J'ai voulu écrire au sujet de la conférence étonnante chez Calvin que j'assiste le week-end passé, mais les mots ne sortiraient pas ma tête. Au lieu de cela, voici ma deuxième poéme préférée au sujet d'hockey (la première est ici), en l'honneur de les Canadiens de Montréal, qui sont la meilleure équipe dans la LNH (les Red Wings exceptées, mais pas pendant longtemps).
The Goalie Who Lives Across the Street
by Gordon Downie
Jean Beliveau's welcome any time
at the outdoor rink
in the park
just across from my house
for morning hockey under blue skies this winter.
Birds wheeling overhead
Russian temperatures
lousy to no gear
I'm the Goalie Who Lives Across the Street
Kids play with smokes hanging out
of their mouths;
beautiful puck hogs
with incredible tricks.
They are so easily fatigued,
they take a break after every rush.
Old-timers heckle:
"Hey, Jim Carroll. Pass the puck."
They don't get it.
No literary pretensions allowed.
Two minutes for
"I saw his blood,
a billowing crimson cloud
against the milk white ice."
That's an infraction here.
When the predatory follow the puck down to the other end
my net swarms like the Great Barrier Reef
with the smaller fish
My crease fills with good questions
and wobbly wrist shots
(there are no bad questions, only bad wrist shots)
And then there are
the parents
always yelling
always telling them
where to aim
At the rink across the street
Gerry Cheevers is welcome any time.
The Goalie Who Lives Across the Street
by Gordon Downie
Jean Beliveau's welcome any time
at the outdoor rink
in the park
just across from my house
for morning hockey under blue skies this winter.
Birds wheeling overhead
Russian temperatures
lousy to no gear
I'm the Goalie Who Lives Across the Street
Kids play with smokes hanging out
of their mouths;
beautiful puck hogs
with incredible tricks.
They are so easily fatigued,
they take a break after every rush.
Old-timers heckle:
"Hey, Jim Carroll. Pass the puck."
They don't get it.
No literary pretensions allowed.
Two minutes for
"I saw his blood,
a billowing crimson cloud
against the milk white ice."
That's an infraction here.
When the predatory follow the puck down to the other end
my net swarms like the Great Barrier Reef
with the smaller fish
My crease fills with good questions
and wobbly wrist shots
(there are no bad questions, only bad wrist shots)
And then there are
the parents
always yelling
always telling them
where to aim
At the rink across the street
Gerry Cheevers is welcome any time.
Babelfish says you wrote this:
"I wanted to write about the astonishing conference at Calvin whom I assist the weekend spent, but the words would not leave my head. Instead of that, here the second poéme preferred mien about hockey (the first is here), in the honor of the Canadians of Montreal, who are the best team in the LNH (Red Wings excluded, but not for a long time)."
Posted by
Anonymous |
8:32 AM
bork, i didn't know you spoke francais. (should've guessed, though, given your canadianness.) if we lived in the same city, i'd be after you to tutor me, although i suppose all things french are still considered mauvaise in GR.
i've been working on it for years so i could read jacques ellul in the original, among others. now that i say this out loud, i realize what a dorky aspiration it is.
Posted by
Phil |
11:13 AM
Oh, it's humbling to have a website point out the sloppiness of my French. I thought I may have conjgated "assister" incorrectly, but I think Babelfish assigned it a meaning that I didn't attend.
Anyways, I took the Babelfish translation, translated it to Greek (on Babelfish) and then translated the Greek back to English. Here's what it spit out:
"I wanted to write for the amazing conference in Calvin that I help the Weekend that xodey'etaj, but the words would not leave my head. Antj' this, here second pojme that is preferred for ho'key! (first is here), in the price of Canadians of Montreal, that are the better team in the LNH (red feathers that are excluded, but no for a lot)."
"ho'key!" :)
Posted by
Brian |
1:50 PM
erm, that should read "a meaning I didn't *intend*, not "attend."
"Assister" means "attend." Buh.
Posted by
Brian |
1:53 PM
A man who speaks french. damn! that's hot.
(just making up for all my snarky comments in Greek class.)
;-)
Posted by
Reverend Irreverent |
6:09 PM
I speak Spanish! I speak Spanish!You know what they say about Latin men ;-)
Posted by
Carlos |
6:15 PM
Merde! Ces hommes, ils agissent comme si tout les conversations etes les concurrences.
(That says, "Shit! Us guys act like every conversation's a competition.")
C'est vrai. Moi aussi. Regardez.
Posted by
Phil |
11:33 AM
yes, yes, all you french and spanish speaking gentlemen are truly adorable and sexy.
Poor Brian that his lovely post has been reduced to this. . .
although if anyone out there knows Italian. . .
Posted by
Reverend Irreverent |
11:45 PM
Brian, I recently saw your twin in Montreal...mysteriously he was a francophone...Is there something your not telling me about your secret Québecois family that split you from your twin?
Posted by
CJ |
7:47 PM
Wow, look how all these silly comments have turned this post into a contest about which language makes one the sexiest. What the hell, I'll join in. I took Latin! Cool huh? But I can't even talk dirty to anyone in Latin cause all we did was write it and never learned to speak it! Pretty sexy, huh? C'mon, me! me! me!
Seriously, though, nice poem.
Posted by
Jana |
6:50 PM
いいな。僕もフランス語を話したいです！！
Posted by
Joel Swagman |
11:39 PM