a young coconut with three holes for eyes; bore a hole in one and wait: the monkey will thrust its hand in to grab a mouthful and will not let go come what may. To catch a false monk, you need an orphan. To catch a thief, you need either a camera or a cobra. To catch a bluffer, you need to make him believe ya. To catch a fly, you need a spider with a parlour. To catch a poisonous snake, you need a retracting loup on a long ten-foot pole. To catch a giant, you need a sling with a stone. To catch a Pharoah, you need his sister with a hisser. To catch a priest, you need the advice of his Chief Geist. To catch a stool-pigeon, you need another stool-pigeon. To catch a plane, you need a valid ticket. To take a train, you need a ticket-puncher. To board a ship, you need to rise with the tide. To catch the woman next-door, you need to wait until the paramour goes out the back-door. To catch a ripe durian, you need to have a hard or an empty head. To capture a girl in a burqa, all you need is another burqa. To capture a rat in a hole, all you need is a secret service mole. To capture a pirate ship in a canal, all you need to do is to lower the waterlevel. To catch a polar bear and her cubs, all you need to do is to raise the level of your exhaust fumes. To catch a lark on a bark, all you need to do is to click your camera. To catch the sun in the morn, all you need to do is to sleep with your window open. To catch cold, all you need to do is to stand stark naked bold. To catch forty winks, you need to be full of drinks. To get on peoples' nerves, you need to step on their toes. To catch the pox, you need to meet a certain lady who lounges around the docks. To come to grief, all you need to do is to rob Fort Knox. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes with more Cricketing Jargon - XI Take your own sweet time, and let others keep time. Tea for two always ends up in a hell-uv-a bellowing brew; tea and sympathy in a hullaballoo. The choice between Scylla and Charybdis is like the dilemma between the crocodile and the pirana fish. Popes, princes and paupers all piddle but a puddle. The janitor knows when any tenant or proprietor in his charge is about to sneeze or freeze. A poor workman blames his stools. Seasons follow one another like troubles and solutions. Since Life (according to the Yijing) is « conditioned and unfree », how is a kiss under the mistletoe completely free? A new broom sweeps well, an old? cannot tell, maybe even hell. If you put the pennies in a piggy bank for a rainy day, what if it never rains? More haste, less speed; more waste, less need. Cricketing jargon « Out stumped »: occurs when a batsman during play decides to leave the limits of the crease in order to meet the bowled ball before it, for instance, hits the ground but misses to connect the ball with his bat while the wily wicke(d) t-keeper has (unknown to the batsman) crept up in the meantime to the position right behind the wickets where, with the ball safely in his gloves, decapitates the wickets of its bails, or pulls up one stump with one hand while the other holds on to the ball up high -- a common foolhardy show of bravado that could cost the batsman his wicket and make him « look stumped ». « Caught and bowled »: occurs when a bowler delivers a ball and the batsman strikes it straight and hard back in such a way that the ball in a nano-second heads for the bowler‘s face just when the bowler buckles under in disequilibrium during his follow-through: he then automatically puts up his hands in a desperate attempt to ward off the ball but the ball gets stuck in his palms by chance. This great feat in cricket is recorded by the scorer as « caught and bowled » by of course the startled bowler. « The break for tea at four » is a mere excuse to take a pee after a long hot post-lunch snooze in the field. « The runner » is another member of the team who is designated by the captain to do the « running » between wickets, for some batsman who has the good sense to cook up an excuse, such as, a sprained ankle which, curiously, disappears on the way home to his wife simply because the wife wouldn't fall for the pretext when it comes to fulfilling his marital bedroom duties. A clever wife, of course, would ask for a « runner » to replace the husband in bed. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes - X Unquotable quotes - X A beautiful wife gets to changing husbands as she may. An ugly wife gets to keeping her husband out all day every day. A plain-looking wife doesn't give a damn any either way. A happy wife gets to watching her children in carefree play. A shrew gets to driving her husband round the bend at the end of the day. An adulteress gets to infecting her children every other day. A nymphomaniac gets to making her husband out to be a gay. A high born wife gets to sleeping somehow out in the hay. A gay wife gets to making a harem out of the honeymoon day. A loud-mouthed wife gets to keeping all her neighbours in fear away. An over-aged wife gets to making her husband look like he was in her pay. A frigid wife gets to making her husband out to be an impotent lay. A dumb wife gets to keeping her husband without a say. A saintly wife gets to thinking she wakes up every day on Groundhog Day. A heftily-backed wife gets to thinking her husband hides in her bay. A baby-faced wife in bed gets to making her husband look the other way. A bored wife watches corridas on the tele on a rainy day. A sad wife spots the hairs on her husband's head turn slowly gray. A chaste wife is an empy church or temple where no one goes to pray. A wise man gets to keeping well out of the way of wives and husbands in dismay. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes - IX Unquotable quotes - IX You cannot have your cake and eat it, but you can have your meat and beat it. Sow your wild oats on a sow and your tame oats on a milch cow, and reap what you sow. See not evil, speak not evil but fiddle evil. Silence is olden. Blood is thicker than 70% of the body. If you eat your fill, who will foot the bill? Since l'habille ne fait pas le moine, what if the monk goes about in his birthday suit? Money makes Bunnies look funny. When a white-collared worker marries a blue-collared worker, they invariably produce a red-collared sucker. The only impermanent resident is the President. It is only raining cats, not dogs. We are just kissing cousins in the parloir but not in the boudoir. Wake not a man asleep and tell him his wife has given him the slip. Snakes and Ladders: To skid and fall is a blessing compared to climbing a ladder and falling from a height and being hit on the head by the falling ladder while the snake is waiting and hissing… © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes - VIII Unquotable quotes - VIII The stray dog is always in search of a god. A tiger leaves behind its stripes; men their gripes. A lame duck is a man without luck, and a luckless man quacks like a duck. When friends and relatives depart, it's time to make a fresh start. A sick mind in a sound body is the worst form of agony for the enemy. Too lazy to want to live, yet too unwilling to want to die: best be eternally sick. Empty vessels make the most ground on water. If you walk a mile in someone else's shoes, you're likely to end up with athlete's foot. A samurai's sword writes only in red ink. Wild ideas fester in the coils of a turban: some lose their way in the labyrinth, others die inglorious deaths in the squiggly enmeshed strands. Wars are waged by nations in order to reduce the size of the populations during times of prosperity when men and women - young and old - concentrate their best efforts in the art and practice of reproduction at the expense of production for the care and protection of their children who are the haphazard products of their carelessness. God uses men to wage wars against one another in order to save Himself the bother of having to propagate Himself. Men use gods to wage wars in Their names in order to enhance the status of their own gods. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes - VII Unquotable quotes - VII What comes in through one ear goes out through the rear. Give him a wench and, he'll want her to be French. Give him an inch and he'll take no small pinch. Better be swallowed by a whale than be torn to shreds by a shark of a girl in a gale. The praying mantis kills after she copulates in bliss; the predatory woman drills a hole in your bank account first before she kills for a thrill. The banana kills its bearer for the latter cannot bear another. Take the pillow but not the widow Marry her sister if she's fatter. Frogs in a well croak well in hell. A crab walking straight is out of gait. (continuing the series from UQ - VI) We are all sinners under bums. We are all looters under swarms. We are all marchers under drums. We are all dreamers under balms. We are all loafers under palms. We are all voters under domes. We are all soupers under poems. for Chrissie Morris-Brady If you call a spade a jade, you've got it made But if you call a maid a jade, you're likely to get laid Though if you call a maid in bed, you're going to get wed Yet if you call a maid to bed, you're sure to be up-fed. If you call a maid in a hurry, you're likely to be sorry Or if you call a maid in a lorry, you're bound to worry. If you called a lad dad, he'd likely not be glad Yet if you called the lad bad, he'd certainly be sad But if you called the lad mad, he's bound to think you a grad. If you called a nerd a turd, you could possibly get furred But if you thought a Lord bored, you probably will get bored Yet if you called a Lord a toad, he'll have you all towed. Then if you called a Knight tight, he'll challenge you to a fight. If you called a Baron daemon, he'll think you were a doorman. If you refer to Jude as a nude, you're likely to get screwed And refer to the nude as lewd, you're bound to get brewed And think of Dude as crude, there's bound to be a feud. If you called a squid a quid, it's bound to think like a Druid. If you call what you said dead, you'll never ever get read If you thought home food good, you must be a real hood And rely on your word two-third, you sure are a dud. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes - VI Unquotable quotes - VI (Note: A good many of the « epigrams » in this sequence of quotes are a take off on other well-known short poems, proverbs, sayings or expressions faites, etc. The rest are my own epigrams.) All the world's a stooge. Paint the town red with blood. Swing low, Sweet chariot! Coming to carry me on throne! Turn the other back for a slap on the back. Can you turn your nose up while sitting on your high horse? Finders keepers, Minders weepers! Black holes also suck white souls. A bun in the womb is worth ten in the oven. Cleanliness is next to Godzillaness. Garbage cans are not rubbish bins. What goes up must bring Heaven down. We are all stinkers under the arms. We are all sewers under bums. We are all lovers under mums. We are all beggars under alms. We are all killers under arms. We are all believers under psalms. We are all thinkers under norms. We are all schemers under qualms. We are all bribers under palms. We are all runners under bombs. We are all rotters under worms. We are all liars under gums. We are all swimmers under foams. We are soldiers under uniforms. We are all writers under thumbs. One need hardly fear the extinction of Life on earth through environmental or climatic catastrophe: inter-religious contention will get the job done well before-hand. Cricketing jargon « Style mahu kala tida-apa! » (Doesn't matter if you're given out so long as you managed to play the right stroke!) This « tongue-in-cheek remark » in Malay pidgin is often used in Malaysia- Singapore to describe those batsmen who surrender their wickets in style, i.e., batsmen who are sticklers to the art of playing textbook strokes irrespective of whether the ball is engaged by the bat or not. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes - V Unquotable quotes - V Constant dipping wears out the hardest bone. Out of sight, out of bind. Too many cooks spoil the school books. Be a cuckoo and lay your eggs at the cuckold's next door. When lightning strikes, the fire-brigade rides. Don't cry over spilt tears on a tilted table. Give a dope a long rope to escape prison and hang yourself. Till the cows come home lone and married. Do not teach a dog how not to bark. A shark's « fin » is the end of the film. A rhinoceros's horn makes the infidel a born again thorn. Early to bed, early to rise makes the wife stealthy, squelchy and clock-wise. A lawyer is a liar/Who rides a bicycle on a live wire/Smokes a salmon in her office oven/Slurps noodles with poor poodles/Makes fudges out of judges/Ends up selling divorced wives/On the internet stock archives. A two-timing two makes fools of fours on all fours. Go fly a kite when you're tight out of sight. When the garden warbler trills on oblivious, the magpies ensemble grumble. Patients can undo all the good doctors do. Even cars can become chronically ill. Children need not be seen so long as the noise they make reminds us of them. Authority always provides cover for cruelty. The nation is always worthy of the most scurrilous crimes. Religious service serves only the ritual's hollow promise. He serves God best who serves all creatures first. God cannot be in need of help. Nor does He need adulation. Is religion an attempt to bribe God? © T. Wignesan -Paris,2016 Villanelle: The Cricketers' Hakka: How's Zaat Villanelle: The Cricketer's Hakka: « How's Zaat! » Balls thud into pads bats gloves or whisk past batsmen At bowler's end or square leg umpires stare stand « How's Zaat! » yell players game's holy silence broken Two umpires two batsmen players eleven All rivet eyes on five half ounzes ball leather bound Balls thud into pads bats gloves or whisk past batsmen Main aim of the game ball must be struck by batsmen Who guard Holy Trinity wickets honour bound « How's Zaat! » yell players game's holy silence broken The idea's to score more runs to secure win Leg before wicket brings down batsmen standing grand Balls thud into pads bats gloves or whisk past batsmen Matters not a whit if ball on pads make bails spin Mighty yell in unison must umpire confound « How's Zaat! » yell players game's holy silence broken Yell must at all costs contradict the truth even Force umpires to doubt their own judgement to withstand Balls thud into pads bats gloves or whisk past batsmen « How's Zaat! » yell players game's holy silence broken Note: The batsman can be given out in various ways, but it's the umpire who decides whether the batsman's « out » in the following cases: « leg before wicket » (where the bowled ball is stopped from reaching the wickets by the batsman's pads) , ; « run out » (where the batsman during play stands with his bat outside the creases at the wickets) ; « caught » (where the ball bowled by the bowler is caught by any fielder after it ricochets either from the bat or the gloves) ; « no ball » (where the bowler delivers the ball while his foot is outside the crease at his end) , ; « hit wicket » (where the batsman even accidentally strikes the wickets with his bat) ; « wide » (where the bowled ball is reasonably out of reach of the batsman) ; « no ball or throw » (where the bowled ball is delivered while bending or hooking the elbow) . It is the custom - at least, in the old days - that whenever the abovementioned irregularities occur during a match, the players on the fielding side all in one voice yell: « How's Zaat! » (How's That!) and look at the umpire for his verdict in an attempt to intimidate him - just in case he was inattentive at the crucial moment. Likely as not, it is also the custom to yell out even if there was no case to be made out in their favour. (The wording is mine: the official description of the rules might differ from my definitions which are formulated from my own experience as a player.) