Slept in a little this morning, but I’m ready to go now. Click here for the Day 10 thread in the forum.
Today’s prompt comes to us from Linda Hofke.
Here’s Linda’s prompt: Since we have people all over the world (myself included) why not do a “use a foreign word” in the title of your poem or in your poem. Since many English words we use originated in other languages, it shouldn’t be too hard. Examples would be commonly known words or phrases such as (in German) Guten Tag and angst, (in Italian) Arrivederci and Amore, (in French) a la carte, a la mode, au contrairea, (in Spanish) loco, siesta, or guacamole.
Robert’s attempt at a Foreign Word Poem:
“Salut”
I’m always a sucker for words that rhyme with you
like vous, nous, et tu. It is a beautiful view
when two young adults both woo on the avenue–
the clue is in how few folks use the word salut.
*****
Thank you, Linda, for the prompt–c’est magnifique! Click here to learn more about Linda.
Here’s a link to the Day 10 thread in the WD Forum.
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Check out this discounted poetry super pack of publishing knowledge. It includes the 2013 Poet’s Market and a few other helpful goodies–all for less than the cover price on the Poet’s Market!
Day 10
Prompt: Use a foreign word in poem title
Maison des
Sounds so much sweeter
than “house of.”
Mon Maison c’est grand.
My house is grand.
See?
It doesn’t have the same ring.
Better than casa,
maison’s my name of choice for my dwelling.
Déjà Vu
Watching mirror eyes
Dopplerganger waiting
To take my place
I remember what never happened.
Life in glass, reflection silent
In the watching
Life, ideas stir.
I sift thought,
Hoping for a magnum opus
But am stuck with déjà Vu lines.
Koshka der Wunderkat
She trods across the open case
of clothes, inspecting all the folds,
the belts, slapping at the flaps
as if they’ll run away like mice.
She knows the pattern, that soon
I’ll zip the case and she’ll be
forced into the pink cat cage,
hoping the mice in her mind
don’t see the humility, how she
has to crouch down, to bow
for the ride to her sitter’s house,
growling at them on the ride,
like a curled up leopard, asleep
beneath the baobab trees.
Siesta
The pleasure of cuddling up
In the middle of the afternoon
While the world works
A tradition fast losing its glory
When the sun is high in the sky
While the highways are busy
Some countries carry the banner
Of a siesta cozy
Where I grew up it was a norm
Of a heavy lunch preceding a nap
I enjoyed it as a kid
Sleeping next to my grandfather
In the middle of the afternoon
His lips fluttering
Amidst the snores
Promptly at three, tea was made
Boiled and brewed
Served with sugar and savory
On the table laid
Post siesta felt like re-birth
Full of zeal and enthusiasm
Some like it some not
Just another lurking chasm
Teaching His Grandson Polish
Grandpa was trying to teach his grandson Charles how to say
“Good day, how are you?” in Polish. We were stationed in
Virginia and the Chinn Center was the local library. I found
out one of the “proper” librarians I admired was from
Poland. Charles was with me and I introduced him and said he
could say a few words in Polish. When she asked him to say
something he stood up proudly and shouted, “Dupa!” A word
he picked up from his Grandmother. Thankfully she laughed.
MCM Whenever,
The winter wasn’t nearly that cold that year
as it had been the previous.
This year, the snow melted at half-past sunrise.
He, with his meaty fingers, and
her, with her bony knuckles,
woke up with the cloudy fog of
age
and the slowly dying embers of the cooking fire
set in the heart not long
before both of them reached adulthood.
This flame,
these embers,
have never tasted defeat.
Each stone is blacker than the one before it
and so shall it forever remain.
They get up with the singular notion that
coffee is the answer to all their troubles.
And for them, it is.
Today,
they shall be the ones who wake the rooster.
Within a few moments, the
dreary dawn is shaken
from their eyes,
and they begin their work.
She always wondered what it was
she was supposed to do.
He rode out into the back 40,
wrangled, and lifted
all the heavy things.
She cooked.
In a way, that’s what she has done
and it has made them both happy.
They ride on together in a small
joy
knowing that this will last straight on into the
MCM Whenever.
Hablamos Espanol
At a local high school, on Thursday Nights,
a charity assists people by giving medical
attention. My role is to translate Spanish
to English, (patients) English to Spanish
(doctors & nurses. Sometimes, I get patients
from registration to diagnosis to check out.
I was surprised is the warmest way
when one lady with a non-threatening
condition hugged me just before she vanished
behind the door that opened to the parking lot.
