Une oeuvre de Jean-Paul Lemieux, peintre, illustrant Émile Nelligan au Carré Saint-Louis enneigé.
Où que tu sois en ce jour, j'espère qu'on te laisse savourer un verre de vin rouge en célébration de tes racines.
17 March 2005
Santé Émile!
Une oeuvre de Jean-Paul Lemieux, peintre, illustrant Émile Nelligan au Carré Saint-Louis enneigé.
Où que tu sois en ce jour, j'espère qu'on te laisse savourer un verre de vin rouge en célébration de tes racines.
SOIR D'HIVER
Ah! comme la neige a neigé!
Ma vitre est un jardin de givre.
Ah! comme la neige a neigé!
Qu'est-ce que le spasme de vivre
A la douleur que j'ai, que j'ai.
Tous les étangs gisent gelés,
Mon âme est noire! Où-vis-je? où vais-je?
Tous ses espoirs gisent gelés:
Je suis la nouvelle Norvège
D'où les blonds ciels s'en sont allés.
Pleurez, oiseaux de février,
Au sinistre frisson des choses,
Pleurez oiseaux de février,
Pleurez mes pleurs, pleurez mes roses,
Aux branches du genévrier.
Ah! comme la neige a neigé!
Ma vitre est un jardin de givre.
Ah! comme la neige a neigé!
Qu'est-ce que le spasme de vivre
A tout l'ennui que j'ai, que j'ai...
Ma vitre est un jardin de givre.
Ah! comme la neige a neigé!
Qu'est-ce que le spasme de vivre
A la douleur que j'ai, que j'ai.
Tous les étangs gisent gelés,
Mon âme est noire! Où-vis-je? où vais-je?
Tous ses espoirs gisent gelés:
Je suis la nouvelle Norvège
D'où les blonds ciels s'en sont allés.
Pleurez, oiseaux de février,
Au sinistre frisson des choses,
Pleurez oiseaux de février,
Pleurez mes pleurs, pleurez mes roses,
Aux branches du genévrier.
Ah! comme la neige a neigé!
Ma vitre est un jardin de givre.
Ah! comme la neige a neigé!
Qu'est-ce que le spasme de vivre
A tout l'ennui que j'ai, que j'ai...
15 March 2005
Am Solo
La Dee Da
Not a character on Star Wars but rather the new cry of singles of either gender in this era. What happened? Hard to say. Somehow we lost our ability to touch and cannot feel anymore. Maybe we want to feel and forgot how to. So many people trying their hands at online dating, tuning in to message boards, discussing politics but mostly love to far away computer pen pals. We've lost proper grammar as well as the desire to listen to a real voice softly breathing on us. Through this mist, what do we really crave? Connections, or at least maybe a connection. People use words like soul mate, the One, etc. to describe who they're looking for. They often overlook the fact that they have little tolerance for any human foibles in their mate. Online, you can hear young men being repulsed by any type of hair found on the female body. Blemishes are looked down on (on both sides). If you're a gent, you have to be perfectly handsome, toned, educated, wealthy, connoisseur of things extraordinaire. Ladies need not be wealthy or particularly bright, but their breasts need perkiness and their willingness to perform like a porn star after cooking a five-course meal will be greatly coveted.
While we dote on anonymous correspondents, very real humans cross our busy paths on a daily basis. They remain overlooked and underappreciated. I guess this century can already claim one mutation (well, permutation would probably be more accurate), the solitarius cor cordis permutation. The lonely heart which, prior to this era was confined to his living-room with his TV for companionship, is now able to connect to *millions* of other lonely hearts unable or unwilling to associate with anything human.
I live on a short dead-end street with only eight houses on it. I barely speak to my neighbors. We've had a lot of snow this winter and, for the first time, my elderly neighbor has come and taken care of my driveway for me. He has a snowblower which makes the whole task so much more easier. He does not knock on my door to let me know he will be doing that. Nor does he knock to let me know he's done. If I'm already outside shoveling, he simply waves and proceeds as if it was already pre-arranged. I have baked banana bread and cookies for him. He accepts the goods, but never invites me in. He barely speaks to me, yet I think he must like me somewhat. It's hard for me to imagine us living this way fifty years ago - being so far apart, while being so close. I barely communicate with my other neighbors. I do have extensive dialogs with earthly neighbors living thousands of miles away though. They know things about myself that I wonder if I would tell them should they happen to be local friends.
Is this the way we are ushering in the new millennium? Will the 21st century be the era of hardcore singles, cybersex and lonely but horny online buddies? What exactly are we teaching the upcoming generation? Are we teaching them that there is no such thing as happiness and that it is better to remain in an unpleasant situation than to extract yourself from it and try to make things better around you. Often, adults (just like children) learn by imitating the behavior of those around them. Unfortunately, with the amount of disenfranchised souls around, future generations might turn a bit disconnected and a tad unhappy.