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes: more cricketing jargon - IV Unquotable quotes (More Cricketing Jargon) - IV A « wide » is a ball aimed by the bowler at some absentminded fielder. The « silly-point » is the fielding position so close to the batsman that the captain forces his rival to occupy at the risk of receiving balls on the head, solar plexus and balls hit at over 300 m.p.h. An « inswinger » is a bowled ball which changes course in mid-air and gets round the batsman to nick the bails. An « outswinger » is a bowled ball which the batsman thought he connected for a six but which merely nicked his bat to reach the safe first-slip's hands. A « run-out » is given when batsmen running between wickets wish to get back to the pavillion in a hurry. To get « one's eyes in » is to see cricket balls the size of foot-balls. A « partnership » in batting occurs when one batsman does all the stroke-playing while the other hurls abuse and advise on him. The « night-watchmen » are batsmen sent in with blankets to keep the pitch warm at the end of the day. The « opening batsmen » always take their own sweet time between the pavillion until their crease rituals. The « one down » is the batsman who makes the ground look like an empty billiard table. The « top scorer » is not the cousin of the official scorer. « Clean bowled » happens when the batsman is looking at a blonde in the pavillion. « Hit wicket » usually occurs when tall batsmen choose long-handle bats for their centuries. « Leather-hunt » takes place when one ball takes to visiting all corners of the field in quick succession. A century or two could very well take just half-a-day these days. The « hat-trick » always occurs when the umpire is dozing after lunch. « Good shot » means no one has dared put a hand out to stop the ball. « Medium-paced bowlers » are fast bowlers who have been hit once too often out of the ground. The « leg pull » always catches the leg and mid-field talking to one another. The last batsman always takes a wild swing at the first ball in the hope that it would land on the captain's head. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes - III Unquotable quotes - III When in Rome, do as the Roman Nero. The rain in Spain falls mainly on the vain and the insane. A grenade a day keeps the refugee away. Cut your coat according to your girth. The kettle calling the pot back. Like father, like son; like mother, like neither. Singing in the rain can get you pain in Spain. Singing in the rain in Paris can get you chicks who do the twist with fairies. A sound heart in a sick body is like a tart groggy with toddy. The sun also rises best in the West. Who said beggars are not choosers: they can choose the place and moment they beg. A white tiger abhors orange. A policeman's girl always wears handcuffs behind her back. A lawyer who licks the back of hands always gets paid first. A judge who yells at you tends to reduce the sentence to a phrase. Building castles in the air with sand is cheaper by far. A marathon runner remembers the thighs but not the laps. At the end of the day is when you make your greatest mistake - you go to sleep. Churn milk to make curd: churn speech to make turd. Pounding rice as a marriage rite brings no surprise on the wedding night. One swallow doesn't make a drunkard out of a teetotaller, but it sure signals a dry summer. Cricketing jargon The late-cut is the shave you missed out. The off-cut is the cover drive turned phut. The leg-pull is the batsman's bras de fer to the leg spinner. The long-stop is the twelth man on the field. The straight drive pierces the umpire's reverie. The full-toss is the fast bowler's slipped disc. The ton-up comes after the spin bowlers give up. The innings defeat is the army beating the retreat. Test matches end up in ditches for pitches. A bumper is an un-coded message from the bowler to the batsman. A bumper is an overt warning to the inveterate blocker. Tail-enders get to face the best batsmen all-rounders. Umpires inspect pitches at the start of a match for coins dropped by lawn-mowers. An over-throw is a fielded ball flung by an outfielder at the umpires and which misses the wickets by miles. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes II Unquotable quotes - II Spare the rod and knife the wife. Empty drums make the most deaf wise. Penny wise Pound English. The Polyester Stomper heals the vain woman's heel. Eat what you can but can what doctors ban. Let the water tap run but drain rain. The woman, the dog and the chestnut tree, the more you beat them the harder the bark. Let sleeping dogs neigh. It never rains but indoors. Honesty is the best example of idiocy. Two's company, three's a broad. Make hay while the son wines. There's no smoke without liars. Don't count plots before they are hatched. Preach not what you can enjoy in peace. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a truth. Parting makes much sweet sour. A round peg in a square soul. Rule Brittania, Britannia rules the knaves. Able was I as I saw(ed) Abel. It's a Rolling Stone that makes a fuss. Those who tighten belts don't wear sarongs. The high and mighty always suck with the flighty. What's good for Peter is good for the Church. The haiku is the silly bugger of the tanka. The baker's dozen helps keep the poor cousin. Cricketing jargon The no ball is the cricket's late call. The boundary is the sixer's mockery. The wicket keeper bails batsmen out. The googly makes batsmen squint through patchouli. A leg bye makes the batsman somewhat shy. The leg-before-wicket is when the batsman kicks-thebucket. The dropped-catch can be the slip's last match. The leg glance is a missed forward drive. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unmeant meanings Unmeant meanings Words keep watch their eyes in the empty spaces fingers feel their unformed faces Can words mean what they were not meant for all by theirnonselves even if they come clothed in nonentity cuneiforms hieroglyphics ideophonograms strokes signs signals sounds shapes silences squiggles squares squirms suctions squirts scuds screams squelches screeches screams or sickening sobs words sum up fix errant thoughts speak for all though in tongues without jousting knights errancy will not lead to errantry Only the blind conceive their shape form posture the staid but rumbunctious music of stilled hieroglyphs the pliability of ideograms caressed down rice paper their squiggly strands the self-effacing hand-and-foot maidens of matronly phrases some leaning awry the calligrapher's trembling hand all all straining upright the custodians of invested stock foot-stools of pouting poets the sum-total of coveted currencies exchanged stock variables Who would be hurt knifes himself with meaningless words who would laugh breaks out into song the sing-song stress and accent of vowels round and strong learns wayward steadfastness with his words with words with the word with the world of wonder in always willing and wilful words April 23,1997 From the privately-pub. coll. (re-worked 2016) : longhand notes (a binding of poems) , Paris: 1999,115p. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 For those who go by his tentmaker's rope For those who go by his tentmaker's rope swing from one end to the other though neither low nor too high nothing will pass you by if you swing not to the end of your tether Let the tavern-keeper yell no legs past his dream threshold will wander before old Khayyam's knell accept at last your unwanted vow no damsel will crash into cleft-stick cuckold sweep away celibacy take your heart in tow Is there talk of yes who may be chosen what role could your pain fill in bold letters which you'd rather see in numbers broken Come away come away from all this quarrel Let those who wish to be weighed in gold make much of their worth par rapport à l'infidel June 5,1997 From the privately pub. coll. (rev.2016) : longhand notes (a binding of poems) , Paris: 1999,115p. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Stock Stock Lines derail trains made from stern stock shunting worsted words in wagons to and fro cabins depleted by looters piled on dock signals distressed faces not any more forefathers shape not their twisted progeny when foremothers shunt them out of agony the fear that might in the grain burst bunds resides unformed in unwilling face the dark inscrutable face of race blood thinning through bastardized sons forefathers shape not their twisted progeny when foremothers shunt them out of agony to guard the rhyme within the quatrain no end of artifice will make for sacrifice content lets form intertwine lines in vain clickety-clack of the train lulls us nice foremothers never think of their progeny when forefathers shunt them out of agony May 6,1997 From the privately pub. coll. (rev.2016) : longhand notes (a binding of poems) ,1999,115p. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Stateless Stateless …thatched houses catch fire sparrow tires from romping in the coned-flower chestnut tree alights on the road tires crunch macadam sparrow perches on live telegraph wires winds sweep the plains topple high-tweeting power poles sparrow haunts deserted godowns caterpillar cranes tear down loading wharves sparrow unloads wings on marshalling yard trains shuttle screeching now forth now back sparrow glides then tumbles in air-pockets temperature plummets snow flakes magpie in the châtaignier shrieks disgust to the skies melting snow runs down eaves air sizzles with imminent thunder Zhen of a sudden clapclaps righteous terror The Eldest Son of High Heaven has high business to supervise tapeworms bore deeper into the ground the cicada scarcely calls to mate wet hungry ruffled sparrow has no chestnut tree to go back to now home to transiting seagulls tries to alight on spring-green spare Pawlonia chockfull of crows averts the mulberry tree à la feuille de platane fishing gear lie splayed against the trunk the dense dripping prickly hibiscus hedge affixes house-full sparrow perches on the terrace rose pot the neighbour's Siamese cat's ears perk up sparrow rolls its eyes April 24,1997 From the privately-pub. coll. (rev.2016) : longhand notes (a binding of poems) , Paris: 115p. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Who would milk the Tigress Who would milk the Tigress wears no armour gasmask pail within squat thighs nor bloodless forefinger and thumb Cows wear forlorn looks distressed mien trailing tarred roadmap streaks dry udder tears for lost stripes after mynas taken to the hills forever abandon torrid flatlands to the reverberating mockery of magpies splintered limbs split podiyal torn fiber ribs jut through mortar-upturned tarmac signposts to a lost bickering Peninsula and island children Adam's Bridge of Hanuman hordes loping to reclaim Sita ghost-towns where once-fenced-in palmleaf thatched huts in mud-caked villages husbanded grain the unswaying palmyra droops with juice heavy nongku the tiger cub teen thrust up in sepoy bayonet salutes thrusts her unsung virtue down blind plunge in backgarden well a warrior race of she-cats buried deep behind kitchen smoke Those who came to milk the cow and drink peace eat with hands besplurged with menstrual-blood Where has the milkmaid gone her pail half filled with her brother's blood The wombs of Purananuru mothers long dry bleed for their sons untethered tigers longgone from lairs their stripes for flags Is there a Mughal in Delhi fears a Sivaji in Jaffna or the ageing monarch in Colombo his Nizam-ul-mulk in Trincomalee who would have gladly traded his throne to an armourless English captain armed to The Buddha's Tooth Would a Muhammad Shah prepare for the coming of a Nadir Shah from the far fastnesses of The Middle Kingdom Whose no-man's-land would skirt the Tiger-lined jungle trails see stripes wavering at the cluck of each rubber fruit Who would then growl to remind us of thunder of righteous anger of wayward peoples trekking for elbow space under the hardy palmyra with only the nongku to slake sterile trampled soil miles and miles of heaving padi-fields wreathed in fatigues the lone lithe tigress licking her paw sweet Resources The historical references hark back to the events preceding the gradual rise under Jehangir's reign and final collapse of the great Mughal Empire: 1739-54 to 1858 in the Indo-Lanka context. Other references draw on the Sanskrit epic: Ramayana in the Indo-Lanka context. -From the privately pub. coll. (re-worked: 2016) : longhand notes (a binding of poems) ,1999,115p. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Timed out Timed out …with what do you buy time in stockmarket time where would you store time who guards the stored stock time swishing past time would time bought be just as good/pleasant/weighty/drawn out come unstuck as hot noodles joyous/pervading/impalpable/harking back trillions upon trillions of light years unborn as ageing time aching in weary time stand time on its head and roll it forward into the future will it come back to ask for more time the shaman's gunig riding the dream tiger the tiger standing stock still amidst the dense Yijing yarrow stalks sixty-four times six lines for stripes the future filtering through the narrow centre of the coins flipping in the vitreous humour a nanosecond on the retina rolling back on the optic nerve to reform the hexagram fixed in perennial time if time would waste and wear you out and time and time again you're timed out stilled in torrid time moveable time unchimed time frozen time take time out to time time yes time is when you knew how to mind time now time twotimes you in what time do you wake up d'you sleep in borrowed time burrowed into time are you conscious of the time you were in heaven did the pleasure last till the end of time now time slithers on its belly when you keep time with your feet crushing its ribs in the beat 2-4-3-2-5 222 4 take the pulse of this time and hang it on the clothesline any time time its timeliness time disentangles dislocates deranges in extra-time on which time are you treading the time of your life the time you laid your life down timed out au-delà how many times is one and the only time can you time time parallel time synchronic time diachronic time successive times overtime blackholed time is Big-Bang the only time bomb is time spent backwarding time time lost wandering time time reduced to timelessness deadtime filtering through time gone forever time lost in a singularity infinite time without trace time assassinated by time time frst started in res media bent time lassoed by gravity turned back time lashing kicking snorting time dying to join its unbigbanged time time that kills kills time beyond time does the time you carry on you carry you do you occupy space or time do you take space with you when you're gone past time From the privately pub. coll. (re-worked: 2016) : longhand notes (a binding of poems) ,1999,115p. © December 13,1995 T. Wignesan - Paris Naked death Naked death …the barred and sealed cattle wagons disgorge at the Konzentrazionslager the faux pas relief from urine mud faeces sweat and tears unkempt armpits buttocks best wear turned to damp rags reduced to moaning cattle nameless even the heifer wan straggly limp Alles! Raus! …the last quick dab of face powder the lipstick dried blood tan the felt hat lying soggy stained through bellowed haste on the mudcaked barrack floor the wampumpeag plucked by the helmeted claw stabbing on sole-cold cutting cement platform averting glances on sapped sagging busts shoulders hunched buckled in fingers reaching to scratch loins nostrils quivering whose the naughty stench then the trooped Indian file stray belongings dumped in a wasteproduct pile the once highheeled gait slumping to a side from the hips down to a jaggedknee limp prodding the miasmal mist the exposed varicose veins the knotty pubis the mons veneris the intimate warts and moles last year's Ceasarian stitches the rump twitched less the lack lustre sentry gazes the unmasked leer the disdainful pursed lips neither shame nor pudeur and then the last gangway to nowhere the Ave-Maria road to Himmelweg a reprieve From the privately pub. coll. (re-worked 2016) : longhand notes (a binding of poems) ,1999,115p. © T. Wignesan - Paris,1999/2016 Corpus Corpus in words designs coloured structures tones movements all the multifarious ways of being savvy earnest of show-looking in earnest of believing in earnestness of wanting to be thought of in earnest by being read thumbed scrutinised listened to in silence who shores up whose image « when the feeling comes, I feel the need to go » … Sekoto said looking into the guest with devouring Picasso eyes and yet his image bothered him his need to be felt useful needed to be thought of as in the know no background to lay the usual foundation Ecole des Beaux Arts Atelier in the Rue des Augustins no one to lean on to only the self-peddled jazz piano a lolling pittance and the loud lingering death at the Maison des Artistes canvasses stached away at some brocanteur's junkyard it matters to leave behind a corpus a bibliography firsthand original right from the tréfonds long before death the diurnal deaths felled by dizzy spells some ex-librarian's list of secondary source pieces articles talks opening-day speeches conferences radio-interviews tv declarations chapters-in-books edited revised --editions reviews biblios tertiary lists of critiques unsigned TLS reviews communications what the editor said in memoirs of his peers not to have said enough is not enough there will be those who will attribute what others have said to us we have made provision for that we told so and so what the others have taken from us with a word carefully placed in the leeward of the ear while sitting in the din of the rear seat words garbled gobbled by the exhaust beat to have left behind a load heavy with prizes pounds royalties titles by the dozens even scores definitive