1. |
Mirabeau
04:58
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Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine
Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure
Les mains dans les mains restons face à face
Tandis que sous
Le pont de nos bras passe
Des éternels regards l'onde si lasse
Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure
L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante
L'amour s'en va
Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l'Espérance est violente
Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure
Passent les jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps passé
Ni les amours reviennent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure
Guillaume Apollinaire
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2. |
Plurabelle
05:31
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What is it but a blackburry growth or the dwyergray ass them four old codgers owns. Are you meanam Tarpey and Lyons and Gregory? I meyne now, thank all, the four of them, and the roar of them, that draves that stray in the mist and old Johnny MacDougal along with them. Is that the Poolbeg flasher beyant, pharphar, or a fireboat coasting nyar the Kishtna or a glow I behold within a hedge or my Garry come back from the Indes? Wait till the honeying of the lune, love! Die eve, little eve, die! We see that wonder in your eye. We'll meet again, we'll part once more. The spot I'll seek if the hour you'll find. My chart shines high where the blue milk's upset. Forgivemequick, I'm going! Bubye! And you, pluck your watch, forgetmenot. Your evenlode. So save to jurna's end! My sights are swimming thicker on me by the shadows to this place. I sow home slowly now by own way, moy-valley way. Towy I too, rathmine.
Ah, but she was the queer old skeowsha anyhow, Anna Livia, trinkettoes! And sure he was the quare old buntz too, Dear Dirty Dumpling, foostherfather of fingalls and dotthergills. Gammer and gaffer we're all their gangsters. Hadn't he seven dams to wive him? And every dam had her seven crutches. And every crutch had its seven hues. And each hue had a differing cry. Sudds for me and supper for you and the doctor's bill for Joe John. Befor! Bifur! He married his markets, cheap by foul, I know, like any Etrurian Catholic Heathen, in their pinky limony creamy birnies and their turkiss indienne mauves. But at milkidmass who was the spouse? Then all that was was fair. Tys Elvenland ! Teems of times and happy returns. The seim anew. Ordovico or viricordo. Anna was, Livia is, Plurabelle's to be. Northmen's thing made southfolk's place but howmulty plurators made eachone in person? Latin me that, my trinity scholard, out of eure sanscreed into oure eryan! Hircus Civis Eblanensis! He had buckgoat paps on him, soft ones for orphans. Ho, Lord ! Twins of his bosom. Lord save us! And ho! Hey? What all men. Hot? His tittering daughters of. Whawk?
Can't hear with the waters of. The chittering waters of. Flittering bats, fieldmice bawk talk. Ho! Are you not gone ahome? What Thom Malone? Can't hear with bawk of bats, all thim liffeying waters of. Ho, talk save us ! My foos won't moos. I feel as old as yonder elm. A tale told of Shaun or Shem? All Livia's daughtersons. Dark hawks hear us. Night! Night! My ho head halls. I feel as heavy as yonder stone. Tell me of John or Shaun? Who were Shem and Shaun the living sons or daughters of? Night now! Tell me, tell me, tell me, elm! Night night! Telmetale of stem or stone. Beside the rivering waters of, hitherandthithering waters of. Night!
James Joyce
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3. |
ვინა სთქვა / Who said
04:13
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ვინა სთქვა, თითქო პატარა იყოს
ჩემი სამშობლო, დიდების ღირსი,
ქართლში ვინ ჰპოვა პატარა ციხე,
ვინ მოიგონა სიმცირე მისი?!
აბა, შეადგით ერთმანეთს მთები,
მთები - შემკული სხივების სირმით,
ააშრიალეთ არწივის ფრთები,
კლდით გაიგონეთ ყვირილი ირმის.
ყოველ მაღლობზე ციხე და კოშკი
ნახეთ, აზომეთ ოსტატის მზერით,
ან მოაგროვეთ უხსოვარ დროში,
ჩვენში დაღვრილი ბუნების ფერი.
გაზომეთ ქარი თუ ქარიშხალი,
ჩამწყვდეული რომ ღმუოდა ხევით,
წყალი მქუხარი და საშიშარი
და ავარდნილი გუმბათი ზევით.