Her gratitude, in the universal embrace,
though it was doctors and nurses with years
of schooling, and perhaps Goliath student
loans, whom volunteered to promote
wellness, spoke silently, yet, at full volume.
Language draws the voice of the heart
to state its condition, it draws thoughts
to mindful collaboration. I think about
when I get a pedicure, the aestheticians
go on and on in a foreign language.
Sometimes laughter interrupts the hum
of business . And I do okay not knowing
what is being alleged in their dialect.
It is none of my business even if they look
my way with eyes that tease my lack
of understanding. Theirs is a connection
that excludes me. Sometimes that kind
of knowing will get you a hug from a total
stranger, who isn’t strange at all.
Comprende?
Your eyes search my face -
do I understand your Spanglish?
Can I grasp what it is that you
so desperately want to tell me.
I look deep into your eyes of brown –
they speak volumes -
no need to interpret.
“Ich sah, du sah”
(German: “I saw, you saw”)
It’s all about
helping out
working together
progress thru
cooperation
back & forth
give & take
push & pull
Foreign Word
The first time he said those
words to me, like lyrical
raindrops dancing off his
tongue and into my heart,
I saw love measured in
rubies and emeralds, sun-
lit beauties in cascading
piles, the first time he
caught me when I slipped
and held my elbows until
I was steady again and
dipped his head when I
murmured my breathless
thanks and whispered
back, “Mon plaisir.”
Mirabile Dictu
Marvelous, it really is marvelous the way
the tea leaves writhe in the boiling water,
twisting and arcing, then sinking to settle
on the bottom like teapot leviathans. She
keeps a clear glass vessel just to view it,
instead of the everyday earthenware pot.
Now there is this new fancy, dried flowers
put in with the tea, so that we can watch
a wreath of jasmine unfurling, and sweet
rose petal scent mixes with tangy steam.
Calendula opens its yellow face, lavender
buds pop up the length of their stem, one
after the next. Last week, she invited over
a Scottish friend, and for him a red thistle
bloomed, in all its Caledonian glory. She
asks if there is anything more wonderful
than the agony of the leaves, and I find
myself with nothing to say.
Deja Vus
I pull into an unfamiliar circular brick drive.
I’ve been here before—
in a dream.
Instead of a bus, I’m driving a car.
Not in Israel, but in my hometown.
A strange feeling envelopes me.
Why is this scene so similar?
Why does it evoke such emotion?
Perhaps another dream on a future day
will explain the mystery.
Je Suis Viviant (I am Alive.)
This appointed day I greet
with meditation
and the breath I keep.
Many friends await me,
as I await them,
conversations and discussions
about life and its meanings.
I am a heartbeat
I am a breath
I am flesh,
a spirit
and more.
While in gratitude
I take a moment
to contemplate the breadth
of the life I know.
Del Sol
light through window
awakening day spirits
stirring of light
promises to keep
friends I greet
keep to promises
light of stirring
spirits day awakening
window through light
Blasé
I feel so in the dumps today
As if my mind – je ne sais –
has gone on vacance.
While you, looking askance
enquire, ”Are you ok?”
deja vu
and I’m thinking of you
again
spiderweb
touch brushing
the back of my neck
silky soft and
new
before i turn and realize
it can’t be you
and I’ve felt all this
before
“French Femme Fatale”
The French femme fatale dressed in haute couture,
a wild melange of eau de toilette and macramé.
She rendezvoused with the avant-garde
(never the bourgeoisie!)
With carte blanche and a laissez-faire approach,
she drove a creme de la creme auto
Nothing blasé, just
whatever she found to be nouveau
One night, after circling the cul-de-sac,
she attended a soirée,
ate too many croissant,
escargot hors d’oeuvres and creme brûlée.
Sipping Pinot noir, she felt deja vu
then overcome with sudden malaise,
She said, “C’est la vie!”
and rested upon a nearby chaise.
This site has treated me like a foreign agent at its door today. Over an hour of trying to post. If they take, there are two below, then off I go to sleep.
Eating the World
Pasta, matzoh, caviar,
Vodka, sushi, you’re my star,
Shining culinary, full,
Upon a world so edible.
Moo goo gai pan, snitzel, flan
you eat the worlds like kneading pa’an;
you savor subtle turns of phrase
while shoveling in rich cassoulets.
Some immigrants may miss their spice-y
Additives to all things rice-y
But you eat cultures sweet or savory,
my hungry Russian, moy radnoy.