recapitulative editions in velours computerised translations transvesti(t) es through years of solitude sans sexe sans joie sans care may the publisher be forever loading to jettison the heavier the corpus the longer/longslower the worm rot in the mud catacombs of staring accusing skulls From the privately-pub. coll. (rev.2016) : longhand notes (a binding of poems) , Paris: 1999,115p. © T.Wignesan - Paris Fresnes, November 6,1994 By how many badbyes can you measure the length of your day by how many badbyes can you measure the length of your day first comes the time too fretful on your hands next the boredom of not knowing what to do with it all then the memory erasures the books underlined you thought you never read and wince at the pencilled comments on the sidelines friends you forgot you went to school with the children who'd pray you wouldn't turn up even à l'improviste on an urgent pretexting errand the flushed girlish faces that turn away your gaze in an alley way the tentative pace of your step losing grip on some junction the only safe direction is the shortest cut to your hideout hovel even those who need you prefer not to call on you the telephone will do you can insist on the shave much good it would do you to scorch your tortured grimace none note the difference only the sparse crop you patter come apart in a sudden gust clothes hug less and less the sagging frontal bulge bones that grate lock ligaments that tear on the stair the longing meniscus pain that refuses to part company during the prancing stride and the hours and hours you lay gazing at the ceiling recalling other inept throes muddled chances replaying in slowmotion what might have been if only you hadn't taken the hasty irate turning friends that one by one get ticked off most bundled through in dull hushed murmurs some big names sportsground high kickers get heard of their lean eager square-cut faces flashed on the 8 o'clock news others by dint of their stolid work-soaked contributions their theories discoveries conneries are sung of in obituaries but those you knew you cared for you shared moments long moments with on long rainy nights chewing the rag-end cud on the sofa you wonder where or what they could be like if they too had not gone too soon crushed under split tires skewered through contorted metal now the long vigil begins daily the diurnal chores of waking to your querulous pallid face mocking the vain ambitions festering under your lids each morning waking again after the thrall of mind-flushing siestas fresh as the first springday you went out to your first girl at the thronging choked spewing mouth disgorging the Underground the madness now brings alive in all her colours odours crinoline frills no thwarted thoughts linger only the regrets regret at not having done better regret at not having served her longer nor tasted the fun offering for as long as she bent to caress your face her tresses enveloping your cheeks your neck your ears your locked-in flesh by how many more badbyes may you count your days visits to the doctor the unpaid bills rain like the pathetically interminable urgent blood-on-your-hands requests demands for donations to succour Africa's dying masses Asia's flooding rivers & groundshattering scientific research arms for aids aids for arms alms for arms letters dwindle even from friends you thought were friendless you read the Monoprix's cutprice lists for the spring opening over and over again and eye the shining lasses in tartan skirts pink cheeks lean pinky thighs drawn up to the chins the dejectedly opened books you have not read and always wanted to read now that time is all yours seem so frivolous in your constricting space thoughts that nag at you from every turn in your tiny grubby flat from inside you walk out in your slippers in the dead of noon and pass stragglers lunching on mayonnaise-oozing leafy baguette- sandwiches without so much as a grumbled « salut » linger searching for an excuse to pass away yet another few minutes gazing at a municipal billboard staring blankly at the same old inane inept faces permanent lodgers at the Mairie under the sparse shade of an ant-lined silvery birch thoughts lost among throngs of gaily bickering garrulous sparrows screeching within well-coiffered leafless forsythia bushes the will moves on unwilled to there where a solitary mud-splashed park bench lies lame forlorn you crouch for an instant your lungs expunging your longfelt hurt your eyes blind to the couples stuck one-into-the-other on the muddy dog-dunged grounds you lay yourself back to expunge a long pent-up sigh was it the lit-long day or was it yesterday or was it…. June 16/17,1997 From the privately pub. coll. (rev.) : longhand notes (a binding of poems) , Paris: 1999,115p. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Soul Genocide Soul Genocide No less a word than the last for putting to rest the syllable for every man a creed a cult No final philosophy to last Who can tell when the world ends for the strong and the bold for those who stand all alone No better might their word lends The last wise man who stood apart for four noble truths in eight paths for what may he have gone away If prophets rain and never depart Every age brings new divinizing calls for saints bloodied in mad blabber for what may holy rites wash away If the world turns on mechanistic balls If every man sought the painful path for his depraved soul and the world's for the sake of every child's hunger Who may not reject nibbhana in wrath Right paths or wrong paths we decide for better or worse in this life for the children forced to survive Better hellfire than the souls' genocide From the privately pub. coll.: longhand notes (a binding of poems) ,1999, 115p. © T. Wignesan - Paris, July 1999/2016 Poems: I didn't say Poem Poems (i didn't say ‘poem') … are as many as galactic swirling gnats multiplied by equal number though not as many in shape and size and weight as tough as feather-and-fly to middle-and-heavy in gait but never as punchdrunk as a Dylan Thomas dervish quake some like this tell you what to think and make a show of the tinker rather than the tank so take a cue and read no further than this unless you want to know what a poem is Poems are bundles which tie themselves up by just letting the words come together in the order in which unless you take it/them back and let them/it out according to whim not like presents with name and age and knot on the top all wrapped with care kowtow after sai kere feet to kiss serf to his Lord of the Manor with utmost respect and honour all for a piddling favour bundles then of meaningless signs in strings of letters synaesthetic strings of tactile gustatory olfactory auditive images held together by syntactic gum each bundle and there may be as many as you may want to or can see separately tied mixture of more or less of each synaesthetic string in a form on page (unless you give voice to them which is still a voicepage distinguishable by modulations of voice in the head) the evident content pushing the words in or out of line (you'll note you can't push it off the page like this unless you reduce the size of the teeth of words till they cannot be read...) bundles then within bundles Russian peasant wooden dolls within dolls magic Chinese surprise boxes a bundle by any other name is still a bungle without a bunghole unless you tie their toes up only the sinusal knot which instructs its time its beat and rhythm is not so easy to find where there are no rhymes and steady fixed wellworn structures unless the poems come wrapped in multi-coloured papers with do-it-yourself kits who-dunnit maps teach-yourself diagrams they may be that is their insides on the outside as you're quite right in thinking or simply somewhere in one place in the inside where you can't get your hands in/onto it even with an angiopathic catheter as easily as a Cronenberg character digging his hand into his belly and drawing a pistolhand so appropriate it's like Lynch saying where do you put the eye of the duck not on the bill ‘If it was sitting on the middle of the body, it will get lost...It has to be placed in the head, it's the most detailed.' yes that's where you'll find it but remember you can't untie it yourself it'll untie itself when you still your senses your thoughts your feelings and your sense of importance of your self that is when you want to know what you do not know ‘There's nothing more exciting than something you don't know about.' [Eric Mottram a poet délaissé by the mighty who make and break poets but can they break a poem like him] so depending on how you go about it some bundles may open others not yet others may stay open and you may not know how to profit from their guilelessness while your thoughts and sensations take flight in other directions thinking of yourself and how you might have done better the content of some bundles may mix with the opened overspill and you may not know which bundle came first to mean what but the main thing is to let the bundle(s) open even all together at once only then you may swing on the strings only then you may see the trees from the underbrush jingly-jangly jungle noise of course not all poems are bundles of bundles those that narrate an event a story a heroic tale of yore those that through unwideopen mythic mouth speak of holy lore those that paint a picture so lovely you'd forget you're looking at a natural Matisse colour print those that cry raucously for the assumption of some material power the castecraze of mythic mind-muddling mantras those that confess some tale of personal tragedy and woeful dismay and those in fact like this dictate define try to instruct make much of its dialectics the rest are they the only poems bundles of synaesthetic strings bundles of flights of fancy and fantasy not so magical realities bundles blasting through meaningfully-sewed and bound spacetime curves bursting in the silencing din of mental short breath budding colours of unknowable scents the touch of taste the flavour of an emotion so intense you'd want to die says the lady watching a tearjerker choking from empathic self-immolation or while riding in an open motortaxi the swirling dustfumes' apnées in a Chennai heure du point sit suddenly back in unbelief at the power of some black empty signs on clear woodmade ground the heedless joyous cries of dustclad children shut in a pavement poem From the privately pub. Coll. (revised) : longhand notes (a binding of poems) , Paris: 1999,115p. © T.Wignesan April 28,1997 Paris Parallel Lives parallel lives fleeting neutrinos electrons photons gravitons... turn on the light turn up the volume rouse the thought bolster the idea flash the dream are those dreams do dreams undream pages inscribing words accounts balancing sums illogically unbalanced words that mean a little less than non-sense in the waking state does the brain trip up the mind the thinking I where do other unbendable rules apply other norms other ends for simple adding acts or does the brain permit the flush in its routine memory cleansing jettisoning words on the palpable page fleshed out words upright print countable sums on balanced sheets and the rhythm that distends then breaks with the imperfect rhyme who sings in the quiet of the grey matter folds mermaids stroking sleek streaming hair over hived clacking scales what deep jungle tom-toms call to the air with verve no human pulse can endure where the quantum speed of arrangement rain poems on an invisible time-curved screen no hand writes no I thinks no bodyprint survives the speaking flirtatious crinkly crusty page only the tangle of the doubt was it you who wrote/spoke that which you cannot recall in full how many the querulous whos roaming lost in the outworn labyrinths of your sleep coursing with neurons trapped in synapses swinging the trapezes of the sternum the antebellum blackholing reservoirs the gateway divide into other dimensions or is it all just a mangled bungle of the hazy muddled consciousness seen through twisted cataract prisms taking lackadaisical stock of yet another straightened-jacket ironcast day From the coll. longhand notes (a binding of poems) ,1999. © Re-worked 2016: T.Wignesan - Paris, August 2,1997 Villanelle: No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law Villanelle: No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law Inhabit the corridors of authority Must of needs lay lives down their peoples to succour Makes no difference whether tyrant emperor Or those who sneak in barely in democracy No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law Falter even once nay their lives forfeit before This the rule must be for those in authority Must of needs lay lives down their peoples to succour The judge who takes sides for the favours of a whore The prince consort who soils queen's bed with germs mighty No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law President who risks State secrets with paramour Minister who fills own pockets with rigged treaty Must of needs lay lives down their peoples to succour Qian holds Heaven where must reside nothing impure Lest the downpour soak toiling souls' immunity No lives are theirs those who embody rule of law Must of needs lay lives down their peoples to succour © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Brahman Nemesis Brahman Nemesis 22 But to those who adore me with a pure oneness of soul, to those who are ever in harmony, I increase what they have and I give them what they have not. 23 Even those who in faith worship other gods, because of their love they worship me, although not in the right way. 24 For I accept every sacrifice, and I am their Lord supreme. But they know not my pure Being, and because of this they fall. THE BHAGAVAD GITA: 9, transl. Juan Mascaro (London: Penguins) ,1962 the puja never ends the sound of conche-shells rush up from starved caving lungs the fire still burns ditheringly in tiered brass oil-lamps the sanctum sanctorum still resounds to the same old Vedic mantras their walls pitch-tarred by centuries of sacrificial smoke the naked granite Amman's torso and limbs sunk in massive mountainous pitchblack porous rock bathed in milk and coconut-oil jasmine petals vibhuthi the ritual never varied nor the droned sanskrit rocambolesques phonemes learned by rote and remembered since a toddling three or four through chanting playfully all-day-long in unison within bare highstone-walls amidst the making-of-faces to the bare-chested fair-complexioned eternal cousins in drawn-up and tucked-in dhotis their long-flowing gingerly-oiled sheetblack hair tied-up in a cone and sagging over the forehead these the keepers of the « I » who wants and Oh needs worship You the Brahmins claim picked from Your head Your chosen You who gave us the intelligence to question Doubt and despite our conditioned voice our dissent Now threaten us with holy fire the right path mistaken O Allah-uh-Akbar O the King of Kings Give us this day Your comforting bread now the days are almost over when Your chosen few strutted about Your smokeand- incense-filled courtyard barechested lest their twice-born ethereal insignia misses the masses clanging bells yelling orders in mantric spells making as though You resided in them nay You were them they were You their minds wrought by the belief that work was for the menial castes all untouchables all fools all filthy their breath impure Your chosen children's food pure sanctified daily by Your inner eye their genes their blood pouring from one tumbler into another and back into their veins like the hot tea drawn in an arc between arm-length held tumblers their vedas the only vedas their language Your language a prayer in any other language gets channelled to Your if we are to believe them sworn enemy the stoker of the fiery dungeons there was a time there were millenia those who issued from Your arms thighs feet and the néant below and beyond all all untouchables of course gave in sacrifice to You what was demanded by Your chosen lot how you cared for your few ordained representatives on this infinitesimal speck in your sweeping vastnesses but now the time is drawing to a close the pujas the marriages the deaths the astrological charts net in hardly the sums needed to keep Your valiant few intact their voice tremble now their chants in Your name growing meeker and meeker through commonlaw marriages selflit pyres computerized astro-charts and prayers offered in Your name while speeding in petrol-driven carts who would you elect again as Your spokesmen Whitehall White House the Kremlin the Imperial Palace or the Elysée Palace who would speak for You represent You sing Your praises keep Your house in order here on earth and drive terror into those who would suspect a ruse now that the prideless old but still plump priest with six unmarried daughters begs with outstretched hand at the temple portals vying with the maimed untouchable in shredded trailing rags his wide bright doleful eyes a telltale warning to your indifference one to keep his pure-bred lasses within unpryable walls the other to keep hunger from shrivelling up his balls the ultimate sacrifice 1 the brahmin conducted mass in the sanctum sanctorum as the intermediary between Brahman (the God-Head) and the other castes, the latter paying for it in cash or in kind 2 the Hindu Goddess Parvati; also a suffix to names of deities signifying malevolence. 