Of course it can be difficult to overcome shyness and reach out to strangers, but we need to look beyond the safety of our monitors and do so. In any case, we should also realize that the words we read online are not from a disembodied soul and they can sometimes mean more (or even less) than what they say. By jumping too quickly to conclusion, we project upon our interlocutor our own ideas or spin on things. This can only result in deception. Of course, it is fairly easy to then accuse that person of injecting sophism to muddy the waters, but it would be best to realize that on the contrary, our own reluctance to tear the veil before our eyes induced us in error.
I think that we need to reconnect with people we encounter on a daily basis. I try to do so by offering a smile, a wink or a wave to various people that I meet. Often I compliment strangers or eagerly offer them help. I do not expect anything in return. I am satisfied that I have touched them in some way. I simply try to be the change I wish to see as Mahatma Gandhi as suggested. He also said to believe in something, and not to live it, is dishonest. I am just trying to live a principled life.
La Dee Da Dee Da
Not a character on Star Wars but rather the new cry of singles of either gender in this era. What happened? Hard to say. Somehow we lost our ability to touch and cannot feel anymore. Maybe we want to feel and forgot how to. So many people trying their hands at online dating, tuning in to message boards, discussing politics but mostly love to far away computer pen pals. We've lost proper grammar as well as the desire to listen to a real voice softly breathing on us. Through this mist, what do we really crave? Connections, or at least maybe a connection. People use words like soul mate, the One, etc. to describe who they're looking for. They often overlook the fact that they have little tolerance for any human foibles in their mate. Online, you can hear young men being repulsed by any type of hair found on the female body. Blemishes are looked down on (on both sides). If you're a gent, you have to be perfectly handsome, toned, educated, wealthy, connoisseur of things extraordinaire. Ladies need not be wealthy or particularly bright, but their breasts need perkiness and their willingness to perform like a porn star after cooking a five-course meal will be greatly coveted.
While we dote on anonymous correspondents, very real humans cross our busy paths on a daily basis. They remain overlooked and underappreciated. I guess this century can already claim one mutation (well, permutation would probably be more accurate), the solitarius cor cordis permutation. The lonely heart which, prior to this era was confined to his living-room with his TV for companionship, is now able to connect to *millions* of other lonely hearts unable or unwilling to associate with anything human.
I live on a short dead-end street with only eight houses on it. I barely speak to my neighbors. We've had a lot of snow this winter and, for the first time, my elderly neighbor has come and taken care of my driveway for me. He has a snowblower which makes the whole task so much more easier. He does not knock on my door to let me know he will be doing that. Nor does he knock to let me know he's done. If I'm already outside shoveling, he simply waves and proceeds as if it was already pre-arranged. I have baked banana bread and cookies for him. He accepts the goods, but never invites me in. He barely speaks to me, yet I think he must like me somewhat. It's hard for me to imagine us living this way fifty years ago - being so far apart, while being so close. I barely communicate with my other neighbors. I do have extensive dialogs with earthly neighbors living thousands of miles away though. They know things about myself that I wonder if I would tell them should they happen to be local friends.
Is this the way we are ushering in the new millennium? Will the 21st century be the era of hardcore singles, cybersex and lonely but horny online buddies? What exactly are we teaching the upcoming generation? Are we teaching them that there is no such thing as happiness and that it is better to remain in an unpleasant situation than to extract yourself from it and try to make things better around you. Often, adults (just like children) learn by imitating the behavior of those around them. Unfortunately, with the amount of disenfranchised souls around, future generations might turn a bit disconnected and a tad unhappy.
Of course it can be difficult to overcome shyness and reach out to strangers, but we need to look beyond the safety of our monitors and do so. In any case, we should also realize that the words we read online are not from a disembodied soul and they can sometimes mean more (or even less) than what they say. By jumping too quickly to conclusion, we project upon our interlocutor our own ideas or spin on things. This can only result in deception. Of course, it is fairly easy to then accuse that person of injecting sophism to muddy the waters, but it would be best to realize that on the contrary, our own reluctance to tear the veil before our eyes induced us in error.
I think that we need to reconnect with people we encounter on a daily basis. I try to do so by offering a smile, a wink or a wave to various people that I meet. Often I compliment strangers or eagerly offer them help. I do not expect anything in return. I am satisfied that I have touched them in some way. I simply try to be the change I wish to see as Mahatma Gandhi as suggested. He also said to believe in something, and not to live it, is dishonest. I am just trying to live a principled life.
