补充一下关于Carla Bruni的《No Promises》的知识，喜欢诗词的进

2008-10-20 20:07:40 　　来自: 顾得奶特.txt (大哥威武！)
No Promises的评论   

　　11首歌全是前人所做的诗歌
　　我就是看到第四首的歌名的时候注意到这张专辑的，那是首我很喜欢的诗，Emily Dickinson的，仔细一看，还有Those dancing days are gone，Before the World Was Made，I Went to Heaven。。。。。
　　
　　一查，果然这张专辑就是诗歌的music version
　　
　　第一第二首是yeats的诗,第四第七第八是Emily Dickinson的，其他统统不认识，是google来的，下面做个汇总
　　
　　给个小建议，读诗的时候，特别是外文诗，千万不要下意识地去翻译，就把每个单独的词弄懂了，再一遍一遍地念出来
　　
　　相信各位同学如果事先不知道的的话，再听会更喜欢这张专辑
　　
　　
　　
　　<<Those dancing days are gone>>
　　by-William Butler Yeats
　　
　　Come, let me sing into your ear;
　　Those dancing days are gone,
　　All that silk and satin gear;
　　Crouch upon a stone,
　　Wrapping that foul body up
　　In as foul a rag:
　　I carry the sun in a golden cup.
　　The moon in a silver bag.
　　
　　Curse as you may I sing it through;
　　What matter if the knave
　　That the most could pleasure you,
　　The children that he gave,
　　Are somewhere sleeping like a top
　　Under a marble flag?
　　I carry the sun in a golden cup.
　　The moon in a silver bag.
　　
　　I thought it out this very day.
　　Noon upon the clock,
　　A man may put pretence away
　　Who leans upon a stick,
　　May sing, and sing until he drop,
　　Whether to maid or hag:
　　I carry the sun in a golden cup,
　　The moon in a silver bag.
　　
　　
　　
　　<<Before the World Was Made>>
　　by-William Butler Yeats
　　
　　
　　If I make the lashes dark
　　And the eyes more bright
　　And the lips more scarlet,
　　Or ask if all be right
　　From mirror after mirror,
　　No vanity's displayed:
　　I'm looking for the face I had
　　Before the world was made.
　　
　　What if I look upon a man
　　As though on my beloved,
　　And my blood be cold the while
　　And my heart unmoved?
　　Why should he think me cruel
　　Or that he is betrayed?
　　I'd have him love the thing that was
　　Before the world was made.
　　
　　
　　
　　<<Lady Weeping at the Crossroads>>
　　by-W H Auden
　　
　　Lady, weepinng at the crossroads,
　　Would you meet your love
　　In twilight with his greyhounds,
　　And the hawk upon his glove?
　　
　　Bribe the bird then on the branches,
　　Bribe them to be dumb,
　　Stare the hot sun out of heaven
　　That the night may come.
　　
　　Starless are the nights of travel,
　　Bleak the winter wind;
　　Run with terror all before you
　　And regret behind.
　　
　　Run until you hear the ocean's
　　Everlasting cry;
　　Deep though it may be and bitter
　　You must drink it dry,
　　
　　Wear out patience in the lowest
　　Dungeons of the sea,
　　Searching through the stranded shipwrecks
　　For the golden key,
　　
　　Push on to the world's end, pay the
　　Dread guard with a kiss
　　Cross the rotten bridge that totters
　　Over the abyss.
　　
　　There stands the deserted castle
　　Ready to explore;
　　Enter, climb the marble staircase,
　　Open the locked door.
　　
　　Cross the silent empty ballroom
　　Doubt and anger past;
　　Blow the cobwebs from the mirror,
　　See yourself at last.
　　
　　Put your hand behind the wainscot,
　　You have done your part;
　　Find the penknife there and plunge it
　　Into your false heart.
　　
　　
　　
　　<<I felt my life with both my hands>>
　　 by-Emily Dickinson
　　
　　I felt my life with both my hands
　　To see if it was there --
　　I held my spirit to the Glass,
　　To prove it possibler --
　　
　　I turned my Being round and round
　　And paused at every pound
　　To ask the Owner's name --
　　For doubt, that I should know the Sound --
　　
　　I judged my features -- jarred my hair --
　　I pushed my dimples by, and waited --
　　If they -- twinkled back --
　　Conviction might, of me --
　　
　　I told myself, "Take Courage, Friend --
　　That -- was a former time --
　　But we might learn to like the Heaven,
　　As well as our Old Home!"
　　
　　
　　
　　<<Promises Like Pie-Crust>>
　　 by-Christina Georgina Rossetti
　　
　　Promise me no promises,
　　So will I not promise you:
　　Keep we both our liberties,
　　Never false and never true:
　　Let us hold the die uncast,
　　Free to come as free to go:
　　For I cannot know your past,
　　And of mine what can you know?