*****************************************************
Bu Zhidao
He comes from a small village,
the only student among them
to go to university to learn English.
Blushing redder with every word,
he finally says the words that hurt him,
Wo bu zhidao. Wode Yinyu bu hao.
I don’t know. My English is not good.
Finally I can use the Chinese I’ve been learning
in my spare time and Saturday classes.
Hao-de. Wode Hanyu (Chinese) bu hao.
Then he smiles and we are like baby birds
learning to tweet in chickadee and mourning dove,
both of us linguistic nestlings,
longing to take wing.
Jane, I love Bu Zhidao! Thanks for your tenacity in getting it posted!
Schadenfreude
He wasn’t one of the easily profiled
Didn’t start out harming small animals
For instance, making the neigbourhood
Cats disappear at random intervals
Or worse, turn up in various states
Of butchery, evidence of a sadistic mind
Developing – no, the evolution of his cruelty
Was a subtler shade, not something even
He was aware of until well into his twenties
When he’d begun to think he might actually
Be a sadist but he didn’t seek out the pleasure
Of others’ misfortune or pain – just enjoyed it
It was a good day when he discovered
The Germans had a word for it, “schadenfreude”
It felt good on his tongue, sat well in his mind.
NO TALL ORDER
(a shadorma)
There are days
I am on the brink…
when I need
“just one” drink!
Some days, a shot is plenty…
today, it’s venti.
I enjoyed this prompt. Here is my … um .. silly attempt.
http://whatnotshop.blogspot.com/2012/11/language-barriers.html
Salud!!!
I say it when you sneeze
or when making a toast.
I pray for it ‘most every night,
when in need, or just because.
It’s the only thing that makes you rich.
The ones who lack it, crave it.
If you don’t take care of it enough…
Hasta la vista, baby!
Arroyo Seco
The riverbed,
usually dry
emerges
from a canyon
in the
Sierra Madre
Mountains,
Its boulder-choked
bed lies
between bedroom
communties
on land
once crossed
by Spanish
padres visiting
neighboring
missions.
Now, after fires,
when floods
race down
scantily forested
slopes and check
dams fail,
the channel
is choked
with roiling
waters. That
is the way
of Alta
California,
sometimes
not enough,
and other times,
far too much.
If you don’t
watch out,
it can wash
you away.
SCHLEMIEL AND SCHLIMAZEL
Brothers of misfortune,
neither quite composed,
one a dolt for clumsy sake,
the other indisposed.
Schlemiel can’t seem to
chew gum and walk there:
he falls on Schlemazel,
get’s gum in his hair!
(TONGUE IN CHEEK IN) MYOPICA
a hundred years ago in a high school German
class I had a teacher with one squiggy eye who
always caught me passing notes because I could-
n’t tell where she was looking and I don’t know if
it’s that I was passing notes and not paying atten-
tion but all I can really remember is the dialogue
we learned by rote, “Gooten tog, Louisa, vee gates”
and “ooh aye leh biblioteck” or wait that second one
might be French because I also took a French class
from a lady I don’t remember at all, guess she didn’t
have a squiggy eye and all I remember from that
class was the dialogue we learned by rote, so it all
runs together or I don’t know maybe I was passing
notes in that class too. At any rate, I try to avoid
speaking foreign languages because people tend
to laugh at the very American way I say things
though even across the country here in America I
can’t understand my Southern cousin on the phone
because her English is not my English and I get
all flustered when I try to sort out all the extra vow-
els and syllables we don’t use here in California be-
cause she might as well be saying “Gooten tog,
Louisa, vee gates, ooh aye leh biblioteck?” for as
well as I can understand her, and then there’s the
Queen’s English my British son in-law speaks
and really when he was first dating my daughter
and I’d talk to him on the phone I’d just be all “uh
huh!” and “oh?” at hopefully appropriate times be-
cause honestly it didn’t sound like any “English”
I’d ever heard and then I have another son-in-law
from Mexico and he laughs when I say the names
of the Mexican foods I eat like ONchiladas or kaysa-
deeyas or the “con kaysah” cheese I put on my tortil-
la chips (and don’t even get me started on the word
‘tortilla’) and then I learned to say “shee shee” to the
Chinese man who gave me a massage because it
means Thank you but then I giggled and kind of ru-
ined the moment so mostly I stick to gesturing and
just try to avoid the whole thing because everybody
should just learn to speak American, shouldn’t they?
BELLA LUNA
Oh, what a night!
The stars slip into the background
you have found a new vision to view.
