Personne ne me voit
Je suis une souris ordinaire
Une simple mouche
Un demi bouton de porte
Un ancien programme punaisé au mur
Un verre vide
Une plante un peu fanée
Un coussin égaré sous le canapé
Un rire inachevé
Une larme séchée sur une joue
Un lustre écaillé
Un vieux courant d'air
Un demi biscuit rance
Une boite vide entr'ouverte
Un lit à moitié défait
Un bruit de fond décousu
Personne ne me voit
Et pourtant c'est moi
19 04 2010 Thérèse Will
Report from Beginnings and Endings 19.4.10
Photos: Albert, shocked by his own poem, "tombstone obelisk floating out in space..."
Nadia: "Je suis, donc je pense..."
Nicolas: "the end of the world is coming..."
Meredith: "Life a series of fading photographs..."
Chris is presented with his birthday cake. Due to fire regulations he is only allowed 5 candles...
Some notes taken at the scene of the crime:
Keri had a guy handcuffed to a chair in a Tom Chalfont story. Tom was after monkey chowder. Michele sailed a vaginal ferry boat, but the Pope was gonna die. Lynne had two straight sticks of pain and dahlias in a deadly wind. Colin knows that in your room we those things did.
Troy's moat of fiery anger is melting his fragile fortress. Michel est bleu, comme la planete. Nicolas knows we love them for loving us for loving them for loving us. Gabrielle says "Brooklyn, take me in..." Jason had a song for that unpronounceable volcano. Fidelma was writing a book. Chris brought us the Bible as a book deal. Nadia sang "Je ne veux plus nobody, je suis bien avec me." Maxx read Byron on speed. Meg resurrected Poe's Annabel Lee. And Michele came back to see invisible dwarves.
All that and more took place in a packed Cabaret Pop. More next Monday, when the theme will be Being Someone Else...
Nadia: "Je suis, donc je pense..."
Nicolas: "the end of the world is coming..."
Meredith: "Life a series of fading photographs..."
Chris is presented with his birthday cake. Due to fire regulations he is only allowed 5 candles...
Some notes taken at the scene of the crime:
Keri had a guy handcuffed to a chair in a Tom Chalfont story. Tom was after monkey chowder. Michele sailed a vaginal ferry boat, but the Pope was gonna die. Lynne had two straight sticks of pain and dahlias in a deadly wind. Colin knows that in your room we those things did.
Troy's moat of fiery anger is melting his fragile fortress. Michel est bleu, comme la planete. Nicolas knows we love them for loving us for loving them for loving us. Gabrielle says "Brooklyn, take me in..." Jason had a song for that unpronounceable volcano. Fidelma was writing a book. Chris brought us the Bible as a book deal. Nadia sang "Je ne veux plus nobody, je suis bien avec me." Maxx read Byron on speed. Meg resurrected Poe's Annabel Lee. And Michele came back to see invisible dwarves.
All that and more took place in a packed Cabaret Pop. More next Monday, when the theme will be Being Someone Else...
SpokenWord themes for May-June 2010
les thèmes pour SpokenWord mai-juin 2010
3 May Used… utilisé
10 May Magic… la magie
17 May Translation… traduction
24 May Doctors… les médecins
31 May Maps… les cartes géographiques
7 June Revolution
14 June Time travel… voyager dans le temps
21 June CANCELLED/annulé (This is not a theme, we really have cancelled. ;-) )
28 June Skin… le peau
3 May Used… utilisé
10 May Magic… la magie
17 May Translation… traduction
24 May Doctors… les médecins
31 May Maps… les cartes géographiques
7 June Revolution
14 June Time travel… voyager dans le temps
21 June CANCELLED/annulé (This is not a theme, we really have cancelled. ;-) )
28 June Skin… le peau
Boundaries 12.4.10
SPOKEN WORD REPORT BOUNDARIES by Alberto.
