"brel" poems - Hello Poetry

My wish for you is that you have a neverending series of dreams and a furious desire to realize a few of them. My wish for you is that you love what must be loved and forget what must be forgotten. I wish you passions. I wish you silences. My wish for you is that you hear the songs of birds and the laughter of children at your awaking. My wish for you is that you resist the downtroddenness, the indifference, the negative virtues of our era.My wish for you especially is that you be YOU!(translated from the French by Dennis O'Connor)

0

Feb 20, 2010

Feb 20, 2010 at 10:48 AM UTC

bebobeck

''Letter to the Son I Never Had'' by Jacques Brel

My wish for you is that you have a neverending series of dreams and a furious desire to realize a few of them. My wish for you is that you love what must be loved and forget what must be forgotten. I wish you passions. I wish you silences. My wish for you is that you hear the songs of birds and the laughter of children at your awaking. My wish for you is that you resist the downtroddenness, the indifference, the negative virtues of our era.My wish for you especially is that you be YOU!(translated from the French by Dennis O'Connor)

1

Tears from dusky lowered lids crystallize and scintillate in the flames of the guttering candles. (Walk away, love, walk away! Kiss my cheek and turn.- A shattered heart beats, ****** in your breast.) We love, and yet we return to our 'others'. We pray we never hurt them. Pray we never break. I cannot stop this love! I do not regret it. There! I only hope that we hide it well enough that it not disturb the innocents... because, we were innocents too, when it came crashing into our lives. Bien! Non Regrets Rien. Sing the song, and Edith will sing with us. ... Or Aznavour will. Or Lara Fabian, or Jacques Brel... Sing on le chanteur et les chanteurs, then come and weep with me.

0

Dec 19, 2011

Dec 19, 2011 at 5:31 AM UTC

deborah-birch

When the Little Sparrow Sings (a poem for Edith Piaf)

Tears from dusky lowered lids crystallize and scintillate in the flames of the guttering candles. (Walk away, love, walk away! Kiss my cheek and turn.- A shattered heart beats, ****** in your breast.) We love, and yet we return to our 'others'. We pray we never hurt them. Pray we never break. I cannot stop this love! I do not regret it. There! I only hope that we hide it well enough that it not disturb the innocents... because, we were innocents too, when it came crashing into our lives. Bien! Non Regrets Rien. Sing the song, and Edith will sing with us. ... Or Aznavour will. Or Lara Fabian, or Jacques Brel... Sing on le chanteur et les chanteurs, then come and weep with me.

15

What an odd duck. Reading his mead is like drowning in sweet annoyance. His criticism, self-westernizing reference to Greek heroes; I know but don't care as much as my sister, My look-a-like; Die Zwilinge. Who am I to question the genius. A genius of his craft, but blind in sanity. Who am I to question us, Deaf to the genius of our own Muse-ick. It is just us three: #, Brel and me. Trois Faisans, # 6 ft under self, Master Brel sings still of Les Bourgeois, and me toolin around still JoJo.

0

Feb 24, 2013

Feb 24, 2013 at 9:05 PM UTC

jojo-nguyen

Ezra #

What an odd duck. Reading his mead is like drowning in sweet annoyance. His criticism, self-westernizing reference to Greek heroes; I know but don't care as much as my sister, My look-a-like; Die Zwilinge. Who am I to question the genius. A genius of his craft, but blind in sanity. Who am I to question us, Deaf to the genius of our own Muse-ick. It is just us three: #, Brel and me. Trois Faisans, # 6 ft under self, Master Brel sings still of Les Bourgeois, and me toolin around still JoJo.

23

do people write each other letters anymore, and if so, do they send them? when was the last time you visited a post office? when was the last time you licked a stamp? when was the last time an envelope with your name hastily hand-scribbled in cursive make your anxious heart beat uncontrollably? has it ever? have you ever? do people dedicate songs to each other anymore? do they wait twenty-nine minutes on call to declare a love in their heart for you on the radio? do people listen to the radio anymore? do they call at 6 25 AM to leave a 3 minute and 53 second voicemail with Jacques Brel desperately crooning "ne me quitte pas" ? do people still like other people? do people still like themselves? do people know that they are people? are people even people anymore? I deem not your response but my own rearranging complacency of mind I am aware that I am still human and although I am not fond of myself all the time which only makes me that much more human I am utterly and entirely fond of you every peeking minute of the day, every fleeting hour of the night you fill my mind with worded imagery so I write you a letter with no other intention than for you to know your essence is in all of my favourite songs all of my favourite songs lead me to you oh, love love is so human my love is so human for you, my love and I'll try anything to hold on to these sensations a while longer these physical notions carry my emotional train of thought these physical notions are temporary gestures of my everlasting love