The glow of this brilliant evening sky
draws you as if pulling upon the tides,
an ebb and flow of emotions thrills.
It stands still, painted on the black velvet night,
this beautiful moon obsessed..
Oh, what a night, Bella Luna!
Great prompt idea, Linda!
Poeti Belle – Penne Potenti
Viewing life through interpretive lens
Beautiful poets
Powerful pens
Dedicated to all of you out here. You are all AMAZING.
I hope my phrase is grammatically correct in French. It has been over thirty years since I took French classes.
Bons Mots Avec Mon Amis
When there is trouble,
When I am feeling undone,
Good words with my friends
Can set me back on the path
Of true joy and happiness.
My friends are treasure
Given me by gracious God
To inspire and lift
Me from the desolate depths
Of deepest darkest despair.
We may be distant,
Not knowing each other well,
But we bridge the space
With loving kindness, friendship,
That suits our needs very well.
I can often share
Bons mots avec mon amis
About anything
I choose and they will answer
Giving their good opinions,
Jesus has been good
Enough to grace my life with
People who mean so
Much to me in every way,
Bons mots avec mon amis.
Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Saturday, November 10, 2012
http://hopefuljo.wordpress.com/2012/11/10/365-creativity-project-day-306/
“Epsilon, Epsilon”
What is an epsilon? Is that the E
in Greek? Some variable in science
that scientists all know? And what of me?
My newfound tentative epsilon sense
is that it’s the name of the company
that bought my company. It’s not immense,
but my team is now a drop in the sea—
within the public ocean of commerce.
There was something to being privately
held I didn’t appreciate fully
until now. Now it’s harder to think, “We
do this work, steer our success, own the fruit
of our shared daily creativity.”
But hopefully we’ll find strength in the roots,
cross pollination, global influence.
Change is strange and reactions largely moot
when forces beyond us are in cahoots.
Febrero Loco
Febrero, the crazy month, when the mountains
Come to life and send shivers of deep thunder
Through all the towns in the valley.
A thunder dark and menacing, an ancient
Sound. The Spaniards must have heard
It and wished they were back in Spain
A primeval muttering filled with threats.
Febrero loco when its morning chills
become sweating afternoons. A day
like spring will produce an evening
rain that covers the mountain peaks
with snow. The Jacaranda blooms.
There are still read petals left on the
Ponsiana trees. So many flowers,
Life is a garden, but beware –
Change is quick, the mountains
Shake, the earth trembles, the sky
Is serene, tonight it is filled with stars.
Have Mercy
“Merci,” she said, in such a clever-sounding
French accent.
“Merci.”
I wished I was half so clever
and even a quarter so beautiful.
Her hair was short, glossy,
chic: adorable.
But then I took another look.
It was not that she was
all that pretty, really.
But she had such an air
about her,
one of savoir-fair
and confidence.
Her makeup was minimal
and her clothing was really
nothing that special,
yet,
when she spoke,
looked up, flashed her
smile (slightly crooked teeth),
people changed around her.
They saw her as beautiful
because that is how she saw
herself.
Her confidence was all the difference,
and a powerful lesson
to me.
Merci.
Diana Terrill Clark
Love this.
So true.
Thanks Sharon! ^_^
Le Croûton
She was known affectionately
as Le Croûton, a crusty,
not overly busty,
chipper off the old loaf,
and everywhere
she went she flaked
and flurried neat
sourdough crumbs
all around her feet.
Poetics Aside November Challenge – Day 10
Use a foreign word in title or body of poem
Montauk Mélange
Motoring to Montauk Beach,
vacation for one week, no limit
on luggage. Kate, who has fanatic
needs to bundle up all her treasures
wherever she’s going, shleps
lo scolapasta for possible
pasta meals, paper, crayons,
and colored pencils. We step
into a musty cabin. `Salute,’
Kate cries when we sneeze
from the dust. A baby topo
darts by; Kate is unfazed.
I yell, `Oy,’ and jump. Nicky
says, `aspetta, grabs a broom,
and whisks the little guy outdoors.
We pour some vino, raise our glasses
for a toast. My husband says, `Slainte.’
UMGEKEHRT
Wrong way, that’s how I approached it.
Kerry was my first puppy – German Shepherd, so naturally
she’d speak another language. Sitz, Fuss, Bleib.
She’d leap and spin in circles, chase her tail. In time,
I learned some Dog: eye contact, hand signals,
body language. In time, she learned Sit, Heel, Stay.
