on life, music etc beyond mainstream

2018 20 Feb

for bess on a northern shore

von: Manafonistas Filed under: Blog | TB | 7 Comments


not for reason mixed with treason

not for all these beloved seasons (darling buds of may)

(the dust department has been closed recently)

no matter  what john d. and ross macdonald might add

or subtract and subvert

i am fighting for the first daylight

of  all your tomorrow mornings

(i would even paint the dawn)


This entry was posted on Dienstag, 20. Februar 2018 and is filed under "Blog". You can follow any responses to this entry with RSS 2.0. Both comments and pings are currently closed.


  1. Michael Engelbrecht:

    One of my favourite love poems of the 20th century…

  2. Martina Weber:

    What a spirit. Did you write it? (Big brother didn´t know.)

  3. Michael Engelbrecht:

    No, I surely did NOT write it.
    I wish I had.
    I translated it from French.
    He is not well known here.
    Nice you cannot google him via my translation.

  4. Martina Weber:

    Well, the translator of a poem is a poet, too :)
    Especially when the translation does not sound like one.
    So you don´t want to tell the guy´s name? Maybe the title in french? Or at least the time of first publication? 20th century, I guess – right?

  5. Michael Engelbrecht:

    Oh come on.
    This is what I like.
    When you cannot google every shit.
    Even if it is quite hot shit.
    I had discovered this poet in an article in LE MONDE, bought the book, and, years later, i start reading and loving it.
    He is dead. I‘m doing some translations just for fun.

    He loves jazz and crime literature, that‘s fine with me,
    His work: three collections of lyrics and childrens‘ books.

  6. Martina Weber:

    I know you like that. So keep your secret. It´s fine with me. I´m not supposed to know everything.

  7. Michael Engelbrecht:


    Ein Poet zu sein, uninteressant. Tatsächlich glaube ich, es gibt keinen prinzipiellen Unterschied zwischen einem Poeten und einem Milchmann, es sei denn, der Milchmann ist ausgestorben.

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