miauw

The Naming Of Cats by T. S. Eliot
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
First of all, there’s the name that the family use daily,
Such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo or James,
Such as Victor or Jonathan, George or Bill Bailey–
All of them sensible everyday names.
There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter,
Some for the gentlemen, some for the dames:
Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter–
But all of them sensible everyday names.
But I tell you, a cat needs a name that’s particular,
A name that’s peculiar, and more dignified,
Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular,
Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?
Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum,
Such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat,
Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum-
Names that never belong to more than one cat.
But above and beyond there’s still one name left over,
And that is the name that you never will guess;
The name that no human research can discover–
But THE CAT HIMSELF KNOWS, and will never confess.
When you notice a cat in profound meditation,
The reason, I tell you, is always the same:
His mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation
Of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name:
His ineffable effable
Effanineffable
Deep and inscrutable singular Name.

Tout le temps…

Naragonia (Carabel)

Se lever avant la sonnerie du réveil et
Prendre le petit déjeuner à moitié en sommeil
Rattraper le temps, le temps qui court
Surtout ne pas tarder
Etre coincé dans les embouteillages et
Mon dieu, tout le temps perdu,
Tous ces gaspillages.

Rattraper le temps, le temps qui court
Qui s’enfuit pour toujours
Mais demain j’aurais toute la journée
Pour ne rien faire, juste un peu traîner
Ah, si je pouvais, un p’tit moment,
Ne pas me souvenir de l’heure et du temps

La tête farcie de listes interminables
Tout en gardant aux lêvres un sourire aimable
Rattraper le temps, le temps qui court
Surtout ne pas tarder
Et’ tiraillé de tous côtés
Ne pas trainer
S’ demander à quoi bon?
Se laisser absorber

Rattraper le temps, le temps qui court
Qui s’enfuit pour toujours
Mais demain j’aurais toute la journée
Pour ne rien faire juste un peu trainer
Ah, si je pouvais, un p’tit moment,
Ne pas me souvenir de l’heure et du temps

Mais demain j’aurais toute la journée,
Pour ne rien faire juste un peu trainer
Ah, si je pouvais, un p’tit moment,
Ne pas me souvenir de l’heure et du temps

Mais demain j’aurais toute la journée,
Pour ne rien faire juste un peu trainer
Ah, si je pouvais, un p’tit moment,
Ne pas me souvenir de l’heure et du temps

Se lever avant la sonnerie du réveil et
Prendre le petit déjeuner à moitié en sommeil
Rattraper le temps, le temps qui court
Surtout ne pas tarder
Etre coincé dans les embouteillages et
Mon dieu, tout le temps perdu,
Tous ces gaspillages.

Rattraper le temps, le temps qui court
Qui s’enfuit pour toujours
Mais demain j’aurais toute la journée
Pour ne rien faire, juste un peu traîner
Ah, si je pouvais un p’tit moment
Ne pas me souvenir de l’heure et du temps…

Voor wie het zich afvraagt: heerlijke wals in afwisselend 8 tijden en 5 tijden…

Ol’ Man River

Ik weet niet of jullie het al door hadden, maar ik ben dus een sucker voor oude musicals. Die liefde kreeg ik door via mijn mama en vooral mijn tante die toen ze jong was wel 3x per week naar de film ging. Ze kende alle Amerikaanse acteurs en actrices en sprak hun Engelstalige namen uit met een heerlijk Geraardsbergs accent. Eén van de meest meest memorabele en kippenvelbezorgende liederen vind ik nog steeds Ol’ Man River, uit de musical Show Boat. De voorbije dagen kwam ik het lied 2x tegen: ik zal ‘Till The Clouds Roll By en Show Boat zelf, meer dan genoeg om me zin te geven dit hier te plaatsen. Lees, luister, geniet mee. (YouTube video van de versie uit 1951).

From the Broadway Musical “Show Boat” (1927)
(Jerome Kern / Oscar Hammerstein II)

Dere’s an ol’ man called de Mississippi
Dat’s de ol’ man dat I’d like to be
What does he care if de world’s got troubles
What does he care if de land ain’t free

Ol’ man river, dat ol’ man river
He mus’ know sumpin’, but don’t say nuthin’
He jes’ keeps rollin’
He keeps on rollin’ along

He don’ plant taters, he don’t plant cotton
An’ dem dat plants’ em is soon forgotten
But ol’man river
He jes’ keeps rollin’ along

You an’ me, we sweat an’ strain
Body all achin’ an’ wracked wid pain,
Tote dat barge! Lif’ dat bale!
Git a little drunk an’ you lands in jail

Ah gits weary an’ sick of tryin’
Ah’m tired of livin’ an’ skeered of dyin’
But ol’ man river
He jes’ keeps rolling’ along

Niggers all work on de Mississippi
Niggers all work while de white folks play
Pullin’ dose boats from de dawn to sunset
Gittin’ no rest till de judgement day