But she died too young, never developed a dog’s
humungous English vocabulary:
Well, I guess we ought to… Where are my… Let’s go…
Her pups grew up bilingual, second-generation
Human. Yet none of them
could learn to Stay more than 12 or 13
years – never long enough.
And I’m still trying to learn their
language.
nuqneH
Not a real language
or even a real species
yet they teach it in universities
and sounds like you’re spitting out feces
As much as I love Star Trek
and the Star Trek Universe
I don’t have time to speak it
or even attempt a verse
But it’s fun to say “Hello”
in every language there is, see
even if its Klingonese
and makes you feel dizzy.
Hjem
And this is hjem,
hjem is where the heart is,
cups filled, the table set -
where cod and mustard wait,
and we speak to each other of the day
and we know that God listens in.
HOWDY, HELLO AND ALOHA
Driving on the pavement
in Britain would get you arrested.
A hood, there, would be worn on the head.
Showing your vest would be considered vulgar
instead of smart street wear for men.
Derby is a Rolls Royce of a town
and not a neat round hat.
Even the date there is
spoken backwards -
two countries split
by an ocean and
the pitfalls of
a common
language.
GAFFE!
Often when I make a mistake,
I imagine that I am in some
mod French movie (oh, sorry—
film) where the action screeches
to a halt, and over everything
is superimposed the word
GAFFE! It helps
to make my mistake
more glamorous, not an
ugly smallness, but a gaffe,
something worthy of notice
by, say, a poodle or an old man
in a striped boatneck sweater.
(I am trafficking in stereotype
here, but this is my fantasy.
Am I not allowed?)
Gaffes are not the end
of the world if they mean
I can retreat for a moment
into this faux French scene
of cafés and umbrellas
where I am not
the worst person
who ever lived, but
just another poor
être humain
stumbling on
cobbled streets
in the rain of
my error.
Mes Bêtes Noires
By: Meena Rose
Disenchantment is at play when
The responsible ones
Would rather laissez-faire
And turn a blind’s eye
To the many faux pas actions
Being committed under
Their watch as though a
Carte blanche justified
The atrocities that
Have now become part
Of our daily grind;
Each day a déjà vu
Of the last, numbing
Hearts as the world
Establishes a new normal;
Desensitized, heartless
Masses, too invested in
Victor versus victor,
Vis-à-vis headlines and
Soundbites that are
Repeated over and over;
A daily mantra to navigate
The grind, a raison d’être
For many more.
Then there is Yin that
Is supposed to balance
The Yang – what if instead
They went tête à tête?
Ecrire “to write” in french
I love to write verse on nature’s palm
ingrain my signature upon it’s fallen leaves
ponder and rummage up a song or two
with the permission of the shedding trees
Namaste
The world is flat
and that is final.
Believe me, this
is the only fact
that matters. You
scoff and ask
for proof yet
you offer none
to the contrary.
It wasn’t always
this way yet this
is how it all
began and it is
how it will end.
C’est la vie laughs
the old man who
has been this way
a time or two before.
Behold the wiser
elderly woman on
her first journey
who speaks to you
without saying a word.
By Michael Grove
Trying to catch up! Day One: Matches
NUMB
Do I match anymore?
Do I fit. . .in?
Do we share a similar view?
What planet are you from?
Did you really say that?
Surely it’s not me; it’s you.
When did it leave?
Why do we scream?
Why is there grace no more?
I go my way.
I’m lost in a fog.
I am a dinosaur.
In Time of War
(Hjem, Haus, Hame, Home – Norwegian, German, Scottish, English)
Sounds of gun shots ricochet in my head,
as we fight the ambush –
focusing on the memories of hjem.
Smoke and screams surround me,
as we fight the ambush -
warmth, laughter, your eyes – safe at haus.
Blood and powder cover my vision
as we fight the ambush -
thoughts of hame give me strength.
A few cries in the fogs of silence
as the ambush ends –
I carry home with me, always.
waking
to the sound of rain
toujours la même chose
ENTRE NOUS
Entre nous, you are magnifique.
Entre nous, I love every word you speak.
Why is it elle that you seek?
Why isn’t my entre with tu?
If only you knew of my nous.
Here’s mine:
http://whimsygizmo.wordpress.com/2012/11/10/sol/
Economy
I watched The Girl With
The Dragon Tattoo last week
(the Swedish version).
The subtitles were epic.
All the actors said was “Hei.”
Bloody clever
Billy says bloody
When he wants to sound English.
He thinks it’s clever
To swear like a cab driver
When in fact he just sounds crude.
