• En passant ...

    Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
    Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
    Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
    Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. 

    Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
    Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
    Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
    Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. 

    He was my North, my South, my East and West,
    My working week and my Sunday rest,
    My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
    I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

    The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
    Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
    Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
    For nothing now can ever come to any good.

    Y a pas à dire rien ne peut égaler la langue anglaise ... petite nourriture céleste ...  à déguster ...


    All the World's a Stage

    All the world's a stage,
    And all the men and women merely players;
    They have their exits and their entrances,
    And one man in his time plays many parts,
    His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
    Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
    Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
    And shining morning face, creeping like snail
    Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
    Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
    Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
    Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
    Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
    Seeking the bubble reputation
    Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
    In fair round belly with good capon lined,
    With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
    Full of wise saws and modern instances;
    And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
    Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
    With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
    His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
    For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
    Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
    And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
    That ends this strange eventful history,
    Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
    Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. 

    William Shakespeare
    « Pause musicale de fin de journée ...Bonnes vacances ! »

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  • Commentaires

    Dimanche 24 Mars 2013 à 15:53

    Je découvre ton blog avec beaucoup de plaisir ! Comme quoi, on n'a jamais finit de découvrir des perles sur la toile malgré les longues heures passées à surfer...

    Moi je ne suis pas angliciste... Je l'enseigne aux CE1, CE2, CM1 mais ne raffole pas spécialement de cette langue... Cela me demande tant d'efforts de traduire. En lisant le début du premier poème j'ai tout de même reconnu de suite celui de "4 mariages..." et l'émotion ressentie lors de ce passage m'est malgré tout revenue ! Même en français !!!

    Allez : je continue le tour de ton blog.

    Merci à toi pour ce beau moment d'émotion redécouvert !

    Dimanche 30 Septembre 2012 à 08:24

    HIHIHI je viens de le relire encore une fois....mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

    Patapoufi Profil de Patapoufi
    Dimanche 1er Juillet 2012 à 21:51

    Haaaaa je me disais bien qu'entre anglicistes averties il y en aurait bien une qui saurait apprécier ce pur chef d'oeuvre ! Yes this poem comes from the film four weddings and a funeral. The film was on tv a few weeks ago... Heureuse que tu aies aimé rien à voir avec l'école juste pour le plaisir !

    Dimanche 1er Juillet 2012 à 19:30

    So Beautiful! The first is used in the famous film: Four weddings and a funeral isn't it?

    Bref j'adoooore!

    Et il est vrai que si on traduisait on y perdrait toute la poésie...

    See you soon...

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