Poetry in the UK
Et ben, une petite surprise auquelle je m'y attendais pas du tout : une petite invit' pour une slam session se déroulant le jeudi 23 juin à Londres. En compagnie de quelques poètes made in France. Thanx Tsunami, c'est lui le monsieur-surprise ;-)
Ca sera au Manjaro Bar. Preuve qu'on est bien en Angleterre, y a du pognon à gagner : 100 pounds ! J'ai bien aimé sur le site, la mention justifiant ces gains : "de l'argent pour réveiller la poésie à Londres !"
Bref, et ben ça sera l'occasion de délivrer un poème, en anglais please, dont je suis assez content, je le reconnais. Il n'a pas de titre.
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It was a quick brush
But eagles fly and seagulls fall before getting crushed
It was a slick move
But the fountain shined and the sky was removed
It was a slow glimpse
But I saw your eyes dancing like a lone ship
It was a long stork
But my feet remained soaked
There was that valley
Then your face and mine
Either tears nor light
I just faint... praying to come back
I was fighting against all odds
I was sinking with all gods
I was streaming like a baby born
I was fading like an old picture of corn
I don't want to feel the cold
I don't want to see the grey
I bend on my knees, sit and stay
Claiming to burst onto new scenes of gold
Can you feel this neverending river ?
Can you feel the power of this silent stone ?
Can you feel the sun under these olive trees ?
Can you breathe the smoke of this pale horizon ?
Live the colors, fill up your heart with blue, picture your own sky with fireworks of hoods
Lay down on this blurry beach
Open your eyes to mine
Axe this cloud into pieces of mighty lemon drops
Hit the montain peaks with your chin
Yell louder than 6 billion human beings
Escape the echo of the valleys
Erase the future
And now....
Let's bury our regrets
Let's whisper our crimes
Let's spark the velvet fields
Let's crawl in a pool of a warm blood
Let's climb on our heads
Do melt the moon
Do freeze the sun
Do love me...
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SYlvainkimouss (bon, maintenant, faudra le dire de vive voix, et toujours en anglais. je me marre d'avance ;)
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C'est pas moi, mais Julien, un poète de Paris. Photo de Istina.
Je la trouve... géniale.