Desplazado*
In the whirring wind
salted sands blow
tears to eyes
taunting that
former empathic self
safe in my compassion
for others
“See?” the echo whispers
whirling ceaselessly within
I easily moved as any other
chess piece of this cerulean
rounded board of marble
I was, and we all can be,
at the whimsical flick of
Nature’s wave or breath or simple
shift of movement
Desplazado
*displaced as an individual moved about
If you have a moment take a look at this poem at “Imagine” my blog…http://www.drpkp.com/2012/11/pad-day-10-desplazado.html
Have italics and changed it up a bit…understand if you cannot or do not have desire to visit – if you do would be welcome. Be back later I HOPE TO READ and be able to comment. Now must rush while I have a few hours alone in hotel room to write like maniac for NaNo…we shall see…
Happy poeming all
Lost In Translation (Sort of)
Circular logic
is the best logic because
it is circular. (English)
logique circulaire
est la meilleure logique, car
il est de forme circulaire. (French)
lógica circular
el mejor sentido, porque
es de forma circular. (Spanish)
zirkuläre Logik
der beste Sinn, weil
kreisförmig ist. (German)
sirkulær logikk
beste betydning fordi,
sirkulær. (Norwegian)
円形のロジック
なぜなら、最高の感覚
円形。(Japanese)
Circular logic
Because the best feeling
Round. (English)
______________________
Note: I took a poem I wrote the other day and ran it through Google translator. You can see the results. ☺
Sorry – there should be a space between the German and Norwegian stanzas.
Arigato
My dad,
a World War II veteran,
would more often say,
“Arigato,” to us children
than thank you.
He spoke with fondness
of his time in Japan after the war,
how the people treated
the American soldiers
with gentle hospitality.
Years later my family
heard “arigato” often,
from a Japanese exchange student
we took into our home for a week.
He spoke with kindness and respect.
But manners became a source of amusement
when we played Uno with him and his friends.
When we Americans unloaded
our cards on other players,
we did it with glee.
But when the Japanese students
passed on their cards
they would bow,
look apologetic
and say, “So Sawy!”
The Difference between British and American English
I get, from reading ‘A to Zed’,
the British are more genteel-bred.
They call light supper their high tea.
Elastoplast? Band-Aid to me.
Argy-bargy means a squabble.
Put together? British: cobble.
Leg-pull equals hoax, you see?
Humble pie means crow to me.
A full stop is a period
and mucker means a myriad
of things like spill or spending spree.
Give over! means Come on! to me.
A ladder is a run in hose.
Elevators? Lifts. (Yeah, those.)
Good heavens! translates to Crikey!
A fool’s dessert. (Sounds good to me.)
###
Le Sigh
morning has broken
and the babes unleashed;
loosed upon my world — also everywhere
while I muse silently
over java brimmed favourite mug
“can I escape this helter-skelter?”
but alas!
my reality is a staircase leading nowhere
for they will be, what they are
and what is time – even these small moments
of maternal savourings,
but a passing glimpse of eternity,
held like water through my hands
and yet a confusing contradiction
for I find such antics amusing
and life is too short for why, why, why
or to live in a silent, tasteless world
but atlas!
it is all truth – also tiring
to “hush”, or let them be
coffee grows cold as the day lengthens
le silent sigh loosed
“it’s not so bad being doomed to a useful life:
que sera sera“
[Hebrew] Cascade Form
Elohim,
Immanuel
Adonai
El Shaddai
One true God
Strength
Elohim,
God with us
Messiah
Immanuel
My Lord
Exalted, arisen
Adonai
Almighty
Omnipotent
El Shaddai
Excellent!
Foreign Tongue
My Mother is Finnish, My Father a Scot
Though neither one spoke
in native tongue a whole lot
Both of these dialects are still foreign you see
Though Finnish swear words
Are common for me
I tried learning French when I was in school
But all I remember
Is merci beaucoup
Spanish is another I’ve tried to digest
And this one Amigo,
Has failed like the rest.
This made me smile.
Itchy Pestilence
In so many distinct languages you go by the same name.
The irritating buzzing of your wings all sounds the same.
How sad a small annoyance can unite us all in dread.
We all dubbed you “mosquito” and we all wish you were dead.
A thousand words for love and God and peace, but this is true,
When Babel fell, you rose from hell and just one name would do.
Nov 10: write a foreign word poem
Politesse Poetique Anonyme
I’m under the spell of a rhyming word curse,
fated to churn out my silly, rhymed verse,
in spite of best efforts, unable to stop.
