Au fil de nos lectures, in English please!

et un petit lien pour de la poésie (et des photos des auteurs) en anglé (ou améwicain surtout ?) : lumpy pudding

R. R. Cuscaden :

CARSHOPS AT CENTRALIA

There are men who have worked among all
This steel for fifty years. When I shake
Their hands I am touching the railroad.

When they were young and their youth
Made the old men smile, they thought:
I shall try this out; I can always leave.

Now they know they will never leave.
Their wives are dead, their sons are gone.
The change of seasons is strange to them.

When I speak to them they do not hear.
There is too much lost and forgotten,
Too many years, here, at Centralia, Illinois.

Dave Etter :

TWO BEERS IN ARGYLE, WISCONSIN

Birds fly in the broken windows
of the hotel in Argyle.
Their wings are the cobwebs
of abandonned lead mines.

Across the street at Skelly's
the screen door bangs against the bricks
and the cards games last all day.

Another beer truck comes to town,
chased by a dog on three legs.

Batman lies drunk in the weeds.

par la force des choses (c'est dommage que ça ne soit pas traduit ce bouquin) :

Citation :

Time moves in one direction, memory in another.
   We are that strange species that constructs artifacts intended to counter the natural flow of forgetting.
   I sometimes think that nothing really is new; that the first pixels were particles of ocher clay, the bison rendered in just the resolution required. The bison still function perfectly, all these millenia later, and what screen in the world today shall we say that of in a decade? And yet the bison will be there for us, on whatever screens we have, carried out of the primal dark on some impulse we each have felt, as children, drawing. But carried nonetheless on this thing we have always been creating, this vast unlikely mechanism that carries memory in its interstices; this global, communal, prosthetic memory that we have been building since before we learned to build.

premières lignes de l'article Dead man sings de William Gibson, un article sur le temps, la mémoire (et un lien simplement exposé de représentation, d'où l'information (et ses technologies mais sans geekisme aucun).

Et l'article est consultable sur Internet par exemple ?

ton commentaire Animal sera bien en français, rassures moi   

ben comme d'habitude.  

(c'est bête que ce ne soit pas traduit ce bouquin).

colimasson a écrit:

Et l'article est consultable sur Internet par exemple ?

celui là apparemment pas mais d'autres oui, par exemple celui sur Singapour : Disneyland with the Death Penalty

une liste de "ressources" : ici

un poème pour les frapumés :


James Schuyler: October

Books litter the bed,
leaves the lawn. It
lightly rains. Fall has
come: unpatterned, in
the shedding leaves.

The maples ripen. Apples
come home crisp in bags.
This pear tastes good.
It rains lightly on the
random leaf patterns.

The nimbus is spread
above our island. Rain
lightly patters on un-
shed leaves. The books
of fall litter the bed.


source déjà mentionnée : lumpy-pudding

La poussette du futur dans The Peripheral de W. Gibson, juste un morceau du bric-à-brac du décor :

Citation :

Had the nannies shitting themselves, that did, Ossian said now, apparently apropos of nothing.

What did?

Your buggy, there. Indicating, Netherton at first thought, the burdened coatrack. Against the wall. He pointed. Cloaked.

Netherton now made out the outline of a folded pushchair, currently emulating what happened to be nearest, in this case grubbily off-white wall and the brown tartan lining of a weathered jacket.

The grandfather had it sent from Moscow, Ossian said, when the girl was born. Diplomatic bag. Only way to get it in.

Why was that?

Has a weapons system. Pair of guns. Nothing ballistic, though. Projects very short-term assemblers. Disassemblers, really. Go after soft tissue. Take it apart at a molecular level. Seen footage of doing that to a side of beef.

What happens?

Bones. Its autonomous, self-targeting, makes its own call of threat levels.

Who would pose the threat?

Your Russian kidnappers, said Ossian.

It does that with a baby aboard?

Being shown pandas against the trauma, by then. Headed home, nannies or no, in armed evasion mode.

si j'ai (un peu) compris, la valise est la seule voie de sortie ? (ça fait écho au film vu hier soir (Nu parmi les loups où un enfant juif est caché dans une valise dans un camp)

il s'agit d'une poussette, autonome, avec camouflage optique et système de défense (qui désintègre les tissus des cibles visées) et qui passe des images de panda au gamin pour ne pas le stresser sur le chemin du retour.

pliante en plus.


... le genre de matos hyper rassurant.

The Song of Quoodle
G.K. Chesterton

They haven't got no noses,
The fallen sons of Eve;
Even the smell of roses
Is not what they supposes;
But more than mind discloses
And more than men believe.

They haven't got no noses,
They cannot even tell
When door and darkness closes
The park a Jew encloses,
Where even the law of Moses
Will let you steal a smell.

The brilliant smell of water,
The brave smell of a stone,
The smell of dew and thunder,
The old bones buried under,
Are things in which they blunder
And err, if left alone.

The wind from winter forests,
The scent of scentless flowers,
The breath of brides' adorning,
The smell of snare and warning,
The smell of Sunday morning,
God gave to us for ours

And Quoodle here discloses
All things that Quoodle can,
They haven't got no noses,
And goodness only knowses
The Noselessness of Man.