Marty opened Spoken Word reading Décolleté / Décolletage by Régis Jauffret
Sex has never been very important to my wife…The nights when we are alone, we play chess. Our minds aren’t refined enough to develop strategies, we don’t really know the rules, and out of boredom I sometimes cry out check mate as soon as we begin. Then there’s nothing left but to go to bed. My wife undresses and then takes off her makeup at the bathroom sink. I sit on the edge of the bath and watch. My member is hard. I feel like a woman wearing a strap-on. I tell her I’m erect.
— You’re crazy.
— When we first got married, we used to make love.
— You know full well that for me our sex life is nothing but a bad memory.
Hoping that it is just a scratch that will swiftly fade, she sprays her sex with Mercurochrome before getting into bed.
Then 3 rounds and 26 poets followed.
--Alberto
Report from Zero 5.4.10
Photos: Dylan, Bruce
John Abrahams, immigrant from Shakespeare & Company knows there's no trace of space in this city. Paul dedicated his poems to the 95% of lawyers who are zeros, ''bastions of mindlesness.'' Each one has their own tragedy.
Michele crossed the Italian border on the harmonic night train. A policeman searched his poems for suspicious content.
Tom told of Cribbles, the juggling fish.
John No.2 brought a found poem:
''Many maniacs talk in rhyme
Or pun for hours on end.''
Mark was Fidelma from Ireland. But why'd he have to pick on me? ;-)
Troy brought the cards Hallmark rejected.
Bruce's books won't fade to black. Poetry is not for the straight shooter.
Rufo is closing in on zero. Are we the same that wake who slept?
Mercedes had Hemingway's clean well-lighted place.
Eric sorted through the husks of ancestors and bottlecaps. Fever boiling the rain.
All in all a quieter, more intimate night at the tail end of the long Easter weekend. I liked it that way.
See you tonight?
John Abrahams, immigrant from Shakespeare & Company knows there's no trace of space in this city. Paul dedicated his poems to the 95% of lawyers who are zeros, ''bastions of mindlesness.'' Each one has their own tragedy.
Michele crossed the Italian border on the harmonic night train. A policeman searched his poems for suspicious content.
Tom told of Cribbles, the juggling fish.
John No.2 brought a found poem:
''Many maniacs talk in rhyme
Or pun for hours on end.''
Mark was Fidelma from Ireland. But why'd he have to pick on me? ;-)
Troy brought the cards Hallmark rejected.
Bruce's books won't fade to black. Poetry is not for the straight shooter.
Rufo is closing in on zero. Are we the same that wake who slept?
Mercedes had Hemingway's clean well-lighted place.
Eric sorted through the husks of ancestors and bottlecaps. Fever boiling the rain.
All in all a quieter, more intimate night at the tail end of the long Easter weekend. I liked it that way.
See you tonight?
Alberto's report from "Needs" March 29th
Spoken Word Paris, March 29, the theme is Needs / Les Besoins.
Many poems and songs in the house,
like:
TELL ME, HILLARY
by Jean-Philippe Lazare
Tell me, Hillary, do you really need me?
(Oui, Jean-Philippe, j’ai besoin de toi !)
Then why do you stay with Bill?
Let me invite you to dinner in Paris, try to seduce you then after the meal,
I will pay the bill
With my credit card; please send him a postcard
And learn him the truth about you and me, Hillary...
Can you feel this deep harmony between you and me?
It’s a kind of magic, it’s a kind of romantic,
It’s a kind of frantic, let me use my semantic
In order to show you how much I appreciate you...
Tell me, Hillary, do you really need me?
(Oui, Jean-Philippe, j’ai besoin de toi !) (……..)
A Composition about Finding the Words to Begin With
By Miss Peacock
I looked hard into the knuckle of the storm,
And tried to work out which side of the rain
I should steal my sentences from.
I tried to decipher the words that were cut up in winds
And which metaphors the clouds bulged lourdeur with.
I tried to see the signs that words were his,
And not just whistling through whispers
Caught up through the wind tunnels
Where crazy valleys hid nonsense
With the overwhelming track of their one stone path.
Shivering through the brick your voices came. (……..)
