miércoles, 11 de noviembre de 2009

Alicita´s corner. Softer than satin was the light from the stars. Prestamos oído a esta oreja de origen maño andaluz.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qh1dAgoa3Bc

hadah nos manda un poema en inglés a los comentarios. Lo sacamos de allí como el que se encuentra algo insospechado en el jardín. Por cierto, la película que lo inspiró tiene mucho de eso que yo trataba de describir en mi texto sobre la expo de Rosa, lo anormal que se esconde bajo la superficie anodina. 

EARS IN YOUR GARDEN
Some papers spread on the table,
The dishes not picked up,
I love your untidy house,
Because I’m so methodical instead.
I’m resting on your shoulder:
We decided to stay in bed today.
Skycrappers are growing upper and upper,
We can listen them to grow up.
In your garden there aren’t flowers any more.
Down outside some ears are growing up instead.
Shisssssh... speak lower, they could listen to us!

Supongo que para escribir esto, subconscientemente, me inspiró la oreja de humano, que no de cerdo, que el buen Jeffrey (Kyle MacLachlan) encuentra en un jardín en "Blue Velvet", película dirigida por David Lynch en 1986 y magníficamente interpretada por Dennis Hopper e Isabella Rossellini. Quién sabe...

El texto de la canción del enlace de arriba:

Bobby Vinton
(Bernie Wayne/Lee Morris)

She wore blue velvet
Bluer than velvet was the night
Softer than satin was the light
From the stars
She wore blue velvet
Bluer than velvet were her eyes
Warmer than May her tender sighs
Love was ours
Ours a love I held tightly
Feeling the rapture grow
Like a flame burning brightly
But when she left, gone was the glow of
Blue velvet
But in my heart there'll always be
Precious and warm, a memory
Through the years
And I still can see blue velvet
Through my tears

2 comentarios:

  1. ¡Hacía tiempo que no escuchaba esta canción! Gracias, siempre me gustó.
    h.

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  2. Aquí te envío otra co-silla (para sentarse en compañía), pequeño Sombrerero Loco. ¡Feliz día de no cumpleaños!


    PEOPLE IN COMBAT

    Men lined up,
    Among the sobs of mothers and wives,
    Ready to set off.

    It was the grey time.
    It wasn’t time for poems and butterflies,
    There was plenty of time yet
    For daisies and poppies...

    The rain passed, the wind passed
    And ears greeted the Sun,
    Rivers dried up.
    New songs were listened,
    And men, some men, returned.

    And my night wasn’t Moon any more,
    And our singing wasn’t Flower,
    Even though those children’s games
    Used to made us to smile

    hadah

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