My muse is determined I’ll chime til I drop.
Life on the rhymed lane becomes kind of lonely.
Where are the others, or am I the only
poor poet whose head is too, too full of rhyme?
I’ll trade you a ream for a very thin dime.
Sometimes I manage to write something serious.
It leaves me so happy, I’m almost delirious.
Then, don’t you know it, I’ll jot down a ditty
instead of real poetry. Oh, what a pity.
I have decided to throw in the towel
and scribble rhymed verses until you all howl,
thus courting a visit from poet police
for illegal rhyming, but until then: Peace.
Margaret Fieland
Hahaha! I feel your pain. Had a professor try to explain “serious” poetry as like a shadow box with an eclectic array of eye-catching knick-knacks in it. It didn’t help me.
Love it. Keep that rhyming coming.
There are a great many people who think “if it doesn’t rhyme it isn’t poetry” – Take comfort.
Linda, I think I have been waiting for this prompt forever.
A Mother’s Lament
Oy vey! You’ve got some
chutpah,
-trying to run that same
shtik on your
bubbe over and over,
-just so she’ll give you a little
gelt!
-If you weren’t such a
gonif, skimming off the top
-you could run a nice
kosher business. No, you
-have to look like a
klutz,
schlepping around with one
glitch after another,
-out in the open for all of the
yentes to gossip about, talking
shmutz about you.
-Is one
Mazel Tov just too much to ask?
-You make me
Meshuga! You are such a big
schmuck—just get your
tush out of here.
-Me? I’m going to
schmeer some cream cheese on my
lox and
bagel!
Ellen Knight
Such a fun prompt Linda…thank you!!
http://wordrustling.wordpress.com/2012/11/10/day-ten-emotion-decoded/
Igpay atinLay
While language snobs will have their day,
I’ll stick with igpay atlinlay,
the only language I have found
that I can wrap my tongue around.
When I’m unsure what I should say
and can’t convey my eaningmay,
I speak a language so sublime
that every inelay always rhymes.
And no, this poem is no joke
translated into how I spoke
when I was six or evensay;
all my iendsfray spoke this way.
We never had to conjugate
amo, amas, amat—but wait—
While I’m at it, should I mention
this anguagelay has no declension?
While Classical Latin may be dead,
long after Julius Caesar said
his famous lines, Et tu, Brute?
it’s still unfay to talk this way.
So clever! Yes, my friends and I spoke this language, too, as kiddos.
Linguistica
When in vernacular, one speaks,
one often tries for quick techniques
combining known words as one may
in conversational Franglais.
Just listen for an idiom
which pops out like blown bubble gum.
To sound good is the only wish
in conversational Spanglish.
A pocket translator can work,
but miss the nuance? You’re a jerk.
So pay attention, if you please
to conversation Itanglese.
A foreign language portmanteau
means ‘je ne care pas’ – don’t you know?
A neue Phänomen pastiche
is conversational Denglisch.
###
RJ this is brilliant. I love it. Have you ever tried to use Google Translate? The results can be hilarious – it translated “moist wound dressing” in English to “Vinaigrette” in French.
This is genius. Simply clever! I appreciate fresh and innovative ideas and themes. Fun read.
Stunod
Actually, it’s stonato -
Italian for “out of tune”,
“crazy” or stupid”,
but that’s the way my wife’s family
says it, where they’re from.
I, the WASP, use it to describe myself
whenever I do something absent-minded,
bone-headed, which is too often.
Sometimes, too, I feel like googoots -
or cucuzza, a big squash, sitting clueless,
useless, like when I need directions -
so stunod trying get from here to there.
You, so forgiving, might be annoyed,
even a little angry, but in the end,
you get over it, and love me for what
I am, sputtering brain and all.
Quanta bella, mi’ amore.
Aww, so funny and sweet. Thanks for sharing!
Nice Bruce. I love italian. I have several of those “boneheaded” moments every day!
Je Ne Sais Pas
Even though
I don’t know
The answer to your question,
I want to prove
I’m in the groove
Enough that I know something,
So I’ll express
My ignorance
In French. Comprenez-vous?
Bonjour Madame R,
Je ne sais pas seems to be a common theme for today. I just might write one myself.
Nice write!
Merci beaucoup, monsieur!
Love this, too!
Merci!
גם זה יעבור
This too shall pass
And this three, too.
Now four, it’s gonna hang
on – a sticky mess – but
Four will also pack up
all the issues that caused
your tears and go
on its way.