La Dee Da Dee Da
25 February 2005
So à propos
Get drunk
One should always be drunk. That's all that matters;
that's our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time's
horrible burden one which breaks your shoulders and bows
you down, you must get drunk without cease.
But with what?
With wine, poetry, or virtue
as you choose.
But get drunk.
And if, at some time, on steps of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the bleak solitude of your room,
you are waking and the drunkenness has already abated,
ask the wind, the wave, the stars, the clock,
all that which flees,
all that which groans,
all that which rolls,
all that which sings,
all that which speaks,
ask them, what time it is;
and the wind, the wave, the stars, the birds, and the clock,
they will all reply:
"It is time to get drunk!
So that you may not be the martyred slaves of Time,
get drunk, get drunk,
and never pause for rest!
With wine, poetry, or virtue,
as you choose!"
Charles Baudelaire
One should always be drunk. That's all that matters;
that's our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time's
horrible burden one which breaks your shoulders and bows
you down, you must get drunk without cease.
But with what?
With wine, poetry, or virtue
as you choose.
But get drunk.
And if, at some time, on steps of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the bleak solitude of your room,
you are waking and the drunkenness has already abated,
ask the wind, the wave, the stars, the clock,
all that which flees,
all that which groans,
all that which rolls,
all that which sings,
all that which speaks,
ask them, what time it is;
and the wind, the wave, the stars, the birds, and the clock,
they will all reply:
"It is time to get drunk!
So that you may not be the martyred slaves of Time,
get drunk, get drunk,
and never pause for rest!
With wine, poetry, or virtue,
as you choose!"
Charles Baudelaire
14 February 2005
The One That Got Away
He walked in the cafeteria as if he didn't have a care in the world. He was dressed in black from head to toe and sporting an avant-garde mullet. I thought he looked like a prince. "My Dark Prince," I whispered to no one in particular.
He grabbed something to eat and scanned the place quickly. Someone in my group called him. Or maybe he recognized someone and proceeded to come over. "Oh my God!" I thought. I didn't say a word to him, and barely managed to return his smile.
We weren't in any classes together. He never joined the improv class or even the theater group I was in but he seemed to know everyone that I knew. He preferred to work behind the scenes as opposed to on stage with the rest of us. He'd take care of the lighting, stage props, etc. I was never really one of the cool ones. I don't even understand how come I got to hang with the cool crowd. He definitely was part of the "in crowd". He was very quiet and had a mystique about him. We became friends fast and deep. We talked about philosophy, life and other neat stuff. Though we were young, 18 maybe 19, in our minds we felt already old and used.
I thought he was the most beautiful creature on earth, something about his heritage, half Native American half Italian.
I lost track of him when I dropped out of college. For years I never saw him again. One night, I went to a Peter Gabriel concert by myself. As the crowd was trying to crush me before the gates opened, I let out a cry of pain and a profanity. Someone next to me called my name. I turned to my right, not expecting that the person was actually speaking to me, and could not believe my eyes. "Pietro?" I asked, but I already knew. "Wow! It's so cool to see you here! How have you been?" we both exclaimed. My Dark Prince was back.
His smile was wide and his green eyes were twinkling and it really looked as if he was glad to meet me again after all these years. I had grown into a good looking woman, and was very confident in my charms. Yet, when I saw him, I went back to being a mousy teenager.
I had an excellent seat and told him to follow me, as his was horrendous. We found a spot where we could watch the concert together without being bothered by ushers. We had a blast. I couldn't believe my luck. After the show, we went out for drinks and talk almost all night long.
We resumed our friendship as if seven months had passed, not seven years.
We lost touch again after some misunderstanding between my roommate, Monique, Pietro and me. Two's company, three's a crowd. He got out of my life one more time, and I didn't try to hold him back.
I never found the courage to tell him that I loved him. He did ask me once but I changed the subject. It has been 23 years since our first encounter and 15 since our last, and when I think of him I still have butterflies fluttering in my stomach as if he could walk in any time. Of course that's impossible; we don't even live in the same country anymore. Yet I know that he surprised me once when we stumbled into each at that concert. What were the chances then? What are the chances now?
I am older and not as sexy nor as confident anymore. But somehow this makes me less afraid to admit my infatuation to him. I would love to have the opportunity to reveal to him how he made a lasting impact on at least one person on this earth.
In a way, it saddens me that I might never get closure. My feelings for him were real and intense. I'd like to know if he loved me even a little. What were my chances? Whenever someone says "It’s better to have remorse than regrets," I know exactly what they mean.