An Intergalactic Tale of Love and Loss
By Tom
First we were friends
Then we we're lovers
And then we became....... pilots
But not just any pilots
We were space pilots
We'd steal way into the zorglesphere or Qwegtor 9 any chance we could
Such was our love and our travel lust (…….)
A wonderful blues which talks about everyone here:
I am the pensionaire etranger
By Jason
I am the pensionaire etranger
I got to Paris just other day
I’m gonna have a year of romance
While I’m in France
And all my friends on the East Coast
Will marvel at my Facebook posts
I am the pensionaire etranger
I cannot wait to sit in a cafè
I’ve got my notebook, coffee and my pencil
So existential
The ideas that I will deduce
While sitting there and reading Proust
I’ll read Proust, I’ll read Proust, oh how I’ll read Proust
I’ll read Proust, I’ll read Proust oh how, I’ll read Proust
I’ll read Beaumarchè
Sexy Geek
I’m so chic
Sexy Geek
I’m so chic
(whistle)
Three months later….
I am the pensionaire etranger
I haven’t seen the sun in 40 days
And every day when I have to get dressed
I get depressed
I think that their Melancholie
Is a bad case of SAD
Quand il pleut quand il pleut oh it makes me blue
Quand il pleut quand il pleut oh it makes me blue
I’d smoke cigarettes
But they’re soaking wet
Quand il pleut quand il pleut oh it makes me blue (…….)
If you want more come Monday 5th April.
Many poems and songs in the house,
like:
TELL ME, HILLARY
by Jean-Philippe Lazare
Tell me, Hillary, do you really need me?
(Oui, Jean-Philippe, j’ai besoin de toi !)
Then why do you stay with Bill?
Let me invite you to dinner in Paris, try to seduce you then after the meal,
I will pay the bill
With my credit card; please send him a postcard
And learn him the truth about you and me, Hillary...
Can you feel this deep harmony between you and me?
It’s a kind of magic, it’s a kind of romantic,
It’s a kind of frantic, let me use my semantic
In order to show you how much I appreciate you...
Tell me, Hillary, do you really need me?
(Oui, Jean-Philippe, j’ai besoin de toi !) (……..)
A Composition about Finding the Words to Begin With
By Miss Peacock
I looked hard into the knuckle of the storm,
And tried to work out which side of the rain
I should steal my sentences from.
I tried to decipher the words that were cut up in winds
And which metaphors the clouds bulged lourdeur with.
I tried to see the signs that words were his,
And not just whistling through whispers
Caught up through the wind tunnels
Where crazy valleys hid nonsense
With the overwhelming track of their one stone path.
Shivering through the brick your voices came. (……..)
An Intergalactic Tale of Love and Loss
By Tom
First we were friends
Then we we're lovers
And then we became....... pilots
But not just any pilots
We were space pilots
We'd steal way into the zorglesphere or Qwegtor 9 any chance we could
Such was our love and our travel lust (…….)
A wonderful blues which talks about everyone here:
I am the pensionaire etranger
By Jason
I am the pensionaire etranger
I got to Paris just other day
I’m gonna have a year of romance
While I’m in France
And all my friends on the East Coast
Will marvel at my Facebook posts
I am the pensionaire etranger
I cannot wait to sit in a cafè
I’ve got my notebook, coffee and my pencil
So existential
The ideas that I will deduce
While sitting there and reading Proust
I’ll read Proust, I’ll read Proust, oh how I’ll read Proust
I’ll read Proust, I’ll read Proust oh how, I’ll read Proust
I’ll read Beaumarchè
Sexy Geek
I’m so chic
Sexy Geek
I’m so chic
(whistle)
Three months later….
I am the pensionaire etranger
I haven’t seen the sun in 40 days
And every day when I have to get dressed
I get depressed
I think that their Melancholie
Is a bad case of SAD
Quand il pleut quand il pleut oh it makes me blue
Quand il pleut quand il pleut oh it makes me blue
I’d smoke cigarettes
But they’re soaking wet
Quand il pleut quand il pleut oh it makes me blue (…….)
If you want more come Monday 5th April.
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