წინაპრის მიერ განვლილი სივრცე,
ჟამი -- ძლეული გაფრენილ ცხენით,
და გორგასალის ნაბიჯი მტკიცე,
მთად აღბეჭდილი ქართველის რწმენით.
შეახეთ ბრძოლით გაწვრთნილი ხელი
დარუბანდიდან მოტანილ კარებს,
და გაიხსნება სამშობლო ჩემი,
უსასრულობის შემცველი მხარე.
ვინა სთქვა, თითქო პატარა იყოს
ჩემი სამშობლო, დიდების ღირსი,
ქართლში ვინ ჰპოვა პატარა ციხე,
ვინ მოიგონა სიმცირე მისი?!
სიმონ ჩიქოვანი (Simon Chikovani)
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4. |
El mar
04:20
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Antes que el sueño (o el terror) tejiera
mitologías y cosmogonías,
antes que el tiempo se acuñara en días,
el mar, el siempre mar, ya estaba y era.
¿Quién es el mar? ¿Quién es aquel violento
y antiguo ser que roe los pilares
de la tierra y es uno y muchos mares
y abismo y resplandor y azar y viento?
Quien lo mira lo ve por vez primera,
siempre. Con el asombro que las cosas
elementales dejan, las hermosas
tardes, la luna, el fuego de una hoguera.
¿Quién es el mar, quién soy? Lo sabré el día
ulterior que sucede a la agonía.
Jorge Luis Borges
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5. |
Brot
03:04
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…Svo lifna blómin einn ljósan dag
og lóan kvakar í mónum.
Og fjallið roðnar af feginleik
og fikar sig upp úr snjónum.
Og börnin hlæja og hoppa út
með hörpudiskana sína.
– Og einn á skel yfir fjörð ég fer,
að finna vinstúlku mína…
Jóhannes úr Kötlum
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6. |
Leaves
03:46
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I awakened to dryness and the ferns were dead,
the potted plants yellow as corn;
my woman was gone
and the empty bottles like bled corpses
surrounded me with their uselessness;
the sun was still good, though,
and my landlady’s note cracked in fine and
undemanding yellowness; what was needed now
was a good comedian, ancient style, a jester
with jokes upon absurd pain; pain is absurd
because it exists, nothing more;
I shaved carefully with an old razor
the man who had once been young and
said to have genius; but
that’s the tragedy of the leaves,
the dead ferns, the dead plants;
and I walked into a dark hall
where the landlady stood
execrating and final,
sending me to hell,
waving her fat, sweaty arms
and screaming
screaming for rent
because the world has failed us
both
Charles Bukowski
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7. |
La casa
03:29
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Io non so che cos'è una casa.
Un cappotto?
O è un ombrello se piove?
L'ho riempita di bottiglie stracci anatre di legno tende ventagli.
Sembra che non voglia uscire mai.
Allora è una gabbia?
Che chiude tutti quelli che passano
anche un uccello come te sporco di neve.
Ma la roba che ci siamo detti
è così leggera che non resta chiusa qui.
Tonino Guerra
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8. |
Тяжіння / Gravity
02:37
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Утекти б од себе геть світ за-очі,
у небачене, нечуте, у немовлене,
де нема ані осмут, ні радощів,
де ніщо не збавлене, не здолане.
Жив би там — безоко і безсердо,
жив би так, як опадають вниз,
поріднившись із земною твердю,
до якої намертво приріс
поглядом і серцем і думками
(хто тебе такого віднайде?).
Нерухомий і крихкий, як камінь,
нерухомий і крихкий, як день,
що зотлів і вижарів, і знов
котиться з мулькавого поранку.
Ти — Адам. Журба — твоя коханка,
а земне тяжіння — то любов.
Василь Стус
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9. |
Wood
06:51
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Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost
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10. |
Watt
06:52
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Watt will not
abate one jot
but of what
of the coming to
of the being at
of the going from
knott’s habitat
of the long way
of the short stay
of the going back home
the way he had come
of the empty heart
of the empty hands
of the dim mind wayfaring
through barren lands
of a flame with dark winds
hedged about
going out
gone out
of the empty heart
of the empty hands
of the dark mind stumbling
through barren lands
that is of what
Watt will not
abate one jot
Samuel Beckett
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11. |
Heated
06:45
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