3 powdered ash of cow-dung, used by Hindus on their forehead, arms and torso as an insignia of their religiosity. From the sequence: « Words for a Lost Sub-Continent » in the privately published collection: longhand notes (a binding of poems) , Paris: 1999,115p. ISBN 2-904428-14-3 May 24-25,1997 Villanelle: Write only as if this were your last deathbreath day Villanelle: Write only as if this were your last deathbreath day Write only as if this were your last deathbreath day As if those words gouged out paper or tape Words distilled from a lifetime's work and play Write only what you think is what you say And what you think never other lives rape Write only as if this were your last deathbreath day Write not to beg for praise or prize or pay What you write must not want to prate agape Words distilled from a lifetime's work and play Write like wordsmiths who worked for Old Vic play El Manco of Lepanto fate escape Write only as if this were your last deathbreath day Write Dostoevsky's death on pardoned day To sink Underground swoon writhe out of shape Words distilled from a lifetime's work and play Ugly Beauty makes Art loudly pray For poets who blindly abuse Muse's shape Write only as if this were your last deathbreath day Words distilled from a lifetime's work and play © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Unquotable quotes - I Unquotable quotes - I A friend in need is the goon who stokes your greed. A journey of a thousand miles ends with the last broken step. Don't kill the brother-in-law until the sister is dead. Butter your toast on either side to lick hands. Hang not the hangman with noose: you'll lose booze. Half a loaf is better than no love. Even a blind cat can smell a rat that bells the cat. Take care of the pounds and the wife will pound you. Take the load off your own fat. Shoot to kill only if you can't stand still. Slow and steady are two legs in a sack race. A marksman is the marked man's also-ran. A blacklisted writer is on every publisher's reading list. A dime a dozen is no denizen. He who cries thief knows no mischief. Turn coat and capsize boat. A snake in the grass may miss Mass but is full of grace. Early to bed catches the worm. All that glitters cannot be sold. Immolate yourself to moult your soul. Even if you're forced to burn your boats, fly by air. Where there's a will, there's no giving way. Run also with the hares and the hounds will eat you. A little knowledge makes the master grin. Birds of a feather share the same tailor. Don't judge a woman with a book by its covers. If you kick a can down the street, empty it first. What burns up and out is the gas in the gut. A stitch in time saves kith but not kin. Forewarned is foredamned. Don't put all your eggs in one basket, just lay them. If the hens begin to crow, the cocks will lie low. If you pour oil on troubled waters, Mid-East will dry up. Still waters run in sleep. Parallel lives never meet or greet. © T. Wignesan - Pris,2016 Tribute to The Day before You Came by Bjorn Ulvaeus in the first 1982 ABBA version Tribute to " The Day Before You Came" * by Bjorn in the first 1982 ABBA version The day before yesterday You came together to play To lift our hearts in joy Belting out in convoy The day after he came We celebrate whose fame You wailed through self-pity But ne'er called it Beauty ‘Infinite suffering thing' Would that Eliot could sing Pre-dramatic event Your breaking-up you meant " Pretty sure it must have rained" " …rattling on the roof" hearts stained The day after he came Most songs seem sound the same " Knowing you Knowing me" Never meant to be free " …my life…its usual frame" " …sense of living without aim" Yes " Some one is crying" No some one's conniving At noon must have left for lunch " …usual place…usual bunch" The sad journey on rails Must break hearts crammed in jails Due at eight in the morn Back at eight all forlorn " And turning out the light" Curled safe in bed at night For the day after he came My life burned on a flame The paradox of joy Is that it makes one cry ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow' Better still safe routine in tow " …I hid a part of me…" " …in heaps of papers" for fee And let the world pass by Not knowing what is joy Is joy carpe diem Was day before he came Now my life's over due I've met my Waterloo The train's an ugly monster Dragging its hind legs after Frida's howl pack of hounds Benny's sound track train pounds Anna's swan tones lament Bjorn's lines uptight breasts rent Beauty's not only content It's also the way you vent Conceit's the ermine cloak Rattling skeletons croak Bjorn's true lines exquisite poem Sung in sweet pain What's its name Notes Words within inverted commas are from the song. Single quotes indicate other well-known words. *Rhyme scheme: 4 stanzas (3 of ten lines with concluding quatrain) in rhymed couplets of varying syllabic count. 1st stanza: aabbccde ff 2nd stanza: aagghhii ff 3rd stanza: ddggiijj ff 4th stanza: kk ff Not all in perfect rhyme: rain/came (for instance) The syllabic count (more or less) : 14 (with the exception of the 4th line at 18 and eighth (exception: 1st stanza at 10) and tenth at 6. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 64 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 64 Cogito ergo sum: I LIE therefore I AM Even if I lie Nothing's more certain than Death Not Birth Not Life Nor this Multi-Verse logjam Does not violence invoke much pain loss all damn Intended or not openly or in lethal stealth Cogito ergo sum: I LIE therefore I AM Is not violence the excess worlds condemn And which by default attains the body's health Not Birth Not Life Nor this Multi-Verse logjam Any movement in any direction breaks dam Can Qian rape Kun to make for eternal Death Cogito ergo sum: I LIE therefore I AM Is Death the Tao of non-action in I AM No change without movement antithetic Death Not Birth Not Life Nor this Multi-Verse logjam Can the human mind find stillness in space maelstrom Wish for NOTHING wholly want but Ultimate Death Cogito ergo sum: I LIE therefore I AM Not Birth Not Life Nor this Multi-Verse logjam © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 63 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 63 The mystery of Birth holds no great secret Poïetics the creative process neither Can Death twin sister of Birth nothing beget Who has returned to re-possess carcass to let If ever one there was what does he remember The mystery of Birth holds no great secret Which Pharoah still sails to lands unknown in debt Which Zhong Guo Emperor led clay armies conquer Can Death twin sister of Birth nothing beget Yi Jing puts most of it down to whims of climate The old lay their weary bones down by winter The mystery of Birth holds no great secret To kill no one first needs bury the hatchet No Marquis de Sade roughride Justine either Can Death twin sister of Birth nothing beget Does Death disintegrate essence ultimate Cult of the Unknown Fear of the Nether The mystery of Birth holds no great secret Can Death twin sister of Birth nothing beget © T. Wignesan - Paris,2016 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 62 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 62 Everything's encased in square 8 by 8* Each family member plays with 7 Now this now that the future turns out late This villanelle's 6 + 2 = 8 Day 1 Month 1 in Year (2016) * 7 Everything's encased in square 8 by 8 1 is the number this one first took freight Met one 8 which - 1 gives 7 Now this now that the future turns out late Change is the mode for life to complicate Change comes round when the number makes 7 Everything's encased in square 8 by 8 GOU Hexagram 4 + 4 = 8 Hell awaits on 06 06 66 + 1* Now this now that the future turns out late Everything begins again 8 times 8* This sequence must end at 9 x 7* Everything's encased in square 8 by 8 Now this now that the future turns out late * 64 hexagrams * 2016 (9 - 2) = 7 * 06061966 = 16 = 7 * Hexagram 64: Weiji (Ferrying incomplete) * Hexagram 63: Jiji (Ferrying complete) Transliteration from Richard John Lynn's translation: The Classic of Changes (1994) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 61 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 61 Evil-doers at heart are the worst cowards Since the war-path pullulates in their numbers They conceal their greed in faces turned backwards The Yi Jing's strategy compels turning inwards Do big power foreign policies discount dollars Aren't evil-doers at heart the worst cowards To seek peace in one's well-being needs no words Must countries sans big wing span claim to be powers They conceal their greed in faces turned backwards Turn not inwards for fear of others making inroads Can what applies to countries fall on wax-clogged ears Evil-doers at heart are the worst cowards Yin left to itself cannot but collapse inwards Retreat into the safety of the self indoors They conceal their greed in faces turned backwards The cavernous mouth sucks on its own innards Shun the cannibal who feeds on his own neighbours Evil-doers at heart are the worst cowards They conceal their greed in faces turned backwards © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 60 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 60 Interplay of positive-negative current How Nature alternates through light and darkness Three hundred and eighty-four times made recurrent All symbols of family diverse in content Father Mother Three Brothers Three Sisters in harness Interplay of positive-negative current Lunar year split into two neither non-violent Both sparking each other from out of loneliness Three hundred and eighty-four times made recurrent In sixty-four general images latent Interpersonal relations contorted mess Interplay of positive-negative current Myriad chess-board movements create more content From dark swirling wild quark masses sparking brightness Three hundred and eighty-four times made recurrent Yi Jing charts infinite conflicts' criss-cross current Shows the right path out of shut dangerous darkness Interplay of positive-negative current Three hundred and eighty-four times made recurrent © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 59 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 59 Does Nature dispose at random by whim or wish In all probability by set built-in laws Part of free will which wills ill makes karma punish Will good works against Nature's grain admonish Can living beings alter the Big Plan strict laws Does Nature dispose at random by whim or wish Should Nature keep house for the tenant in anguish About who's the owner of the wind that blows Part of free will which wills ill makes karma punish Nor for those who refuse house rules to distinguish Turn not fire down let hot water run indoors Does Nature dispose at random by whim or wish Or when the owner's preparing to cook hashish The tenant goes out to dine dance with rich in-laws Part of free will which wills ill makes karma punish Nature sets the rules of the game in his hospice The guest who knocks late from revelries stays outdoors Does Nature dispose at random by whim or wish Part of free will which wills ill makes karma punish © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 58 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 58 No way must such protective force serve politics Nor ally dictator army criminal police None might weigh on Nature to impose its ethics No exceptions tolerate no geopolitics No super power excuse to fiddle with peace No way must such protective force serve politics No edifice stands aloft loose in building bricks No Zapata fights for latifundio prize fees None might weigh on Nature to impose its ethics Dare not wanton call Nature's course fiddlesticks Even if life you lay down for cause in sacrifice No way must such protective force serve politics Can one forfeit life placate people's economics Mahatma Gandhi saw life's work torn piece by piece None might weigh on Nature to impose its ethics Only the chieftain who bears with peoples' conflicts Can lead them along the road to Nature's hospice No way must such protective force serve politics None might weigh on Nature to impose its ethics © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 57 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 57 The use of force to protect the weak the hungry A Zapata whose righteous anger boils bounds To set right an injustice the peasant to free Is that violence that must be put under key Whose anger Madero's peaceable laws confounds The use of force to protect the weak the hungry Had not Steinbeck's Wrath in the Land of Plenty Set free Mao and Castro's masses from their hounds To set right an injustice the peasant to free Who came to Kazan's rescue Mice and Men stand free Hang honour Hang power Hang the world out of bounds The use of force to protect the weak the hungry In Steinbeck's words Can a man whose thoughts born angry Bring peace to a world where laws of peace obey hounds To set right an injustice the peasant to free Who kills not to feed whose young who cry when hungry Yet Krishna urged Arjuna take battle field grounds The use of force to protect the weak the hungry To set right an injustice the peasant to free © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 56 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 56 To what extent can there be room for free will If what governs is the Principle Yang-Yin Since the future can largely be told at will Since the Yi Jing permits karma to fulfil Good works compensate pitfalls one stumbles in To what extent can there be room for free will For the Principle to work there must be Evil In living things with will embedded in the gene Since the future can largely be told at will At what stage can karma begin the peril Quadrupeds sans will or when bipeds sin To what extent can there be room for free will Does karmic balance-sheet deduct influence ill Parents environs victims of upbringing Since the future can largely be told at will None can be guilty as the mythic Devil The game's over what pardon when neither win To what extent can there be room for free will Since the future can largely be told at will © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 55 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 55 What the human mind can conceive calculate See beyond sight recall aeons lost in time Yet we believe grandma tales spun inebriate How the human brain can even brains create Short-circuit evolution collapsing time What the human mind can conceive calculate Pack thunder and lightning in capsules of hate Harness hidden quark energies for a rhyme Yet we believe grandma tales spun inebriate Earth's environs run in quantum leaps of late Take pulsar quasar pulse long dead in lost clime What the human mind can conceive calculate Sound the molten hard heart of globe inchoate Find untrodden paths along arcs of space-time Yet we believe grandma tales spun inebriate Let some men through cunning minds subjugate For country conscience caprice incite to crime What the human mind can conceive calculate Yet we believe grandma tales spun inebriate © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 54 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 54 Must Nature fulfil its terminal plans The question is Are we in its primal aims Can Man be content with what he understands Does Nature kill for fun or to teach lessons Are we central to the Multi-Verse's claims Must Nature fulfil its terminal plans Does the Tao inform Siva's dream drunk dance Or is some standstill boredom reason for games Can Man be content with what he understands Is so much lightning-thunder mere flash in pans So many players in outfields lost without names Must Nature fulfil its terminal plans Must Nature destroy what IT creates in trance Life and Death the Known and Unknown whom one blames Can Man be content with what he understands Is the idea Maya a contresens Who would create to destroy what he proclaims Must Nature fulfil its terminal plans Can Man be content with what he understands © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 53 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 53 Must appearance differ from reality In as much as front and back of the same body To negate existence in non-duality Being the non-existence of duality Existence displaces both in one body Must appearance differ from reality Either and neither one incongruity Make both come alive in one busy-body To negate existence in non-duality Everything comes from nothing logicality Open your eyes you're