(Don’t look up an’ don’t look down)
(You don’ dar’st make de white boss frown)
(Bend your knees an’ bow your head)
(An’ pull dat rope until you’re dead)

Let me go ‘way from the Mississippi
Let me go ‘way from de white man boss
Show me dat stream called de river Jordan
Dat’s de ol’ stream dat I long to cross

(Ol’ man river, dat ol’ man river)
(He mus’ know sumpin’, but don’t say nothin’)
(He just keeps rollin’)
(He keeps on rollin’ along)

Long, low river
Forever keeps rollin’

(Don’ plant taters, he don’ plant cotton)
(And dem dat plants’ em is soon forgotten)
(But ol’ man river
(He jes’ keeps rollin’ along)

Long low river
Keeps singin’ dis song

You an’ me, we sweat an’ strain
Body all achin’ and wracked wid pain
Tote dat barge! Lift dat bale!
Git a little drunk and ya lands in jail

Ah gits weary an’ sick o’ tryin’
Ah’m tired o livin’ an’ skeered o’ dyin’
But ol’ man river
He jes’ keeps rollin’ along!

Falling Slowly

Daithi Rua zong dit samen met Kadril voor hun That’s All Folk! tournee. Prachtnummer.

I don’t know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can’t react
And games that never amount
To more than they’re meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You’ll make it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can’t go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I’m painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It’s time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We’ve still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice

You’ve made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I’ll sing it loud

(Glen Hansard)

The Green Eye of the Yellow God

Dit gedicht van J. Milton Hayes werd op muziek gezet door Daithi Rua. Het is een prachtig gedicht en soms krijgen we van Daithi een cadeautje wanneer de omgeving zich ertoe leent tijdens één van zijn optredens en zingt hij het voor ons.

There’s a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There’s a little marble cross below the town;
There’s a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.

He was known as “Mad Carew” by the subs at Khatmandu,
He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell;
But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,
And the Colonel’s daughter smiled on him as well.

He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong,
The fact that she loved him was plain to all.
She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun
To celebrate her birthday with a ball.

He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew;
They met next day as he dismissed a squad;
And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do
But the green eye of the little Yellow God.

On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,
And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars:
But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,
Then went out into the night beneath the stars.

He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn,
And a gash across his temple dripping red;
He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day,
And the Colonel’s daughter watched beside his bed.

He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through;
She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod;
He bade her search the pocket saying “That’s from Mad Carew,”
And she found the little green eye of the god.

She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do,
Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet;
But she wouldn’t take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone
With the jewel that he’d chanced his life to get.

When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night,
She thought of him and hastened to his room;
As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air
Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro’ the gloom.

His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through;
The place was wet and slipp’ry where she trod;
An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,
‘Twas the “Vengeance of the Little Yellow God.”

There’s a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There’s a little marble cross below the town;
There’s a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.

Wow.

Hierzo. Ga, lees en hopelijk ben je evenzeer de indruk van het verhaal als ik 🙂

Edit 04/07/2011:

Blijkbaar werd het verhaal als ongepast geflagd op 9gag.com maar omdat ik jullie dit niet wil onthouden was de Google cache zo vriendelijk mij een beeldje te bezorgen:

Vanna’s Blue Laces

Deze blijft één van mijn favorietjes van Daithi Rua.

Her name is Vanna Ocurn, she comes from Battambang
The shy but happy daughter of a poor rice-farming man
Her country has seen wars and droughts and famine in the past
Now an even bigger threat hides in the long grass

Every 30 minutes, a landmine kills or maims
The aftermath of war has crippled in so many ways
Vanna was so very young when she befell her fate
Now the clean-up has begun, for many much too late

Vanna’s got blue laces in both shoes now
You can almost see her walk on water
Hopelessness has faded in the dust she leaves behind
Vanna’s got blue laces, watch her fly!

Vanna got her new leg when the blue lace people came
Said they had treaty to stop landmines being made
They fought for years as hard as those who fight to walk again
One step forward two steps back, solid ground to gain

Vanna’s got blue laces in both shoes now
You can almost see her walk on water
Hopelessness has faded in the dust she leaves behind
Vanna’s got blue laces, watch her fly!

Lightening storms remind her of the night when she was young
Night time ghosts surround her but her spirit it is strong
Pain and scars may fade away but memories will stay
Landmines have to disappear forever, today

Vanna’s got blue laces in both shoes now
You can almost see her walk on water
Hopelessness has faded in the dust she leaves behind
Vanna’s got blue laces, watch her fly!

Daithi gaat deze lente trouwens opnieuw op toernee met Kadril. Zij spelen de cultuurcentra plat met “That’s All Folk”, rond filmmuziek met ‘folk’- en wereldmuziekinslag, in de meest brede betekenis van het woord. Echt een aanrader als je de kans hebt om te gaan kijken en vooral luisteren! Ik zal in elk geval van de partij zijn wanneer ze in Mechelen spelen.