0

May 28, 2014

May 28, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC

arubybluebird

1998

do people write each other letters anymore, and if so, do they send them? when was the last time you visited a post office? when was the last time you licked a stamp? when was the last time an envelope with your name hastily hand-scribbled in cursive make your anxious heart beat uncontrollably? has it ever? have you ever? do people dedicate songs to each other anymore? do they wait twenty-nine minutes on call to declare a love in their heart for you on the radio? do people listen to the radio anymore? do they call at 6 25 AM to leave a 3 minute and 53 second voicemail with Jacques Brel desperately crooning "ne me quitte pas" ? do people still like other people? do people still like themselves? do people know that they are people? are people even people anymore? I deem not your response but my own rearranging complacency of mind I am aware that I am still human and although I am not fond of myself all the time which only makes me that much more human I am utterly and entirely fond of you every peeking minute of the day, every fleeting hour of the night you fill my mind with worded imagery so I write you a letter with no other intention than for you to know your essence is in all of my favourite songs all of my favourite songs lead me to you oh, love love is so human my love is so human for you, my love and I'll try anything to hold on to these sensations a while longer these physical notions carry my emotional train of thought these physical notions are temporary gestures of my everlasting love

41

A COUPS DE POURQUOI Time waiting like a lowly servant coughing politely every now and then to remind them that ahem...the world is...waiting their ********** laughing "So, let it...wait!" The world tapping a toe impatiently eyes turned up to Heaven Time shrugging its shoulders in a "what-can-I do" way. She laughs at her and him ( it was always her and him ) puppets now of the imagination memory's home movie Time's revenge remembering how it had been now how the train hurtles through a darkness her reflection made of night and cold glass hung there suspended staring into her own crying eyes knowing it could never last what a fool she'd been she scorned herself she this living painting of the past Reality once again getting the upper hand Time and the World put in their place the expensive meal uneaten on the plate the ship leavng the town behind slowly so reluctant to do so before distance and the dark take control 'til the town too is nothing but a memory hostage to the past Jacques Brel's voice lost inside her head "...a coups de pourquoi..." Now, here, somewhere in mid-Atlantic she finds herself in the middle of nowhere the middle of nowhere exactly where she wanted to be "oublier le temps oublier le temps oublier le temps."

0

Jun 15, 2018

Jun 15, 2018 at 2:19 PM UTC

donall-dempsey

A COUPS DE POURQUOI

A COUPS DE POURQUOI Time waiting like a lowly servant coughing politely every now and then to remind them that ahem...the world is...waiting their ********** laughing "So, let it...wait!" The world tapping a toe impatiently eyes turned up to Heaven Time shrugging its shoulders in a "what-can-I do" way. She laughs at her and him ( it was always her and him ) puppets now of the imagination memory's home movie Time's revenge remembering how it had been now how the train hurtles through a darkness her reflection made of night and cold glass hung there suspended staring into her own crying eyes knowing it could never last what a fool she'd been she scorned herself she this living painting of the past Reality once again getting the upper hand Time and the World put in their place the expensive meal uneaten on the plate the ship leavng the town behind slowly so reluctant to do so before distance and the dark take control 'til the town too is nothing but a memory hostage to the past Jacques Brel's voice lost inside her head "...a coups de pourquoi..." Now, here, somewhere in mid-Atlantic she finds herself in the middle of nowhere the middle of nowhere exactly where she wanted to be "oublier le temps oublier le temps oublier le temps."

66

I love blueberries. I love the groves of almond trees you see as you drive up to Sacramento. I love anchovies and raw broccoli. I love Spanish wine and the feel of your tongue when I am down between your legs. I love Jacques Brel, and the piles of peaches that appear in stores late in the spring. I love gin and tonic, Alexander Calder’s mobiles, and the early novels of Philip Roth. I love laying in bed with you looking at pictures of Greece. I love smoked salmon, especially on a bagel toasted with a little bit of butter. I love lemon drops, Frank Sinatra, and e.e. cummings. I love the smell of eucalyptus trees and those long, flat strips of bark that peel off their trunks like paper.

0

Jul 24, 2020

Jul 24, 2020 at 12:07 PM UTC

AnnPedone

Love Song #1

I love blueberries. I love the groves of almond trees you see as you drive up to Sacramento. I love anchovies and raw broccoli. I love Spanish wine and the feel of your tongue when I am down between your legs. I love Jacques Brel, and the piles of peaches that appear in stores late in the spring. I love gin and tonic, Alexander Calder’s mobiles, and the early novels of Philip Roth. I love laying in bed with you looking at pictures of Greece. I love smoked salmon, especially on a bagel toasted with a little bit of butter. I love lemon drops, Frank Sinatra, and e.e. cummings. I love the smell of eucalyptus trees and those long, flat strips of bark that peel off their trunks like paper.

