Jean Poutine
January 8th, 2009, 08:15 AM
So I'm like, "since I'm up at ungodly hours with nothing to do, WHY NOT SHOW OFF MY POETRY?!?!"
There is one problem : it's all in French.
If you don't speak le français then I'm afraid you're going to have to miss out on what I consider the best aspect of my work : flow. I rhyme very well, I choose my words carefully and I'm strong on alexandrines. Obviously all of this cannot translate very well with translations so instead you're going to have to judge my work on what it means.
I'll try to make it so it's still "poetic" in HANGLEESH, but you'll have to bear with my Frenchie ass here. I'm sorry.
I don't write very often but if I do I'll bump this up.
L'alternative
Les jours sont grisâtres vus de la caverne
La paroi et l'ombre, et puis les prédateurs
Bloquaient toute sortie ; l'avenir est terne
Or l'antre semble sûr et tout plein de chaleur
Mais les vents sont venus et m'ont tôt démuni
De mon seul bouclier contre ma démence
Comme vient le regret, la froidure surgit
Cette gélée connue de ma triste essence
Je passai la brunante tel le ferait Borée
Dans mon repaire, devenu hostile
Avec une flamme durement conservée
Quand la nuit s'évanouit, que l'aube éclora
Ma flamme s'acheva et mon espoir avec
De dénicher enfin un endroit paisible
The Alternative
Days are bleak seen from the cavern
Walls and shadows, and predators
Blocked any exit, the future is grey
But the lair seems safe and warm
The winds blew and quickly stole
My only shield against my dementia
As comes regret, cold promptly arrived
These shivers known to my poor soul
I spend dusk like Boreas would
In my antrum that became hostile
With a spark I fought to keep
When night vanished and dawn came
My spark disappear with my hope
Of finding for myself a tranquil place
Poem analysis, or where Jason explains why he did what he did :
This is pretty standard classical poetry, a bog standard sonnet with an ABAB ABAB ABA ABA format and completely written in alexandrines (for n00b5 : 12 syllables verses). Or is it?
If you speak le français, look at the last stanza. What the fuck it doesn't rhyme.
This is because that poem was written for someone dear to me who helped me change my life. This poem explains how I used to live. For me, the fact that it doesn't rhyme like it should means that it didn't happen as it should. Something changed, and as such, what was written before basically ceases to exist. This also explains the title, "The Alternative".
I'm pretty sure you can figure out the imagery for yourself. I only wanted to point that one out.
Have fun. Comments are much appreciated.
There is one problem : it's all in French.
If you don't speak le français then I'm afraid you're going to have to miss out on what I consider the best aspect of my work : flow. I rhyme very well, I choose my words carefully and I'm strong on alexandrines. Obviously all of this cannot translate very well with translations so instead you're going to have to judge my work on what it means.
I'll try to make it so it's still "poetic" in HANGLEESH, but you'll have to bear with my Frenchie ass here. I'm sorry.
I don't write very often but if I do I'll bump this up.
L'alternative
Les jours sont grisâtres vus de la caverne
La paroi et l'ombre, et puis les prédateurs
Bloquaient toute sortie ; l'avenir est terne
Or l'antre semble sûr et tout plein de chaleur
Mais les vents sont venus et m'ont tôt démuni
De mon seul bouclier contre ma démence
Comme vient le regret, la froidure surgit
Cette gélée connue de ma triste essence
Je passai la brunante tel le ferait Borée
Dans mon repaire, devenu hostile
Avec une flamme durement conservée
Quand la nuit s'évanouit, que l'aube éclora
Ma flamme s'acheva et mon espoir avec
De dénicher enfin un endroit paisible
The Alternative
Days are bleak seen from the cavern
Walls and shadows, and predators
Blocked any exit, the future is grey
But the lair seems safe and warm
The winds blew and quickly stole
My only shield against my dementia
As comes regret, cold promptly arrived
These shivers known to my poor soul
I spend dusk like Boreas would
In my antrum that became hostile
With a spark I fought to keep
When night vanished and dawn came
My spark disappear with my hope
Of finding for myself a tranquil place
Poem analysis, or where Jason explains why he did what he did :
This is pretty standard classical poetry, a bog standard sonnet with an ABAB ABAB ABA ABA format and completely written in alexandrines (for n00b5 : 12 syllables verses). Or is it?
If you speak le français, look at the last stanza. What the fuck it doesn't rhyme.
This is because that poem was written for someone dear to me who helped me change my life. This poem explains how I used to live. For me, the fact that it doesn't rhyme like it should means that it didn't happen as it should. Something changed, and as such, what was written before basically ceases to exist. This also explains the title, "The Alternative".
I'm pretty sure you can figure out the imagery for yourself. I only wanted to point that one out.
Have fun. Comments are much appreciated.