He grabbed something to eat and scanned the place quickly. Someone in my group called him. Or maybe he recognized someone and proceeded to come over. "Oh my God!" I thought. I didn't say a word to him, and barely managed to return his smile.
We weren't in any classes together. He never joined the improv class or even the theater group I was in but he seemed to know everyone that I knew. He preferred to work behind the scenes as opposed to on stage with the rest of us. He'd take care of the lighting, stage props, etc. I was never really one of the cool ones. I don't even understand how come I got to hang with the cool crowd. He definitely was part of the "in crowd". He was very quiet and had a mystique about him. We became friends fast and deep. We talked about philosophy, life and other neat stuff. Though we were young, 18 maybe 19, in our minds we felt already old and used.
I thought he was the most beautiful creature on earth, something about his heritage, half Native American half Italian.
I lost track of him when I dropped out of college. For years I never saw him again. One night, I went to a Peter Gabriel concert by myself. As the crowd was trying to crush me before the gates opened, I let out a cry of pain and a profanity. Someone next to me called my name. I turned to my right, not expecting that the person was actually speaking to me, and could not believe my eyes. "Pietro?" I asked, but I already knew. "Wow! It's so cool to see you here! How have you been?" we both exclaimed. My Dark Prince was back.
His smile was wide and his green eyes were twinkling and it really looked as if he was glad to meet me again after all these years. I had grown into a good looking woman, and was very confident in my charms. Yet, when I saw him, I went back to being a mousy teenager.
I had an excellent seat and told him to follow me, as his was horrendous. We found a spot where we could watch the concert together without being bothered by ushers. We had a blast. I couldn't believe my luck. After the show, we went out for drinks and talk almost all night long.
We resumed our friendship as if seven months had passed, not seven years.
We lost touch again after some misunderstanding between my roommate, Monique, Pietro and me. Two's company, three's a crowd. He got out of my life one more time, and I didn't try to hold him back.
I never found the courage to tell him that I loved him. He did ask me once but I changed the subject. It has been 23 years since our first encounter and 15 since our last, and when I think of him I still have butterflies fluttering in my stomach as if he could walk in any time. Of course that's impossible; we don't even live in the same country anymore. Yet I know that he surprised me once when we stumbled into each at that concert. What were the chances then? What are the chances now?
I am older and not as sexy nor as confident anymore. But somehow this makes me less afraid to admit my infatuation to him. I would love to have the opportunity to reveal to him how he made a lasting impact on at least one person on this earth.
In a way, it saddens me that I might never get closure. My feelings for him were real and intense. I'd like to know if he loved me even a little. What were my chances? Whenever someone says "It’s better to have remorse than regrets," I know exactly what they mean.
Redemption Song
Old pirates, yes, they rob I
Sold I to the merchant ships
Minutes after they took I
From the bottomless pit
But my hand was made strong
By the hand of the Almighty
We forward in this generation
Triumphantly
Won't you help to sing
these songs of freedom
They're all I ever had
Redemption songs
Redemption songs
Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery
None but ourselves can free our minds
Have no fear for atomic energy
'Cause none of them can stop the time
How long shall they kill our prophets
While we stand aside and look
Oh! Some say it's just a part of it
We've got to fulfill the book
Won't you help to sing
These songs of freedom
They're all I ever had
Redemption songs
Redemption songs
Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery
None but ourselves can free our mind
Woo! Have no fear for atomic energy
'Cause none of them-a can-a stop-a-the time
How long shall they kill our prophets
While we stand aside and look
Yes, some say it's just a part of it
We've got to fulfill the book
Won't you help to sing
These songs of freedom
They're all I ever had
Redemption songs
All I ever had
Redemption songs
These songs of freedom
Songs of freedom.
Lift Every Voice and Sing - James Weldon Johnson
Lift ev'ry voice and sing,
Till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the list'ning skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
Let us march on till victory is won.
Stony the road we trod,
Bitter the chast'ning rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat,
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered.
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past,
Till now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.
God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way;
Thou who hast by Thy might,
Led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,
Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee;
Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
May we forever stand,
True to our God,
True to our native land.
Till earth and heaven ring,
Ring with the harmonies of Liberty;
Let our rejoicing rise
High as the list'ning skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us,
Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us;
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun,
Let us march on till victory is won.
Stony the road we trod,
Bitter the chast'ning rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died;
Yet with a steady beat,
Have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered.
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered,
Out from the gloomy past,
Till now we stand at last
Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.
God of our weary years,
God of our silent tears,
Thou who hast brought us thus far on the way;
Thou who hast by Thy might,
Led us into the light,
Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee,
Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee;
Shadowed beneath Thy hand,
May we forever stand,
True to our God,
True to our native land.
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