39

A COUPS DE POURQUOI Time waiting like a lowly servant coughing politely every now and then to remind them that ahem...the world is...waiting their ********** laughing "So, let it...wait!" The world tapping a toe impatiently eyes turned up to Heaven Time shrugging its shoulders in a "what-can-I do" way. She laughs at her and him ( it was always her and him ) puppets now of the imagination memory's home movie Time's revenge remembering how it had been now how the train hurtles through a darkness her reflection made of night and cold glass hung there suspended staring into her own crying eyes knowing it could never last what a fool she'd been she scorned herself she this living painting of the past Reality once again getting the upper hand Time and the World put in their place the expensive meal uneaten on the plate the ship leavng the town behind slowly so reluctant to do so before distance and the dark take control 'til the town too is nothing but a memory hostage to the past Jacques Brel's voice lost inside her head "...a coups de pourquoi..." Now, here, somewhere in mid-Atlantic she finds herself in the middle of nowhere the middle of nowhere exactly where she wanted to be "oublier le temps oublier le temps oublier le temps."

0

Jun 15, 2019

Jun 15, 2019 at 8:39 AM UTC

donall-dempsey

A COUPS DE POURQUOI

A COUPS DE POURQUOI Time waiting like a lowly servant coughing politely every now and then to remind them that ahem...the world is...waiting their ********** laughing "So, let it...wait!" The world tapping a toe impatiently eyes turned up to Heaven Time shrugging its shoulders in a "what-can-I do" way. She laughs at her and him ( it was always her and him ) puppets now of the imagination memory's home movie Time's revenge remembering how it had been now how the train hurtles through a darkness her reflection made of night and cold glass hung there suspended staring into her own crying eyes knowing it could never last what a fool she'd been she scorned herself she this living painting of the past Reality once again getting the upper hand Time and the World put in their place the expensive meal uneaten on the plate the ship leavng the town behind slowly so reluctant to do so before distance and the dark take control 'til the town too is nothing but a memory hostage to the past Jacques Brel's voice lost inside her head "...a coups de pourquoi..." Now, here, somewhere in mid-Atlantic she finds herself in the middle of nowhere the middle of nowhere exactly where she wanted to be "oublier le temps oublier le temps oublier le temps."

66

A COUPS DE POURQUOI Time waiting like a lowly servant coughing politely every now and then to remind them that ahem...the world is...waiting their ********** laughing "So, let it...wait!" The world tapping a toe impatiently eyes turned up to Heaven Time shrugging its shoulders in a "what-can-I do" way. She laughs at her and him ( it was always her and him ) puppets now of the imagination memory's home movie Time's revenge remembering how it had been now how the train hurtles through a darkness her reflection made of night and cold glass hung there suspended staring into her own crying eyes knowing it could never last what a fool she'd been she scorned herself she this living painting of the past Reality once again getting the upper hand Time and the World put in their place the expensive meal uneaten on the plate the ship leaving the town behind slowly so reluctant to do so before distance and the dark take control 'til the town too is nothing but a memory hostage to the past Jacques Brel's voice lost inside her head "...a coups de pourquoi..." Now, here, somewhere in mid-Atlantic she finds herself in the middle of nowhere the middle of nowhere exactly where she wanted to be "oublier le temps oublier le temps oublier le temps."

0

Jun 18, 2020

Jun 18, 2020 at 6:04 AM UTC

donall-dempsey

A COUPS DE POURQUOI

A COUPS DE POURQUOI Time waiting like a lowly servant coughing politely every now and then to remind them that ahem...the world is...waiting their ********** laughing "So, let it...wait!" The world tapping a toe impatiently eyes turned up to Heaven Time shrugging its shoulders in a "what-can-I do" way. She laughs at her and him ( it was always her and him ) puppets now of the imagination memory's home movie Time's revenge remembering how it had been now how the train hurtles through a darkness her reflection made of night and cold glass hung there suspended staring into her own crying eyes knowing it could never last what a fool she'd been she scorned herself she this living painting of the past Reality once again getting the upper hand Time and the World put in their place the expensive meal uneaten on the plate the ship leaving the town behind slowly so reluctant to do so before distance and the dark take control 'til the town too is nothing but a memory hostage to the past Jacques Brel's voice lost inside her head "...a coups de pourquoi..." Now, here, somewhere in mid-Atlantic she finds herself in the middle of nowhere the middle of nowhere exactly where she wanted to be "oublier le temps oublier le temps oublier le temps."

66