"gainsbourg" poems
I stepped into the house and removed
my rain-soaked shoes on the grizzled entrance mat.
No one in the kitchen.
Though the aroma lingered, the coffee *** had turned itself off.
I touched the glass -- cool.
No one in the living room.
Half a pair of sequined flats were in the dog's mouth,
half a lady's pantsuit -- the black legs -- lied on the floor.
A soap opera on the screen, the volume low, the gold-tipped ceiling fan oscillating,
and Serge Gainsbourg's Histore de Melody Nelson played down the hall.
I followed the breathy vocals and wandering baseline to my room,
and there she sat.
The blinds open, veiny rain running along the pane,
on the beige carpeted floor, next to my unmade bed,
criss-crossed Jessica.
"Hey, sweetheart," I said.
Jessica smiled.
When she smiles, her cheeks go flush,
she lowers her head slowly, embarrassed,
but yet when she laughs,
she laughs loudly, boldly.
I've never understood that.
Jessica was wearing a white, spaghetti-strap undershirt
and blue cotton *******
Her brunette curls -- down, reaching past her shoulders.
Her toenails -- painted purple and chipped.
Newspapers lied strewn about her,
with puddles of acrylic paint atop them.
In her lap,
a white canvas stapled to a wooden backing frame.
She sang,
*"Princesse des ténèbres, archange maudit,
Amazone modern' style que le sculpteur,
En anglais, surnomma Spirit of Ecstasy."*
as she painted two lovers growing together
like curious oak trees.
I sat behind her on my bed. Pushed aside the tangled sheets.
She craned her neck to kiss my cheek sweetly.
"How was your day?" I asked.
"Oh, who cares," she responded.
Her eyebrows lifted, her fingertips traced my thigh,
"Tell me something beautiful."
"What?"
She dipped her paintbrush in red, in white and applied them
to the lovers' lips.
"Tell me something beautiful."
"I can't think of anything," I said.
"Try."
Sep 28, 2012
Sep 28, 2012 at 12:03 AM UTC
Solitary man
Always in good company
Of wonderful women
And Gainsbourgian groove
C’est bon chic bon genre
And rudimental rock at the same time
Crude cool
Love’s fool
Passion and percussion
Lust and lavish beats
Charming chansons
And seductive songs
Melody’s magnetic melodies
Du Jane B & Initials BB
A celebration of beauty
Monsieur Gainsbourg
T’es magnifique
Authentique
Flegmatique
Channeling what it means
To be obscenely genial
Fericiously cordial
What it means to live life
As If there’s only one day left
Toujours
Monsieur Gainsbourg
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 5:27 AM UTC
Jeg tager bøgerne ud af reolen og bladrer manisk siderne igennem
For at finde en sætning
Eller blot et ord
Dedikeret til os
Finde sammenlignelige, naive digtere for at prøve at bevise
At der i andre tider levede nogle som os
Gående op og ned ad de samme gader
Med fingrene flettede på præcis samme måde
Nogle som os med delt spyt, som vugges med hovedet hvilende på den andens bryst og dette blik, dette hjem vi har skabt i hinanden
Men ikke det mest sortklædte firserpar, der skiftes til at tage et sug af deres delte Gauloises
Ikke Strunge’s bankende brystlomme, nej, ikke engang Gainsbourg og Birkin, ikke Tafdrup eller Thomsen, ingen, nej, nej vi må være guder i al vores almindelighed, guder der køber cola i kiosken, guder når du skyller sveden af mig, vi må være engle når du ligger med dit hoved så fredeligt på puden, dine øjenvipper der ligner fjer og dit rytmiske åndedrag
Vi må være søskende, skilt ad ved fødslen
Skulle vi ikke skamme os, for alt det blod vi har delt
Skulle det ikke være forbudt, ulykkeligt
Skulle vi ikke love hinanden
At lukke øjnene til hver en tid
Skærme os fra solen
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 8:04 AM UTC
A night united together
For the very first time
Around the amish time
Inside this French Bistro
Surrounded by the glamorous duo
Gainsbourg & Birkin
Wrapping up the ambiant air
French musical undertones
Deep green velvets hues
Ilona, the Host of the Soirée
Walking as if she is dancing
With her irrepressible bubbliness
Serving us drinks & oysters
... Zee oysters ...
Taking their last breaths
In the fading ice
Indulging the no-teeth treatment
Is it a tragedy?
I dunno...I guess we will never know
Two Hirondelles lost in time
The time flying by
We are now the last guests of the Soirée
The clock ticking by
Its time to leave this place
And those two Rock Stars
We are leaving behind
I knew you were trouble from the very first time
But ahhhhh, so refreshing, so alike...
A night united together
For the very first time
May 2, 2019
May 2, 2019 at 2:38 AM UTC