the Purusha body Must appearance differ from reality Every time you conceive the entirety You affirm existence in your own body To negate existence in non-duality Time's the hand draws curtain of eternity Past nor future exists in any body Must appearance differ from reality To negate existence in non-duality © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 52 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 52 We still hear see Big Bang's greatest ever show Pushing the known borders into the Unknown Fist-tight Multi-Verse(s) unfurled aeons ago What we see a mere back curtain peep but know Dark matter dark energy late un-be-known We still hear see Big Bang's greatest ever show Solar system's a mere speck hardly aglow Lost in galaxies countless billions alone Fist-tight Multi-Verse(s) unfurled aeons ago Does Nature display what Big Bang before bore Brahman Night followed by born Brahman Day dawn We still hear see Big Bang's greatest ever show Can such Nature shape the human will to know All that there is has been and future unknown Fist-tight Multi-Verse(s) unfurled aeons ago Make the Dark Continent cull the World from snow Only to shun skin one another over skin tone We still hear see Big Bang's greatest ever show Fist-tight Multi-Verse(s) unfurled aeons ago © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 51 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 51 Brand not NATURE God word fallen in misuse As if it were an all-pervading spirit Principle rules laws all physical in use NATURE eludes all mental means to confuse IT stands not still for anyone to pin IT Brand not NATURE God word fallen in misuse Ignore the myths the holy words made obtuse The mystery's in the vastness made to fit Principle rules laws all physical in use IT rules supreme and has no use for our Muse Nor for the genuflections of our spirit Brand not NATURE God word fallen in misuse IT takes life at will though one suspects a ruse Is life ours to dispose as we wish it Principle rules laws all physical in use We have but this life no home in Multi-Verse We can take nothing with us when forced to quit Brand not NATURE God word fallen in misuse Principle rules laws all physical in use © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 50 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 50 Each gets to keeping own while making up whole No one need sacrifice distinct difference Yet the total's not a square peg kicked in goal The idea's the centrifugal force control Not to impose by force piercing self-defence Each gets to keeping own while making up whole No Security Council veto steam-roll Each nation's voice strong and pure over fence Yet the total's not a square peg kicked in goal No fear genes be altered by remote control Nor in vitrio robots spell impotence Each gets to keeping own while making up whole Collective will subsumes democratic role To serve the total without interference Yet the total's not a square peg kicked in goal Contradictions are not ingrained in the soul Rather in the way bodies subvert common sense Each gets to keeping own while making up whole Yet the total's not a square peg kicked in goal © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - Part III - 49 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - Part III - 49 The ONLY god there is Is there in your eyes Close your eyes at sundown Who awaits at dawn Infinite grandiose Multi-Verse never dies Physico-chemical bio-logicalize Infinitesimal these laws never born The ONLY god there is Is there in your eyes Are not players in the field fire and ice Trillion thunder blasts gouge out space new-born Infinite grandiose Multi-Verse never dies The principle's Yang/Yin or love turned to lies If each living thing does not obey command The ONLY god there is Is there in your eyes Be not so vain as to think your god's more wise Just watch the Heavens toil and churn every dawn Infinite grandiose Multi-Verse never dies Nature has no need for mythic petty lies Nothing humans cook up reflects Nature's lawn The ONLY god there is Is there in your eyes Infinite grandiose Multi-Verse never dies © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 48 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 48 Prod not the elements fierce dragons can wake Tsunamis El Ninos smog haze acid rains Anger of the Heavens lightning thunder quake Qian the Father Kun the Mother did hands shake But Eldest Son Zhen can put mankind in chains Prod not the elements fierce dragons can wake Final signs there to see which we still forsake Can World War scenarios depict real pains Anger of the Heavens lightning thunder quake Class race religion which can most money make What takes over countries do it for its gains Prod not the elements fierce dragons can wake Mythic gods we concoct for our ego's sake Have not they all harmed us more than mindless brains Anger of the Heavens lightning thunder quake Nation States make fated World we must un-make The single choice One Race One World or HELL reigns Prod not the elements fierce dragons can wake Anger of the Heavens lightning thunder quake -End of Part Two © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 47 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 47 Hail! The Historic Document! Heil! Furies! Hardly a week gone leaders put us to sleep The Debate's back to more cannons for countries Can ISIS kill more than three 4C degrees All that bluff about 1.5 makes skin creep Hail! The Historic Document! Heil! Furies! Build Great Walls to keep out killers refugees Can walls hold back tides that swell from oceans deep The Debate's back to more cannons for countries How sweet the Commander-in-Chief's qualities Poor peoples adore applaud cherish worship Hail! The Historic Document! Heil! Furies! Cannons ablaze keep up smoke from foundaries Daze the peoples under haze in tight whip grip The Debate's back to more cannons for countries Let leaders bask with two lines in histories Will you let them dump lush Earth on rubbish heap Hail! The Historic Document! Heil! Furies! The Debate's back to more cannons for countries © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 46 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 46 Will COP leaders be around in five years nine Their great careers made Their statues unveiled To what future Super Men our backs supine Apparatchiks clubby diplomatic kind Allegiance to rival parties well-coiled Will COP leaders be around in five years nine Spying on one another to undermine Using public forces to keep peoples embroiled To what future Super Men our backs supine Stock-piling nuclear arsenals to churn brine While oceans lash out the people will be boiled Will COP leaders be around in five years nine Mighty men who pat each other to outshine One another in local Catch-rings all coiled To what future Super Men our backs supine To what then duped masses owe their fated grind If not to nymphomaniac egos well-guiled Will COP leaders be around in five years nine To what future Super Men our backs supine © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 45 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 45 Sound the gongs Blow the trumpets Let pigeons soar The most well-kept secret's about to be sawn At last Great Leaders can reveal the true Law Who makes worlds go round and round like swinging door Who turns on firmament lights like on home lawn Sound the gongs Blow the trumpets Let pigeons soar Who drew Andromeda into Milky Way's maw Who raised Wall of Galaxies as tennis lawn At last Great Leaders can reveal the true Law Who made glacial periods run like mad wild boar Who swung meteorites like golf balls every dawn Sound the gongs Blow the trumpets Let pigeons soar Truth ricochets like Le Bourget planes roar The secret's hidden from us poor folks ill-born At last Great Leaders can reveal the true Law Thanks to COP21 we now know much more NATURE is the plaything of those who use brawn Sound the gongs Blow the trumpets Let pigeons soar At last Great Leaders can reveal the true LAW © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 44 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 44 Billions of years to make one of trillion planets Whose - dare you guess - already sinking in drink Men of little vision dicing for nuggets World transformed by Einsteins Nobel laureates Poised by Dark Ages men on abysmal brink Billions of years to make one of trillion planets Party-mad men serve their term without regrets Yes make improvements cut ribbons dine toast drink Men of little vision dicing for nuggets Parties win with funds from business pockets High finance pollutes parties leaders hoodwink Billions of years to make one of trillion planets Blame it on industry on progress rockets Not on men whose greed drags us down the stink sink Men of little vision dicing for nuggets Plimsoll Line at two degrees' Russian roulettes Not to abstain NOW means aims aren't worth the think Billions of years to make one of trillion planets Men of little vision dicing for nuggets © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 43 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 43 Cuck-uk ruck-cuckoo Paloma on the wing Who gets to curry pot with 100Bn The Eagle or the Cock gets to down bird with sling Are the waters receding while we loud sing Who brought us to high point at 2015 Cuck-uk ruck-cuckoo Paloma on the wing Ere the ink is hardly dry El Ninos swing How many wars will be wrought now in between The Eagle or the Cock gets to down bird with sling Will the Good Lord re-freeze melting ice crackling From mouths of Seine Thames or Hudson here eighteen Cuck-uk ruck-cuckoo Paloma on the wing Nuclear tests in Pacific still in ears ring How many more lush love green isles sunk in sin The Eagle or the Cock gets to down bird with sling Cheer one hundred ninety-seven hands signing On waters lapping on heels under heat-lid bin Cuck-uk ruck-cuckoo Paloma on the wing The Eagle or the Cock gets to down bird with sling © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 42 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 42 Wrap the self in fear for the dark cloaks the beast Shut the door on vile thoughts no fear will wild knock Does Death need an invitation for fun feast Zhen the Eldest Son will pound the skies in jest Ephemeral beings all will link arms lock Wrap the self in fear for the dark cloaks the beast Kan the Middle Son will come flooding through mist Ephemeral beings all will cower in dock Does Death need an invitation for fun feast Gen the Youngest Son will cough fire at best Ephemeral beings all will turn to rock Wrap the self in fear for the dark cloaks the beast Sun the Eldest Daughter will puff past the least Ephemeral beings all will shudder shock Does Death need an invitation for fun feast Bright Li and Joyous Tui will sing dance the beat Ephemeral beings all won't this rhyme mock Wrap the self in fear for the dark cloaks the beast Does Death need an invitation for fun feast © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 41 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 41 More the imagination more damnation Where would Earth be without Galileo's lens The Truth dares us in the face - condemnation Ancient Greeks refined the mind spirit nation And yet let their gods abuse their common sense More the imagination more damnation All roads led to Rome and the Inquisition El Hidalgo de la Mancha's comeuppance The Truth dares us in the face - condemnation Quixotic souls in windmills seek ruination Who made Socrates take hemlock in Athens More the imagination more damnation Which mundane god revealed depths of Creation Which holy tract mysteries of Existence The Truth dares us in the face - condemnation Hermeneutics - art of deviation How we love to split mythic hairs with incense More the imagination more damnation The Truth dares us in the face - condemnation © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 40 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 40 All Man and man-made things given time perish Nations religions empires loghead gods Not the Universe though in splendour relish Would that Man saw fit to live free of fetish He could free himself from the need to cross swords All Man and man-made things given time perish When Man gives birth to gods he's more than selfish Thinks he could earn the favours of grateful gods Not the Universe though in splendour relish Not one god we create respect we their wish Those who engender them wish to end up gods All Man and man-made things given time perish What the Buddha wished we may still accomplish Make not human suffering the burden of gods Not the Universe though in splendour relish Pull that arrow from bleeding breast in anguish Attend to your gaping wounds not those of gods All Man and man-made things given time perish Not the Universe though in splendour relish © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 39 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 39 Carbon molecules woken up by thunder Is violence life-wire of existence Can God come into being beyond Nature Violence in warp and woof of our nature Can one avoid being part of violence Carbon molecules woken up by thunder Who put Arjuna on guard against anger The cause of the Great War was not in suspense Can God come into being beyond Nature Arrogate violence and commit blunder Can one take life and affirm his existence Carbon molecules woken up by thunder Taoists live life in accord with Nature The seasons come and go in munificence Can God come into being beyond Nature Make not god to quibble about his Father No god re-appears like this Grand Existence Carbon molecules woken up by thunder Can GOD come into being beyond Nature © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 38 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent- 38 More the man-made gods the more the quarrel Who wants to pray in a private night-club Each faithful thinks his god's beyond riddle Where faithfuls gather their gods aren't idle Rather would they arm theirs to teeth with club More the man-made gods the more the quarrel Strange each nation sports some god from cradle Nations want exclusive membership club Each faithful thinks his god's beyond riddle All nations dream holding World by bridle So they give their gods the fossil fumes rub More the man-made gods the more the quarrel When words from gods one another needle Do they hesitate to reach for the club Each faithful thinks his god's beyond riddle Now that gods got our Earth in a throttle Will ONLY GOD intervene: that's the rub More the man-made gods the more the quarrel Each faithful thinks his god's beyond riddle © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 37 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 36 All day long we kill to keep the home clean Insecticides aerosols rat poison The killer instinct makes us bold and mean Down by the pond mosquitoes wake and preen Time to send fighter jets by the dozen All day long we kill to keep the house clean Peeled apples for veg flies succulent wean We spend week-ends choking every last one The killer instinct makes us bold and mean Kids we love but not the kind who boil spleen So we sock the wife more than hard in the bun All day long we kill to keep the home clean At Antipodes some guys flex muscles lean Call that homefront affront to smite them down The killer instinct makes us bold and mean What counts home comfort by all overseen Secure society to foist nation All day long we kill to keep the house clean The killer instinct makes us bold and mean © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 36 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 36 Blame not the man whose mind is not his own From birth to death he'll do what he's told Must he not those who're not his kind disown Does the killer kill what to him is unknown When does he decide when When he makes bold Blame not the man whose mind is not his own Do those who are killed kill in the Unknown Killer who killed Who cast him in mind mould Must he not those who're not his kind disown Who does the killer kill if not his own Who's the real killer Can it be told Blame not the man whose mind is not his own The mind that's massaged from birth makes no moan Neither those who kill by proxy for gold Must he not those who're not his kind disown When each god must swallow words not his own How might those bred into belief take hold Blame not the man whose mind is not his own Must he not those who're not his kind disown © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 35 Who'd watch tele if it showed Promised Kingdom When breaking news takes us through hard day's sour sweat Does blood-blast Yin-Yang tussle stay gut boredom Broken bones shattered glass Doom's Day sunset bomb Pan-flutes nectar river angels who don't sweat Who'd watch tele if it showed Promised Kingdom Piped South-Sea strains virgin damsels frolicsome Singing psalms all day long on banks Euphrates Does