Wednesday, 6 February 2008

Eyes Wide Shut

Weird things happen when you close your eyes.

Today during lecture break, I put my head down on my desk and closed my eyes. With the music playing and the babble of voices, I felt like I was in a big old-fashioned ballroom, and that when I opened my eyes, I would really be there.

That didn't happen.

I closed my eyes again, and this time I became aware of a pattern of rising and falling in the chatter. This is not too surprising, but it was really noticeable, to the point that I thought there must actually be a groupf of people chanting somewhere in the room. I half-expected to open my eyes and see that they had summoned some sort of demon or something.

That didn't happen either.


So, I'm kind of in love with France in general. Like, seriously. The Renaissance Chateaus are beautiful. Absolutely amazing. Also, they call an ABBA rhyming scheme a "rime embrassée" (an embraced rhyme). How absolutely adorbale/poetic is that? Seriously. Also...

"...Pour appauvrir le monde en enrichit les cieux."
-Pierre Ronsard


"Ici la neige tombe et s'évanouit/Aussitôt que sa danse est fini."

The two most beautiful lines I've ever read/heard. Nothing in English could possibly compare. The second one is from Paris, possibly the most beautfiul/my favourite poem ever.

And since I'm in a shary/sappy/waste-timey kind of mood, here's this. We had to write a poem in the style of Paris, and mine is actually not bad. Better than many things I've written in english, actually. Maybe French just makes everything sound better.


Le chaleur du midi me frappe sur le dos
Il n'y a pas des arbres pour me proteger
Je regarde la piscine, je veux être dans l'eau
Mais Sussex n'a rien pour me consoler

Je me sens toute seule, abandonnée
Même si les gens m'ont entourée
Je sais que c'est seulement une fin de semaine
Mais je déteste ce parc, "Pomme de Pin"

Ici et là, une fleure agrandit
Mais ils vont mourir quand l'été finit
Toujours le ciel est clair
C'est pour plus que ça que moi j'espère

Du papier vide, un crayon dans ma main
Tu me manques, avec tes beaux cheveux
J'écris jusqu'à mon papier est plein
Je veux devenir perdue dans tes yeux.

Dans ce parc plein des gens contents
Où j'étais si heureuse dans mone enfance
Je peux seulement penser à toi, mon amour
Et le temps qu'on peut être ensemble encore

Je retournerai quand ce réunion de famille est finie
Pour te prendre dans mes bras et t'embrasse
On parlera de ce qu'on fera avec nos vies
Quond on est séparé, dans les différents places.

Je t'écris tout ça devant ma limonade
Sussex semble mort, mais chez nous je suis vivante
...Je t'aime...


Anyway, I was going to whine about how stupid I am, but no one really wants to read that. Suffice to say, I am clearly incredibly stupid and shouldn't be here at all, and I'm not excited for this essay anymore.


Definitely getting sick. I swear, if MM gave me her strep throat, I will be most displeased.


So there's some interesting stuff in this pile of junk that I looked in to find that French poem, I think I'm going to go peruse it for a few minutes.

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