　　
　　You, so warm, may once have been
　　Warmer towards another one:
　　I, so cold, may once have seen
　　Sunlight, once have felt the sun:
　　Who shall show us if it was
　　Thus indeed in time of old?
　　Fades the image from the glass,
　　And the fortune is not told.
　　
　　If you promised, you might grieve
　　For lost liberty again:
　　If I promised, I believe
　　I should fret to break the chain.
　　Let us be the friends we were,
　　Nothing more but nothing less:
　　Many thrive on frugal fare
　　Who would perish of excess.
　　
　　
　　
　　<<Autumn>>
　　by-Walter de la Mare
　　
　　There is a wind where the rose was;
　　Cold rain where sweet grass was;
　　And clouds like sheep
　　Stream o'er the steep
　　Grey skies where the lark was.
　　
　　Nought gold where your hair was;
　　Nought warm where your hand was;
　　But phantom, forlorn,
　　Beneath the thorn,
　　Your ghost where your face was.
　　
　　Sad winds where your voice was;
　　Tears, tears where my heart was;
　　And ever with me,
　　Child, ever with me,
　　Silence where hope was.
　　
　　
　　<<If you were coming in the fall>>
　　by- Emily Dickinson
　　
　　If you were coming in the fall,
　　I'd brush the summer by
　　With half a smile and half a spurn,
　　As housewives do a fly.
　　If I could see you in a year,
　　I'd wind the months in balls,
　　And put them each in separate drawers,
　　Until their time befalls.
　　
　　If only centuries delayed,
　　I'd count them on my hand,
　　Subtracting till my fingers dropped
　　Into Van Diemens land.
　　
　　If certain, when this life was out,
　　That yours and mine should be,
　　I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
　　And taste eternity.
　　
　　But now, all ignorant of the length
　　Of time's uncertain wing,
　　It goads me, like the goblin bee,
　　That will not state its sting.
　　
　　
　　<<I Went to Heaven>>
　　by-Emily Dickinson
　　
　　I went to heaven, -
　　'Twas a small town,
　　Lit with a ruby,
　　Lathed with down.
　　Stiller than the fields
　　At the full dew,
　　Beautiful as pictures
　　No man drew.
　　People like the moth,
　　Of mechlin, frames,
　　Duties of gossamer,
　　And eider names.
　　Almost contented
　　I could be
　　'Mong such unique
　　Society.
　　
　　
　　
　　<<Afternoon>>
　　by-Dorothy Parker
　　
　　When I am old, and comforted,
　　And done with this desire,
　　With Memory to share my bed
　　And Peace to share my fire,
　　
　　I'll comb my hair in scalloped bands
　　Beneath my laundered cap,
　　And watch my cool and fragile hands
　　Lie light upon my lap.
　　
　　And I will have a sprigged gown
　　With lace to kiss my throat;
　　I'll draw my curtain to the town,
　　And hum a purring note.
　　
　　And I'll forget the way of tears,
　　And rock, and stir my tea.
　　But oh, I wish those blessed years
　　Were further than they be!
　　
　　
　　
　　<<Ballade at Thirty-five>>
　　by-Dorothy Parker
　　
　　This, no song of an ingénue,
　　This, no ballad of innocence;
　　This, the rhyme of a lady who
　　Followed ever her natural bents.
　　This, a solo of sapience,
　　This, a chantey of sophistry,
　　This, the sum of experiments, --
　　I loved them until they loved me.
　　
　　Decked in garments of sable hue,
　　Daubed with ashes of myriad Lents,
　　Wearing shower bouquets of rue,
　　Walk I ever in penitence.
　　Oft I roam, as my heart repents,
　　Through God's acre of memory,
　　Marking stones, in my reverence,
　　"I loved them until they loved me."
　　
　　Pictures pass me in long review,--
　　Marching columns of dead events.
　　I was tender, and, often, true;
　　Ever a prey to coincidence.
　　Always knew I the consequence;
　　Always saw what the end would be.
　　We're as Nature has made us -- hence
　　I loved them until they loved me.
　　
　　
　　<<At Last the Secret is Out>>
　　by-Wystan Hugh Auden
　　
　　
　　At last the secret is out,
　　as it always must come in the end,
　　the delicious story is ripe to tell
　　to tell to the intimate friend;
　　over the tea-cups and into the square
　　the tongues has its desire;
　　still waters run deep, my dear,
　　there's never smoke without fire.
　　
　　Behind the corpse in the reservoir,
　　behind the ghost on the links,
　　behind the lady who dances
　　and the man who madly drinks,
　　under the look of fatigue
　　the attack of migraine and the sigh
　　there is always another story,
　　there is more than meets the eye.
　　
　　For the clear voice suddenly singing,
　　high up in the convent wall,
　　the scent of the elder bushes,
　　the sporting prints in the hall,
　　the croquet matches in summer,
　　the handshake, the cough, the kiss,
　　there is always a wicked secret,
　　a private reason for this.