Welcome back, river's disguise. I hope that you are feeling better and will continue to contribute.
Georges
My take on "Take This Waltz"
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George.Wright
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river’s disguise
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- Location: Western NY
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river’s disguise
- Posts: 15
- Joined: Sat Dec 06, 2003 9:36 am
- Location: Western NY
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Jurica~ If it's about suiside that's probably why I love it so much! *LOL* I have an intamate relationship to death's door. *LOL*
George~ I am feeling much better and will continue to contribute my input as time allows. I am at the final stages of my schooling and am getting ready to finally get out on my own. It is a nervous but exciting time for me. Keep me in your prayers guys! Thx
George~ I am feeling much better and will continue to contribute my input as time allows. I am at the final stages of my schooling and am getting ready to finally get out on my own. It is a nervous but exciting time for me. Keep me in your prayers guys! Thx
And I’ll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
With the photographs there, and the moss
And I’ll yield to the flood of your beauty
My cheap violin and my cross
With the photographs there, and the moss
And I’ll yield to the flood of your beauty
My cheap violin and my cross
Hi All (and Heretic)!
I had no idea this was about suicide.
How does "the pools that you lift on your wrist" mean suicide? Is it drowning?
And "I've got to lie down with you soon" doesn't sound like killing yourself. Especially in an attic on some sweet afternoon. It sounds like sex to me.
I hope Heretic doesn't come here and tell me how dumb I am.
I had no idea this was about suicide.
How does "the pools that you lift on your wrist" mean suicide? Is it drowning?
And "I've got to lie down with you soon" doesn't sound like killing yourself. Especially in an attic on some sweet afternoon. It sounds like sex to me.
I hope Heretic doesn't come here and tell me how dumb I am.
OK, Coco,
this is original poem. Now COUNT how many times a word death was used in it:
Little Viennese Waltz
by Frederico Garcia Lorca
In Vienna there are ten little girls,
a shoulder for death to cry on,
and a forest of dried pigeons.
There is a fragment of tomorrow
in the museum of winter frost.
There is a thousand-windowed dance hall.
Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this close-mouthed waltz.
Little waltz, little waltz, little waltz,
of itself of death, and of brandy
that dips its tail in the sea.
I love you, I love you, I love you,
with the armchair and the book of death,
down the melancholy hallway,
in the iris's darkened garret,
Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this broken-waisted waltz.
In Vienna there are four mirrors
in which your mouth and the ehcoes play.
There is a death for piano
that paints little boys blue.
There are beggars on the roof.
There are fresh garlands of tears.
Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this waltz that dies in my arms.
Because I love you, I love you, my love,
in the attic where the children play,
dreaming ancient lights of Hungary
through the noise, the balmy afternoon,
seeing sheep and irises of snow
through the dark silence of your forehead
Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this " I will always love you" waltz
In Vienna I will dance with you
in a costume with
a river's head.
See how the hyacinths line my banks!
I will leave my mouth between your legs,
my soul in a photographs and lilies,
and in the dark wake of your footsteps,
my love, my love, I will have to leave
violin and grave, the waltzing ribbons
...BUT, as I said - I'm not sure if he rewrote this song with intention to express it's original emotion or he used Lorca's words to express something different.
One more thing, Coco:
don't ever let any explanation ruin anything for you. Poem has no meaning by itself. All art is like that. It lives a life you give it. A picture is only a piece of old cloth dirtied by some oil-paint before you look at it and give it life. It's in your head that a poem lives, and it's always your as much as it is author's.
Don't ever forget that!
this is original poem. Now COUNT how many times a word death was used in it:
Little Viennese Waltz
by Frederico Garcia Lorca
In Vienna there are ten little girls,
a shoulder for death to cry on,
and a forest of dried pigeons.
There is a fragment of tomorrow
in the museum of winter frost.
There is a thousand-windowed dance hall.
Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this close-mouthed waltz.
Little waltz, little waltz, little waltz,
of itself of death, and of brandy
that dips its tail in the sea.
I love you, I love you, I love you,
with the armchair and the book of death,
down the melancholy hallway,
in the iris's darkened garret,
Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this broken-waisted waltz.
In Vienna there are four mirrors
in which your mouth and the ehcoes play.
There is a death for piano
that paints little boys blue.
There are beggars on the roof.
There are fresh garlands of tears.
Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this waltz that dies in my arms.
Because I love you, I love you, my love,
in the attic where the children play,
dreaming ancient lights of Hungary
through the noise, the balmy afternoon,
seeing sheep and irises of snow
through the dark silence of your forehead
Ay, ay, ay, ay!
Take this " I will always love you" waltz
In Vienna I will dance with you
in a costume with
a river's head.
See how the hyacinths line my banks!
I will leave my mouth between your legs,
my soul in a photographs and lilies,
and in the dark wake of your footsteps,
my love, my love, I will have to leave
violin and grave, the waltzing ribbons
...BUT, as I said - I'm not sure if he rewrote this song with intention to express it's original emotion or he used Lorca's words to express something different.
One more thing, Coco:
don't ever let any explanation ruin anything for you. Poem has no meaning by itself. All art is like that. It lives a life you give it. A picture is only a piece of old cloth dirtied by some oil-paint before you look at it and give it life. It's in your head that a poem lives, and it's always your as much as it is author's.
Don't ever forget that!
Awesome !! "It [Poem] lives a life you give it." May I adopt that phrase?Poem has no meaning by itself. All art is like that. It lives a life you give it. A picture is only a piece of old cloth dirtied by some oil-paint before you look at it and give it life. It's in your head that a poem lives, and it's always your as much as it is author's.
" the pools that you lift on your wrist" - For myself I never went beyond the mental image of a little pool of water in a woman's cupped hands by the river. That was quite satisfying in itself.
.I'll be wearing a river's disguise
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder
....I have considered these two lines together as metaphor. Water Hyacinth flower grows and floats on the river covering it and is therefore the river's disguise....the narrator wears hyacinth flowers wild [wild=brilliant=very prominent] on his jacket (formal wear) thus sorta covering his shoulder so he is wearing the river's disguise by doing so. The two are dancing along the rivers edge and the lady kneels down and makes a little pool with her palms cupped together pivoted on her wrist and entices the gent and he bends over still dancing. An intimate moment in the dance involves kissing her bare thighs which are dew-covered/moist in the outdoors setting.
It works like a ballet.
But perhaps my version is less colorful without the sex, masturbation and double suicide.
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder
....I have considered these two lines together as metaphor. Water Hyacinth flower grows and floats on the river covering it and is therefore the river's disguise....the narrator wears hyacinth flowers wild [wild=brilliant=very prominent] on his jacket (formal wear) thus sorta covering his shoulder so he is wearing the river's disguise by doing so. The two are dancing along the rivers edge and the lady kneels down and makes a little pool with her palms cupped together pivoted on her wrist and entices the gent and he bends over still dancing. An intimate moment in the dance involves kissing her bare thighs which are dew-covered/moist in the outdoors setting.
It works like a ballet.
But perhaps my version is less colorful without the sex, masturbation and double suicide.