<h3 class="post-title">SONG IN THE BLOOD- Jacques Prevert, translated by Lawrence Ferlinghetti </h3>
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<div style="CLEAR: both"></div>there are great puddles of blood on the world<br>where is it all going? all this spilled blood?<br>is it the earth that drinks it and gets drunk?<br>funny kind of drunkography then, <br>so wise,
<br>so monotonous, <br>no, <br>the earth doesn't get drunk<br>the earth doesn't turn askew<br>it pushes its little car regularly, it's four seasons, <br>rain, snow, hail, fair weather,<br>never is it drunk<br>it's with difficulty it permits itself from time to time
<br>an unhappy little volcano<br>it turns, <br>the earth,<br>it turns with its trees, its gardens, its houses<br>it turns with its great pools of blood<br>and all living things turn with it and bleed<br><br>it doesn't give a damn the earth
<br>it turns<br>and all living things set up a howl,<br>it doesn't give a damn,<br>it turns <br>it doesn't stop turning<br>and the blood doesn't stop running<br><br>where's is it going<br>all this spilled blood?<br>murder's blood, war's blood,
<br>misery's blood, and the blood of men tortured in prisons,<br>and the blood of children calmly tortured by their papa and their mama<br>and the blood of men whose heads bleed in padded cells<br>and the roofers blood if the roofer slips and falls from the roof
<br>and the blood that comes and flows and gushes with the newborn<br>the mother cries, <br>the baby cries, <br>the blood flows<br>the earth turns<br>the earth doesn't stop turning, <br>the blood doesn't stop flowing<br><br>
where's it going all this spilled blood?<br>blood of the blackjacked, <br>of the humiliated,<br>of the suicides<br>of firing squad victims<br>of the condemned<br>and the blood of those that die<br>just like that<br>by accident
<br><br>in the street a living being goes by with all his blood inside <br>suddenly there he is, <br>dead<br>and all his blood outside<br>and other living beings make the blood disappear<br>they carry the body away<br>but it's stubborn blood
<br>and there where the dead one was, much later<br>all black<br>a little blood still stretches<br>coagulated blood, life's rust, body's rust<br>blood curdled like milk, like milk when it turns, when it turns like the earth like the earth
<br>it turns with its milk, with its cows,<br>with its living, with its dead,<br>the earth that turns with its trees, with it's living beings, with its houses<br>the earth that turns with marriages, burials,<br>shells, regiments, the earth that turns and turns and turns
<br>with its great streams of blood.<br> </p></div>
<div class="post-body">by Jacques Prevert</div>
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<div class="post-body">Hear Joan Baez read this poem, with music and "orchestration" by Peter Schickele, along with other poems of great significance, many put to music and sung, by Joyce, Whitman, Yevtushenko, Blake, Lorca, Rimbaud etc. such as "All In Green Went My Love Riding" by e. e. cummings, one of the most astonishing heart rending romantic songs I have ever heard, on the album "Baptism." To hear this poem put to music and sung (what a glorious voice!) by Baez is like a transmission from another mysterious culture, far, far away from the triviality and silliness that romance in the USA is usually reduced to. Reading the poem does not express what the poem reveals when put to music and sung by Baez; for those who might understand, and anyone willing to try. Many will find it incomprehensible or laughable...
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<p><b>All in green my love went riding</b><br>by: e.e. cummings</p></td></tr>
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<p>All in green went my love riding <br>on a great horse of gold <br>into the silver dawn.<br><br>four lean hounds crouched low and smiling <br>the merry deer ran before.<br><br>Fleeter be they than dappled dreams <br>the swift sweet deer
<br>the red rare deer.<br><br>Horn at hip went my love riding <br>riding the echo down <br>into the silver dawn.<br><br>four lean hounds crouched low and smiling <br>the level meadows ran before.<br><br>Softer be they than slippered sleep
<br>the lean lithe deer <br>the fleet flown deer.<br><br>Four fleet does at a gold valley <br>the famished arrows sang before.<br><br>Bow at belt went my love riding <br>riding the mountain down into the silver dawn.<br><br>
four lean hounds crouched low and smiling <br>the sheer peaks ran before.<br><br>Paler be they than daunting death <br>the sleek slim deer <br>the tall tense deer.<br><br>Four tall stags at a green mountain <br>the lucky hunter sang before.
<br><br>All in green went my love riding <br>on a great horse of gold <br>into the silver dawn.<br><br>four lean hounds crouched low and smiling <br>my heart fell dead before.</p>
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<p>Vision2020 Post by Ted Moffett</p></td></tr></tbody></table></div>
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