I know
they add up as they
make their way past
you, one by one, sometimes
a gang – a gaggle and you feel
you’ll fall or break
or cry until all you are
is the puddle they march
through as they pass.
But, no.
If you counted what has past
already, counted your battle scars,
you’d see
your strength for this one
to pass, as well.
Comme ci, Comme ca
I say it because it’s true,
No matter what the situation
(Although some days,
I grant you,
There’s a little more of this
Than of that),
Because it sounds delicious
As it rolls off my tongue,
And because
There’s a lot more of this
Than of that
Since you stopped
To talk to me,
But all you need to know
Is that I answered
And was too distracted
By a lot of this
And a little of that
To ask the same of you.
tres bien! Just love this. Merci!
Wonderful!
Yes! I like your simplicity.
Thanks, all!
“When he’s gone…”
(Day 9)
Funny how each day dawns
through a mist of fog,
dies when daylight disappears.
Funny how each moment
drifts as if there is no tomorrow
just days full of nothingness.
Funny, how all the world
is void of love, yet I live on
in this empty space
waiting – when he’s gone.
Love your prompt, Linda! I wanted to also let everyone know I’m participating, just not posting daily.
**
Le Mystérieux
An air of je ne sais quoi followed him around town
His essence an aura, apparition quite eerie
Le mystérieux, jinxed
In error-
Lucky
Black
Cat
Hi Laurie! Tres bien!
Oh, yeah. I’ve never met a cat that doesn’t speak French. Love it.
Good one.
Small Henneth To My Mind’s Hen
it may
be quite telling
that the first language to
pop into my ‘dol’ is based in
fiction
**translated from Tolkien’s Sindarin elvish: henneth=window, hen=eye, dol=head
Sometimes the best expressions that say what we really want to say is from fiction. I know exactly what you mean, Rob.
Language Barrier
They come from ships,
They come by sea,
From countries unknown,
Some familiar,
But all foreign,
With different tongues,
But all dry,
All hungry-
Ergasía parakaló_?
“God bless you,”
Raboty pozhaluysta?
“Sorry, I can’t help you,”
Those who come
Quickly see,
Hear,
Only one language
Spoken on these shores,
English,
And it’s many dialects-
Labour and Kapital,
Consumption and Product,
And several ways to express
Apology and Regret.
Good one, Jared.
You’ve covered effectively the problems caused by the babel syndrome. Lovely poem.
Je ne sais quoi
Write what you know, I’m always told,
but I’d rather explore my doppelganger’s life,
go slumming on the other side of the tracks,
or find some quiet little out-of-the-way place
that only the locals know, a small cafe
with that certain Je ne sais quoi, music
playing so softly from the other room,
I can’t quite name it, something in the sauce
the makes me smack my lips, searching
for the particular spice, and across the room,
a man whose face I know but cannot place.
I know that in my dreams, those images
will waltz around the room inside my head,
rearranging the furniture of my thoughts,
then take a seat near the fire, feet up,
and begin to introduce themselves to me.
I love this Nancy. It’s seems so ordinary yet unusual. Oh, I love the word doppelganger!
I agree with Benjamin – you sneaked two languages in there and almost got away with it! I love this one too – perfectly captures the spirit of the phrase.
si bon!
so very good. completely captures the spirit of the phase. Bravo.
I know just how you feel, Nancy. This is wonderful.
Yes, love this! You have so many good examples of that “quoi.”
“I know that in my dreams, those images
will waltz around the room inside my head,
rearranging the furniture of my thoughts”
i love this!
Good Morning Beautiful world
Why top of the morning to you my Amigo
Danke an guten Morgen Sie auch
oui en effet un beau matin, il est
ο ήλιος λάμπει φωτεινό
si veda
Che il Signore benedica tutti voi persone meravigliose in questa bella giornata
Good morning Beautiful world
Why top of the morning to you my Amigo (English/ Spanish)
Good morning to you and thank you (German)
Yes indeed a beautiful morning it is (French)
The sun shines bright (Greek)
see (Italian)
May the Lord bless all of you wonderful people on this beautiful day (Italian)
Thank you, Wired, and may you find only those words which express your deepest thoughts and feelings.
No foreign phrases.
CLEAN YOUR ROOM
Rebellious daughter
too much of a slob for her own good.
Would you clean this sty, Swinia?
You’re giving Polish pigs a bad name!
This is hilarious Walt!
Love it, Walt.
I LOVE Swinia’s name! How apropos!