blood-blast Yin-Yang tussle stay gut boredom Who'd want crystal-clear streams under palm Nubile damsels gambolling sans due regret Who'd watch tele if it showed Promised Kingdom World pre-ordained or Yin-Yang clash at random The Magic-Lantern show spinning wild inter-net Does blood-blast Yin-Yang tussle stay gut boredom Does Supra-Intelligence conduct Kingdom While physical laws here on Earth operate Who'd watch tele if it showed Promised Kingdom Does blood-blast Yin-Yang tussle stay gut boredom © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 34 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 34 If only the tired masses had time to think If only they knew leaders were prisoners too Would not security forces with us link The rocks some throw will into proper heads sink Even leaders will no longer be taboo If only the tired masses had time to think The real Enemy makes money to clink In the ears of leaders who'll join their ranks too Would not then security forces with us link Though this less-than-one-per-cent makes the World drink Dance drunk much material progress to woo If only the tired masses had time to think Masses choose leaders who need moneyed-class wink These mafia-made leaders dupe masses even more If only security forces would with us link In the end little use if masses could think What leaders want more of is the vote or two If only the tired masses had time to think Would not security forces with us link © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 33 Yesterday colonial century ago China Brazil India fed not masses Today whose rate of growth cannot stop but grow Rich and mighty nations always wanted more Invested in ammunition to cut losses Yesterday colonial century ago Yesterday poor nations gasped for breath to sow Who doled out guns made from lethal gases Today whose rate of growth cannot stop but grow Yesterday nomads roamed deserts without dough Till from under their soles spurt oil and gases Yesterday colonial century ago Tomorrow rich nations will trillions borrow Mass unrest will choke more than greenhouse gases Today whose rate of growth cannot stop but grow Day after tomorrow will expose vain Ego Will national leaders all betray masses Yesterday colonial century ago Today whose rate of growth cannot stop but grow © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 32 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 32 Ask them who brought this World to the brink of doom Why what they say now they didn't at COP1 Ask them if they can really reverse tides that loom Ask them why on elections' eve they turn new broom Do leaders come of age at fresh twenty-one Ask them who brought this World to the brink of doom Ask them why farewell speeches seem studied gloom Who put in relief the joke on succession Ask them if they can really reverse tides that loom Ask them why campaign speeches bloom way from home What if the next leader's gun-oil Republican Ask them who brought this World to the brink of doom Then ask yourself why some need others to groom Need other leaders to prove they are Number One Ask them if they can really reverse tides that loom Ask them clean energy spells doom for whom Who stands to gain what greenhouse gases consume Ask them who brought this World to the brink of doom Ask them if they can really reverse tides that loom © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 31 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 31 Pious promises roll not smog from dulled eyes Once again Great Leaders refuse to be bound The disease that blinds men ripe greed wrapped in lies Those who keep Congress in their pockets to melt ice Till Manhattan feet dig Arctic ice underground Pious promises roll not smog from dulled eyes Greenhouse gases spout from fat COP hot-air mice Who will for polar bear cubs build igloo round The disease that blinds men ripe greed wrapped in lies The East must the West overtake in all vice But drive masses hop along with feet still bound Pious promises roll not smog from dulled eyes Look not far to see where the fault really lies Leaders must simply make nations' health look sound The disease that blinds men ripe greed wrapped in lies Once again they'll hug kiss part with tears in eyes While we'll be lulled to think World safe and sound Pious promises roll not smog from dulled eyes The disease that blinds men ripe GREED wrapped in lies © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 30 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 30 Who would soil the bed in which he dreams with pride Which guest will light the fuse to blow up shelter No violence more pitiful than suicide None other than humans bent on matricide Soil not the bed on which you found sleep better Who would soil the bed in which he dreams with pride Unless the Master of the House whips his hide Did not trillions warm the same bed: Donnerwetter! No violence more pitiful than suicide Let not the next occupant feel left outside Leave the welcome mat clean or even cleaner Who would soil the bed in which he dreams with pride No nation owns this Earth cooled out of the Void Not even Super-Man Land finger on trigger No violence more pitiful than suicide Nations in rat-race claim progress with false pride Number One status serves none in the hereafter Who would soil the bed in which he dreams with pride No violence more pitiful than suicide © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 29 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 29 At last O Children of the Mother Contrées* Roll out the red carpets for High Potentates The hour of glory at Champs-Elysées Cry not from Eiffel Tower 2C degrés Temperature rises end of century, Mates At last O Children of the Mother Contrées Streak frowning skies in red white and blue display Let pent-up champagne pop through foie-gras plates The hour of glory at Champs-Elysées Limousines line up for haute couture soirées Blue-ribonned chefs dress-up spruced-up back-door dates At last O Children of the Mother Contrées Tri-colour ice cream on rhino-horn purées See not hear not how iceberg disintegrates The hour of glory at Champs-Elysées Chefs d'Etat promise profit for protégés While oceans swamp islands rivers city-states At last O Children of the Mother Contrées The hour of glory at Champs-Elysées •The final " s" in French is silent © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 28 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent- 28 These vain Little Men who strut on the World Stage Come together again the twenty-first time Can this polluted earth be saved at this stage The World is yours mine must not be held hostage By men who pout vapid irate words as mime These vain Little Men who strut on the World Stage Far more than kami-kaze terror carnage Melting ice-cap Poles promise Fire Next Time Can this polluted earth be saved at this stage Watch how for profit wild fires worldwide rage While leaders read ghosted-scripts to waste our time These Little Men who strut on the World Stage Earth's shield pierced by lethal Sun's rays wreak damage Mutate living organisms make rot clime Can this polluted earth be saved at this stage Would such men who care only for polls image Remember mighty empires last not a rhyme These vain Little Men who strut on the World Stage Can this polluted earth be saved at this stage © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 27 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 27 Pounce not like Tiger on lone backwoods fields Never know who'd be chasing balls fall into holes Balls roll back to earth from smooth Elysian fields Stuff the coffin with hot golf balls till it yields Watch that swing cuff not some angel's soft turf curls Pounce not like Tiger on lone backwoods fields Learn to swing the club of all sizes and wields Too late when on Heaven's downy udders' twirls Balls roll back to earth from smooth Elysian fields Train that eye to watch how balls shoot through cloud shields For once on that turf sound of choir psalms rolls Pounce not like Tiger on lone backwoods fields Swing that club while you can on mad muddy fields Till muscle bone and nerve combine swing as bowls Balls roll back to earth from smooth Elysian fields What particles swing through which magnetic fields To shape humans who roll (like) golf balls into holes Pounce not like Tiger on lone backwoods fields Balls roll back to earth from smooth Elysian fields © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - Part Two Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - Part Two Fail not to get your passports all in order Make sure the belt around your breast's not too thick The security check's stringent at Death's door Do secret services stack agents au-delà Moss-Add in Sea Eye Ache Am I 5 or sick? Fail not to get your passports all in order Putt-Inn Quai Bee Jees F(W) rench in the Works galore All zero-ing in from satellites swirling blick The security check's stringent at Death's door Diplomatic passports with laissez-passer Not quite sure if Death'll fall for the bloody trick Fail not to get your passports all in order Heads of State bank presidents monarchs mullah Not quite sure if air-spaces' reserved for their ilk The security check's stringent at Death's door Rely not on agents with chicks and coffer In the hope Death'll try deadly earth chick lick Fail not to get your passports all in order The security check's stringent at Death's door © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 25 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 25 Followers are made from day one in the womb Not gods but by men in the full-length skirt Pavlov mice all salivate stunned stark in tomb Do not men in frocks drive terror promise doom Those who heed not words they stuff into gods first Followers are made from day one in the womb Can honourable men raise gods from the tomb Invite them back to earth slake believers' thirst Pavlov mice all salivate stunned stark in tomb Who split their gods' words plunge followers in gloom Make dissenters fight staunch believers first Followers are made from day one in the womb Sexless men tear each other under own dome Then order robot men to give up the ghost Pavlov mice all salivate stunned stark in tomb Who forbids men from praying under one dome Don't middle-men stoked by sybarite Sophist Followers are made from day one in the womb Pavlov mice all salivate stunned stark in tomb -End of Part One - © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 24 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 24 Shout it hoarse on mountains how gods stand for peace And in private plot the ruin spurn another's faith Do all voices hark to one and same mouth-piece Zoroastrians Zen-Buddhists Jains Taoists Do they seek to adorn other faiths in wreath Shout it hoarse on mountains how gods stand for peace Declare there's just ONE GOD when put in tight squeeze Why then cling on for life on one's own blind faith Do all voices hark to one and same mouth-piece No believer conditioned by birth will release Supremacy of his another's not to loath Shout it hoarse on mountains how gods stand for peace Look How religions flourish in locked inland seas Once kings renounce or conquerors ram down faith Do all voices hark to one and same mouth-piece And think why the ONLY GOD does not want peace The Creator sets the ground rules in good faith Shout it hoarse on mountains how gods stand for peace Do all voices hark to one and same mouth-piece © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 23 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 23 We make gods and to protect resort to arms Do gods call upon men to save their honour The more we cherish them quick the call to arms Are gods so helpless as to be without qualms Are not true gods invincible with valour We make gods and to protect resort to arms If gods are Gods Almighty full of charms Could not they simply make this Life disappear The more we cherish them quick the call to arms There's no business like the call for holy alms Care may the poor sick spastics die of hunger We make gods and to protect resort to arms No god we ever raised left us his own psalms So we split his word to kill brother doubter The more we cherish them quick the call to arms If gods could wage wars would they need human arms Could not they through skies rage and storm with thunder We make gods and to protect resort to arms The more we cherish them quick the call to arms © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 22 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 22 Does the fault lie in us or in warring gods Paragon Bard of Avon beg pardon Do stars exert a force not owned by bards Do stars grow heads of State to confuse gods The trust we hoist high on flags flapless groan Does the fault lie in us or in warring gods He who blows horn for his god usurps his Lord's The Enlightened One begged us leave Him alone Do stars exert a force not owned by bards How many who blast themselves for their gods Their holy books' basic tenets condone Does the fault lie in us or in warring gods Let not religions parade on public roads Prayer in the soul's a private union Do stars exert a force not owned by bards Teach infants at school all about the gods Till parents all know truth about religion Does the fault lie in us or in warring gods Do stars exert a force not owned by bards © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 21 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 21 Would Hindus see in Paris kill Siva's* will Who's show is this: Puppeteer or puppet's Kali-Yuga* dragging hind legs to standstill Callow kids spray lead to warn not infidel For what glory of own faith's idle pets Would Hindus see in Paris kill Siva's will What kills: finger on trigger or divine will ISIS hand or lead Kalashnikov jets Kali-Yuga dragging hind legs to standstill Piecemeal World War III Papal wisdom mill Did not racial hatred collide with tenets Would Hindus see in Paris kill Siva's will Some people seek to dress world in their frill Are Crusaders fratricidal Semites Kali-Yuga dragging hind legs to standstill Andromeda clash through Milky Way spill Lest ISIS pound Kali-Yuga with jets Would Hindus see in Paris kill Siva's will Kali-Yuga dragging hind legs to standstill •Siva: Hindu Trinity of the Godhead Brahman composed of Brahma (Creator) , Vishnu (Preserver) And Siva (Destroyer) •Kali-Yuga: According to Hindus, the " Iron Age" (the last phase of human existence) , having commenced with the Mahabharatha (the Great War on February 18,3102 B.C.E.) will come to an end in less than 430000 years. - time enough to shoot the Milky Way to pulp. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 20 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 20 To what extent violent thoughts can be crimes Is there one person who's not guilty by thought The Real in the Apparent see you rhymes With what reason Raskolnikov murder rhymes Does Nietsche see in him the greatness of thought To what extent violent thoughts can be crimes Can the rogue State justify wanton war crimes Nor the Police non-citizen rights stamp out The Real in the Apparent see you rhymes Who tolls the church bells controls also the chimes He who can think must also control the thought To what extent violent thoughts can be crimes Wanton acts of violence breed in all climes Kubla Khan repeats the way Ghengis Khan fought The Real in the Apparent see you rhymes Does not Death commit unjust ultimate crimes Who returns from the au-dela knows true nought To what extent violent thoughts can be crimes The Real in the Apparent see you rhymes © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 19 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 19 Eat no life you cut open first to let blood flow Bird on wing fish that swim crawls slithers all on fours Dare you stare down the dilemma watch trees sole grow Must you resist to save your life from luckless blow Watch your wife and children beg for life on all fours Eat no life you cut open first to let blood flow The green dress our earth dons pump all lungs to glow The milk that babies suck flows from grass-fed udders Dare you stare down the dilemma watch trees sole grow Even trees do ooze with sap pretend not to know Oblivious the falling tree on insect throes Eat no life you cut open first to let blood flow All that stirs all that stands still must pain undergo Astral bodies all keep moving on first set course Dare you stare down the dilemma watch trees sole grow No Jain who tramples on acariens* must rue The day he was born on this earth rife with woes Eat no life you cut open first to let blood flow Dare you stare down the dilemma watch trees sole grow * French for house dust mites © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 18 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 18 World in which is ingrained innate violence Where nation-States all hell-bent on blitz wars He who abstains from doing harm commits offence Is branded traitor parasite perched on fence On conscientious objector shine no stars World in which is ingrained innate violence Even cowards by nature obtain licence To kill at will armed to the teeth in holy wars He who abstains from doing harm commits offence The non-violent sport no medals bright dense Nor do they rape their loved ones inflicting scars World in which is ingrained innate violence Boosting ego is the craft of violence Insecure feelings drive muscle-man jaws He who abstains from doing harm commits offence Do no harm and attain pure inner silence Resort to arms let rage Raskolnikov indoors World in which is ingrained innate violence He who abstains from doing harm commits offence © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 17 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 17 Real power lies not in the ranks of the parties Nor in heads of governments parties elect Puppet-strings in hands of secret societies Those whose claws pierce guts through nationalities The bankers investors owners who select Real power lies not in the ranks of parties But in hereditary lords ethnic cronies Those who speak for gods with violent effect Puppet-strings in hands of secret societies Those who allegiance owe through club affinities Across borders oceans or lands derelict Real power lies not in the ranks of parties In lodges temples private media companies Bound by rituals rites oaths sworn dead secret Puppet-strings in hands of secret societies For whom even to write quote such verities Clamour of rage pounces on the hapless poet Real power lies not in the ranks of parties Puppet-strings in the hands of secret societies © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 16 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 16 Covert modern State wiles mock Greek democracy Must People cast votes to elect block Parties Athenians all took part in vox populi Founding Fathers of Great America Party Chief Washington revolution guaranties Covert modern State wiles mock Greek democracy Corsican blood runs blue in French royalty Scottish rites oath govern secret warranties Athenians all took part in vox populi Politicos Police legal fraternity Avarice cruelty sexualities Covert modern State wiles mock Greek democracy No vote counts for individuality All is grist to Big Money incongruities Athenians all took part in vox populi Will Grand Architect of Universality Show his true face from behind inanities Covert modern State wiles mock Greek democracy Athenians all took part in vox populi © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 15 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 15 The Republic's an headless Monster to let Power mad individuals pay to rent head The State's enmeshed in the Admin's red-tape net The Administration cannot think nor beget Must obey or its heads will be under-fed The Republic's an headless Monster to let National forces keep borders tightly knit Secret Police shut People well under lead The State's enmeshed in the Admin's red-tape net The threat of force often makes the People fret The use of force comes from the political head The Republic's an headless Monster to let People in modern States have cause to regret Ritually replacing the Monster's head The State's enmeshed in the Admin's red-tape net Cut the head off the Monster replace State to let In time to come with selfless Robot at the head The Republic's an headless Monster to let The State's enmeshed in the Admin's red-tape net © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 14 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 14 Who's guilty for some good States can't help but sow All All who despise those on the other side All All who bleed their hearts' beliefs parties mow All All who toil helpless and let their blood go All All men of worth who keep going with tide Who's guilty for some good States can't help but sow Monster changes heads but can't stop body grow The Republic merely pits side against side All All who bleed their hearts' beliefs parties mow The Monster's nightmare the day when heads must go Let litter gather for the next divorced bride Who's guilty for some good States can't help but sow Who pays for the stroke that cripples the State more Than the dead People who make up either side All All who bleed their hearts' beliefs parties mow Men of not much worth who stoke the psychic maw Hold to ransom the fate of peoples worldwide Who's guilty for some good States can't help but sow All All who bleed their hearts' beliefs parties mow © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 13 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 13 The State's then some kind of delirious Monster Heartless It changes its head from time to time Ultimate machine waging wars forever Emits bizarre noises most smooth or clever Through mouth-pieces that spin words sans sense nor rhyme The State's then some kind of delirious Monster Drops never to sleep for fear of the neighbour Has its eyes and ears peeled open all the time Ultimate machine waging wars forever Devoirs people kept under threat of hunger Deprives them of human rights and over-time The State's then some kind of delirious Monster Drives the sick into secret service gutter Who then justify wars and villainous crime Ultimate machine waging wars forever Loves to strut on World Stage bonhomie player While backstage lights the fuse Guy Fawkes failed to prime The State's then some kind of delirious Monster Ultimate machine waging wars forever © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 12 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 12 Rule-bound hemmed-in nobody's free in this world Everybody must live in fear of the other The civilized way calls for control steam-rolled All through gestation trapped in lunging pubic mould Squeezed out mid cries of joyful gasping terror Rule-bound hemmed-in nobody's free in this world Do's and don't's drive us to assume face made bold Do unto us as we unto the other The civilized way calls for control steam-rolled Step in then those who cannot but take firm hold Those who must be seen as the holy do-gooder Rule-bound hemmed-in nobody's free in this world As power accumulates in hands Pharoah The few who believe in being ordained seer The civilized way calls for control steam-rolled The few delegate power but not their role Use abuse their handymen drilled to order Rule-bound hemmed-in nobody's free in this world The civilized way calls for control steam-rolled © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 11 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 11 How might one batter to death rogue Nation State Much less Institutions Parties Power Groups Motherland religion Peoples' opiate Kings tyrants prophets may under-estimate The will of the People to upset their hopes How might one batter to death rogue Nation State Around rulers sycophants proliferate Brahmins Mullahs Rabbis Mahatheros Popes Motherland religion Peoples' opiate Intrigue owe allegiance inordinate Find forgiveness for evil deeds lethal troops How might one batter to death rogue Nation State Rulers shared power with sp'ritual Prelate Don't religions all jockey like power groups Motherland religion Peoples' opiate When the individual's battered by the State Turn not to Justice rather see dashed your hopes How might one batter to death rogue Nation State Motherland religion Peoples' opiate © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 10 Villanelle: : The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 10 Wild elephants rage through lush reveries teem Prides of hungry lions stalk the stray by night The herd posts no sentinel - confident team The mightiest nations victims of own dream The herd instinct subject to divisive right Wild elephants rage through lush reveries teem No rogue elephant stands to gain from team If the path it rages through grows yet upright The herd posts no sentinel - confident team Tusks trunks impenetrable mail-chain skin seem Like all the darkest ages stand stoic might Wild elephants rage through lush reveries teem Small people raise great empires sans esteem All on rapacious claws high swooping delight The herd posts no sentinel - confident team Do elephants trample the pelandok* dream To sing the praises of their founders by right Wild elephants rage through lush reveries teem The herd posts no sentinel - confident team * pelandok: Malay for " mouse deer" © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 9 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 9 Turn the other cheek kneel while kith and kin wail Would that faithful followers step in between Resort to arms in months when Yin blazes trail Whose advice the Essene monk took in travail Whose voice the Consul heard to nail the Essene Turn the other cheek kneel while kith and kin wail How easy the truth in search of the Holy Grail Whispered under the pipal tree's leafy sheen Resort to arms in months when Yin blazes trail The elephant flaps its ears trumpeting flail The charge comes to a halt before enemy mean Turn the cheek kneel while kith and kin wail The Yin yearns to hook the Yang without whom frail Engage not the enemy when out to bait lean Resort to arms in months when Yin blazes trail Risk not the lot of what virtues earn entail On the chance encounter demolishing Yin Turn the other cheek kneel while kith and kin wail Resort to arms in months when Yin blazes trail © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 8 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 8 The pain that M'm'selle inflicts on her toes Twists itches in bums and bosoms of hope Each in his own way straps on strappados Mascaraed serene face trots on stilettos Embryos oblivious violent lope The pain that M'm'selle inflicts on her toes Paths to pleasure lead through stabbing throes Sadistic brutes loved more than sweet husband dope Each in his own way straps on strappados Tigress nape stung deep in tiger-tooth jaws Thumped fury of loins turns mother salope The pain that M'm'selle inflicts on her toes The sacred act of making one life's woes Born of the terra moto gasping breath grope Each in his own way straps on strappados Still the Big-Bang whistles tinnitus mementoes Is the Universe the result of wanton rape The pain that M'm'selle inflicts on her toes Each in his own way straps on strappados © T. Wignesan - Pars,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 7 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 7 Who has not wished somebody battered to death The janitor one's lawyer an ex-bed fellow Feel in dark recesses mocking monkey breath Who has not shoved the blame for one's set-back birth Neighbour wife having a ball daily down below Who has not wished somebody battered to death Who has not tossed and turned on how to cheat Death The junkie the usurer Santa Claus on furlough Feel in the dark recesses mocking monkey breath Feel the heart tighten thoughts of those under wreath Those who toiled luckless never to see theirs grow Who has not wished somebody battered to death Find after all wierd monsters deep in one's depth Break out some smooth summer's day dark as glow Feel in dark recesses mocking monkey breath Some Gandhi hounded by lust reduced to wraith Invite violence into one's own sleepy hollow Who has not wished somebody battered to death Feel in dark recesses mocking monkey breath © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 6 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 6 Should the State legitimate entity be To make the use of force It generates valid True father protects for life his progeny Change helmsmen and change its personality The State's a will o' the wisp under tight lid Should the State legitimate entity be The State is as human as errors can be Should It excuse seek or new elections bid True father protects for life his progeny No citizen conscription thwarts and breathes free Abjure violence to be made invalid Should the State legitimate entity be Since consensus derives from majority Who made the individual a Candide True father protects for life his progeny Overlook crush even one nonentity What right have men to govern any breed Should the State legitimate entity be True father protects for life his progeny © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 5 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 5 Kings Prophets alike the Democratic State Do/can/may use force on people they enslave And individual rights incriminate Oppressed peoples' rights remain inanimate Until some Garibaldi wields the glaive Kings Prophets alike the Democratic State The art of government's how to amputate The will of the people own voice to save And individual rights incriminate The Administration's the stooge incarnate Festers in bosom the Secret Police knave Kings Prophets alike the Democratic State Who by Divine Right rule in the Police State Muzzling media voice their power to save And individual rights incriminate Till all factions through coercion emulate Tyrants who use violence and manic rave Kings Prophets alike the Democratic State Do individual rights incriminate © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent -4 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 4 Test not people of a violent nature The choice is not that simple: run if you can The situation calls for plans more mature Yijing's ‘Withdraw into your own armature' May not the violent deter nor you ban Test not people of a violent nature Like as not more cunning than immature Your lofty thoughts and plans put under scan The situation calls for plans more mature Not everyone can alter Laws of Nature Yet it's everyone's duty to make a stand Test not a people of a violent nature If you let grow your own virtue in stature The seasons will follow through according to plan The situation needs no plans more mature Can evil people cloaked rude in ill-nature Succeed where violence breeds not in Man Test not people of a violent nature The situation calls for plans more mature © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: If only the World were such as to be just - 1 Villanelle: If only the World were such as to be just - 1 If only the World were such as to be just Then all girls would be born all all beautiful And men would be the lame laid sex without lust If only the girls were all all free as dust And men could pick and choose and ditch them sackful If only the World were such as to be just If only in test-tubes girls their eggs entrust Then men would much work find their clawing hands full Would then men be the lame laid sex without lust If only lifelong hour-glass shape girls love must Through whirls twists and twirls be not at all bashful If only the World were such as to be just If only the girls in their joints did not rust While men could lay themselves down just wonderful Would then men be the lame laid sex without lust Would men then cheat on spouses neglect thwart trust And at every swaying dame steal an eyeful If only the World were such as to be just Would men then be the lame laid sex without lust © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 3 Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent - 3 Politics' the art of decrying nations The national art's how to prostitute Mother Arming nations need no justifications The People's Ego broadens shores of nations Which provokes invasions by the Other Politics' the art of decrying nations Tongking's engulfed behind United Nations You know whom strangled by the likes of Hitler Arming nations need no justifications Victim stones make no dent on pretensions Vietnamese mothers bear with stoic laughter Politics' the art of decrying nations Resist and invite self-mortifications Retaliate and be dubbed mortal sinner Arming nations need no justifications Hug the Nation during incinerations Pride will stand us good stead in Life hereafter Politics' the art of decrying nations Arming nations need no justifications © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The dilemma of the non-violent - 2 Villanelle: The dilemma of the non-violent - 2 Villanelle: The dilemma of the non-violent - 2 The formal war according to ancient rules The pitted hosts convened on common ground Till the last man drops or takes to his heels Pandavas* Kauravas* on Kurukshetra fields Victim serfs spiral eddy underground The formal war according to ancient rules Ceasar's murder avenged on Philippi hills Who but Anthony would wear Brutus' crown Till the last man drops or takes to his heels Would Krishna's advice suit glorious fools Where would todays's Police victims lone stand The formal war according to ancient rules Raison d'Etat sprouts spikes on Police bulls Would Matador face dead toro rule-bound Till the last man drops or takes to his heels When cowards anonymous cloak their jowls Under Ku Klux Klan racist Police command The formal war according to ancient rules Till the last man drops or takes to his heels °Pandavas and Kauravas: opposing forces in the Hindu epic Mahabharatha (Great War) , related by blood and fighting for the anomaly of succession to the same throne. The Bhagavad Gita (Song of God) is part of this epic poem, the longest to date. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: The dilemma of the non-violent - Part One Villanelle: The dilemma of the non-violent - Part One The dilemma of the non-violent How best to withstand the misuse of force The nonchalant imbued with mal-intent Be it your neighbour or your own parent The country cult sect religion or race The dilemma of the non-violent The more you bear in silence your tyrant The more he'll rally his rights to enforce The nonchalant imbued with mal-intent And if you so much as by instinct relent Fail own family to protect perforce The dilemma of the non-violent Krishna to Arjuna: non-attachment* Panacea for all abuse of force The nonchalant imbued with mal-intent Either way done for in this firmament Victim or oppressor without remorse The dilemma of the non-violent The nonchalant imbued with mal-intent •The philosophy of the Bhagavad Gita (Song of God) © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Limerick crochetes: Once Warrior Fifteen from down under Limerick crochetés: Once Warrior Fifteen from down under Once Warrior Fifteen from down under Trained so hard Hakka to outclap thunder Scared s..t off rivals To reach the Finals At Twitch-in-Ham where Prince roared like Pauper Anthems sweet lulled the cheery spectator World hushed to watch Black Hakka Warrior Earth shook hearts thumped shrieked gulls Petrified spell-bound rivals Warrior lungs burst Cup won by neither Big-money football magnates cheered together At last World will look up to footballer American rivals Or Pelé-fan Bra-zil's Hakka now sole weapon of US soldier © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe Villanelle: French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe Dedicated to the great French actor, Off Course! French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe Must you invite high breeds to the Hebrides To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you! Starved Loch Ness Monster kept well out of view For this Gourmet eats even monster breeds French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe Medieval monarchs gulped innerns - rest threw To the serfs lords ladies dogs and hybrids To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you! French Gourmand let Scots talk their tartans through Venison loins he carved out for his needs French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe Goths Visigoths Vikings Normans or Dieu* Falstaff nose and paunch hide much actor's deeds To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you! Eiffel Tower Louvre Versailles nothing new Mountain Man kept apart Scylla Charibdis French Gourmand once sailed to the Isle of Ewe To maggis shellfish wine said: I love you! •Dieu: God, but French pronunciation, please! He might take exception. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Limerick crochetes: Our great uhr-Father from Africa Limerick cochetés: Our great uhr-Father from Africa Our great uhr-Father from Africa Hallowed be Thy fame in high Valhalla The Asian walk-about Down backbone coccyx snout Who didst Thou mate in Peninsula Malaya To produce orangutan Malaysia Did our great uhr-cousin Gorilla Chimpanzee when in doubt Precede Thy walk-about Swinging from tree to tree to Australia To judge by great life in Southeast Asia Smoke-filled lungs from HAZE in Sumatra Death penalty for tout With drugs- Hell for khalwat* Is there doubt who preceded whom from Africa •khalwat: (a Muslim - all Malays - religious law) According to which, no Malay may marry a non-Muslim nor be found in close proximity giving rise to suspicion of promiscuousness, law enforceable by religious courts whose officials are empowered to spy on offenders and report their activities to the relevant authorities © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 A ZEN Sonnet: Everything comes from Nothing which is Something A ZEN Sonnet: Everything comes from Nothing which is Something Everything comes from Nothing which is Something Something comes from Nothing which is Everything Everything comes from Nothing which is No-Thing No-Thing comes from Some-Thing which is Any-Thing Everything's both Something just as well Nothing Nothing can never be No-Thing and Nothing Take No-Thing from Some-Thing and you get Nothing Take Nothing from Something and get Everything In the end does it matter if there's Nothing Only to your aunt who hasn't seen Any-Thing And what if you said you must have Everything You can't have it all even if there's No-Thing Do we go through lives already have-been lived How else can some tell in detail Life un-lived © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Sonnet: Nothing feeds on itself like violence Sonnet: Nothing feeds on itself like violence Nothing feeds on itself like violence The more it self-destructs the more its might Goya geek - padi eaten by its own fence* The dog that swallows its own tail in fright Yet nothing changes fast as when throttled Takes the weight of one's whole life to wake up Many the night Dopplegänger dreams rattled Will the hand that wields the chopper back up To see the other severed from body Since violence begins in thoughts at will Who can hold it back once in thoughts born free The root cause of violence springs despite will Envy and hatred begin in the eyes And stick in the head right until one dies •Pagar makan padi: Malay for: The fence eats the padi/rice; meaning, treachery (where trust is betrayed) . © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Limerick crochetes: Once Angela signed pact with Doctor Jeckel Limerick crochetés: Once Angela signed pact with Doctor Jeckel Once Angela signed pact with Doctor Jeckel Needed urgent help her kitchen all pell-mell In far-off torn country People turned refugee By turnip-head Mephistopheles in Hell Angela's wise friend Faust told her to toll bell To tell the world how much her heart bled with knell She'll take in all who flee Bitten by bee or flea Life-jackets galore Mephisto jumped to sell In Mid-Land-Sea punctured floats jackets did spell Drowned refugee yells worse than arrows Will' Tell Angie slurped sea-green tea With Jeckel invitee While survivors charged through blockades raising Hell If Angela dug an underground Chunnel From her kitchen to Mephisto-lands un-well Käse-Kuchen* Mummy Made by hands refugee To boost her economy - Angela! Hail! *Käse-Kuchen: German for cheese cake © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 The ZEN KOAN as Poem - Same Question - Part One The ZEN KOAN as poem - Same Question - Part One The Master said: " How do you stop Time from running? " Said Monk-Disciple 1: " By running backwards against Time.' Said Monk-Disciple 2: " By running backwards facing Time." Said Monk-Disciple 3: " By running backwards and looking over the shoulder at Time." Said Monk-Disciple 4: " By running backwards alongside Time." Said Monk-Disciple 5: " By running backwards hugging Time." Said Monk-Disciple 6: " By running backwards over Time." Said Monk-Disciple 7: " By running backwards behind Time." Said Monk-Disciple 8: " By running backwards faster than Time." Said Monk-Disciple 9: " By running backwards outside Time." Said Monk-Disciple 10: " By running backwards in time with Time. Or in Time with time." And the Master said: " What is Time's ………...? " © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: Crooks leaders and louts do they sing the same tune Villanelle: Crooks leaders and louts do they sing the same tune Crooks leaders and louts do they sing the same tune Does he who strums vocal chords show them the ropes Whoever wields the baton sure calls the tune The sergeant-major pulls rank when opportune Though captains and majors aren't exactly dopes Crooks leaders and louts do they sing the same tune To the Western ear the Eastern's mono-tune Do harps and harpsichords belong in same groups Whoever wields the baton sure calls the tune Do the Police join the band to play to tribune Or just one or two here and there simply mopes Crooks leaders and louts do they sing the same tune Blame must fall if blame at all on top dog goon The mess people in power make envelopes Whoever wields the baton sure calls the tune The blame for this world the way it has been sewn Goes for whatever makes possible human dopes Crooks leaders and louts do they sing the same tune Whoever wields the baton sure calls the tune © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Limerick crochetes: Once a shy lost lass so-called Orga-San Limericak crochetés: Once a shy lost lass so-called Orga-San Once a shy lost lass so-called Orga-San Had much difficulty getting what you can Heard of fly-catcher Good at swatting lair Gave him a lift bare-back over Japan Trouble he wouldn't get off Mama-San She went without doing what on bed-pan Right over Fuji Yama Leap-frogged like No-diva Earth sudden shook Tsunami filled her pan. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: Who would put us on this blue-green hot-cold earth Villanelle: Who would put us on this blue-green hot-cold earth Who would put us on this blue-green hot-cold earth Love us as much as we whose steps in vain grace Why make us defile the holy womb of birth Who wouldn't find us such a mawkish source of mirth Our entry into world blessed with slime on face Who would put us on this blue-green hot-cold earth Should not some other means have been found for birth Than the bang-bang thrust in lice filthy disgrace Why make us defile the holy womb of birth That pleasure be sought in and around the girth And to make things worse drag down the beauteous face Who would put us on this blue-green hot-cold earth Unless the lesson's to rise above and loath The fiend in thirsty loins contumacious Why make us defile the holy womb of birth Could our true fate be to disown very earth Not knowing why we came in the first place Who would put us on this blue-green hot-cold earth Why make us defile the holy womb of birth © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: What do you do if the Culprit's the Country Villanelle: What do you do if the Culprit's the Country What do you do if the Culprit's the Country Will the Head of State turn against the Police Go hang yourself on the nearest pipal* tree Which country faults on its own territory When It cracks down citizens or migrant mice What do you do if the Culprit's the Country Take the oath if it bolsters the Enemy No pious paean will wash sins away, please Go hang yourself on the nearest pipal tree Your life's not yours to take if not for Patrie* Ribbons and medals on chest consecrate vice* What do you do if the Culprit's the Country O! for the belles bells tolling the reverie Look! My Country's crown towers above cloud's fleece Go hang yourself on the nearest pipal tree No country's worth the life of one family If the force that protects corrupts the Police What do you do if the Culprit's the Country Go hang yourself on the nearest pipal tree •pipal: since the pipal tree has no prop roots, at least, in death you can serve to prop it up •Patrie: French for Mother Country •vice: French pronunciation, please! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: Is there ever a moment when reason reigns Villanelle: Is there ever a moment when reason reigns Is there ever a moment when reason reigns " Never! Ever! " - cry the forsaken by Life " Friends depart, Enemies approach, " Yi Jing ordains Hold not to friends and think you can sever chains Even to raise children you must beg the wife Is there ever a moment when reason reigns Friends are also humans the other self disdains Like as not the same humans bind you in strife " Friends depart, Enemies approach, " Yi Jing ordains Stand alone and your World will collapse in ruins But what a lovely fight you got out of Life! Is there ever a moment when reason reigns You can spurn the mean the blackguard: " Filthy swine's! " Turn back on hypocrites retreat into self " Friends deoart, Enemies approach, " Yi Jing ordains The same humans who to you cause all the pains To some others serve as saviours in strife Is there ever a moment when reason reigns: " Friends depart, Enemies approach, " Yi Jing ordains! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Limerick Crochetes: Once Fukushima Lady Uranium Limerick crochetés: Once Fukushima Lady Uranium Once Fukushima Lady Uranium Madly in love with Hanford Plutonium Sent him hot-kissed missile Twice Hiroshima smile: " R.S.V.P. Pluto to Uranus in mime! " Missile misfired detoured Koreanium O'er Kamchatka harassed by Putt-Inn-ium Security Council Issued stark Codicil " Pacific love letters: ‘Putt-Inn-Bin, Hmh! ' " Then lovesick Mamasan Uranium Stole Crime-ian Green Card made in Elysium KGB stamp fossil Put Putt-Inn behind grill So cut through Alaska helped by Pale-Inn-Yum! At last Mamasan came close to Plutonium At Hanford received no hugs in delirium Sat by waste river spill Her heart sank without thrill Till Pluto-Uranus sang the Union Hymn! © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Villanelle: Whose condition is the worst everyone asks Villanelle: Whose condition is the worst everyone asks Whose condition is the worst everyone asks " Mine! " " Mine! " " Mine! " - everyone's desperate cry Why the powers that decide wear such sharp tusks Look at the basking billions enjoyng tasks Then watch the hare-lipped cock-eyed shrivelled wretch sigh Whose condition is the worst everyone asks Gypsy dejection makes outcaste maniacs Black film difference opportunities buy Why the powers that decide wear such sharp tusks Must everyone's fate be owed to dead crime larks Birth time and place do not the living defy Whose condition is the worst everyone asks Who asked to be born let him rip open masks Post-Big Bang soup stray elements unify Why the powers that decide wear such sharp tusks High and low meek and strong beg for the same marks Nothing's neither here nor there after we die Whose condition is the worst everyone asks Why the powers that decide wear such sharp tusks © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Must you mileage chalk up in free verse speed way Must you mileage chalk up in free verse speed way For Kim Patrice Nunez*, with hope Must you mileage chalk up in free verse speed way Let your wheels skid by letting loose grip on wheel Free verse range's for marksmen trained on rondolet* Dipodic foot pantun villanelle dactyl Cut their teeth on the slippery run-on-line Roll their anaepest tongue round limerick rhyme Do not a ballad begin with aubade fine Nor drive straight past end-stopped line's feminine rhyme Such as painters' coprophilia canvasses Hide chance ironic hidden ghostly faces Cubist abstract surrealist morasses Whose apprenticeships lead to trumping aces Far too many poets love the sound of words Yet shirk bardic tasks speeding on twisted roads * Nunez: Sorry, no tilde over the " n" on my Mac. •rondolet: French pronunciation rhymes with " way" . © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 Little the doubt in the worth of our world Little the doubt in the worth of our world Little the doubt in the worth of our world Lost in the coils of drifting galactic swirls Little the men of high disposition bold Lost in the ooze of sticky carnal love twirls Bold enough to look the sun burn in the eyes Farther yet stare quasars rip space out of sky Bold enough to scale Wall of Galaxies' ties Farther yet than light may travel and not die Make meaning out of phonemes in wild man screams Drown dreams of sense in the making of the arts Make meaning of signs and signals in our dreams Drown dreams in particle theory and such parts So much brain founders in such make-believe life Each people caste class and nation clasping knife. © T. Wignesan - Paris,2015 To what profound penance owe you this boon, O YashOthA To what profound penance owe you this boon, O! Yashotha! Translation of Oothukkadu Venkata Subbha Iyer's enna thavam seithanai - yashOthA by T. Wignesan To what profound penance owe you this boon, O! YashOthA! ® That He - the ParaBrahmman - who bestrides the Universe Should call you " Mother! " To what profound penance owe you this boon, O! YashOthA! He who created the two times seven worlds Whom you may lift up breast-feed and cradle in your arms Such as to drive even Brahmman and Indhiran to stark envy (Yes) He whom you tied to the large stone mortar Muffled and reduced to utter beggary, O! Mother! To what profound penance owe you this boon, O! YashOthA! What Sanakkadi Saints attained through self-mortifying Endurance You obtained that purity with ease just by being made His Mother! To what profound penance owe you this boon, O! YashOthA! Transliteration enna thavam seithanai - YashOthA (Refrain) enkum nirai parabrahmman amma enralaikka enna thavam seithanai - YashOthA IrElu pUvanangkal padaitthavanai Kaiyil Enthi cI