Friday, 26 February 2010

Crépuscule (Twilight, Dämmerung)


I found this poem when I Googled for "digue don don". What were Les Joyeux Turlurons singing? (See
Tintin and the Picaros.) A very loose translation follows, as a lot of it is nonsense. But quite a lot of it is sense.

Il est 8 h 02 à l'horloge du monde.
Un quadrumane brandit une carotte et allume la convoitise de ses congénères.
Il est 8 h 05 lorsque prend fin la guerre de la Carotte, dûment consignée par les scribes de cette heure-là, digue don da.

Il est 13 h 17 à l'horloge du monde.
Un bipède brandit un épieu et accapare le monopole du mammouth.
À 13 h 21, la guerre du Mammouth s'éteint, faute de mammouths.
Le souvenir en est consigné dans la laine gardienne d'ADN qui gît gelée dans les glaciers, digue don dé.

Il est 16 h 42 à l'horloge du monde.
Un grand empanaché brandit un sceptre à cornes de boeuf et devient ipso facto l'égal d'un dieu, déchaînant aussitôt la jalousie des moins égaux que lui.
La guerre des Égaux de dieux s'étire officiellement jusqu'à 16 h 48, mais ne prend pas réellement fin, foi de rabbin. Elle se tapit sous d'autres noms, brûle des Irlande et des collines de Sion, chante les louanges de la moisson et chaque année tue un dindon, digue don don.

Il est 19 h 23 à l'horloge du monde.
Une tête à lauriers se drape dans sa toge et lance des légions toutes directions, avec mission de veni, vidi, vici, et ramassons jusqu'à poches pleines tout ce que nous trouverons de bon.
À 19 h 25, la guerre des Veni, vidi, vici s=épuise dans l=écoeurement total alors que pourrissent dans la plaine des restants de civilisations, digue don daine digue don don.

Il est 22 h 42 à l'horloge du monde.
Un hurluberlu attrape la berlue et se fourre la main droite dans son plastron napoléon. En moins de temps qu'il n'en faut pour crier Armageddon, il ensanglante des Europe et se pète la face dans l'Oural comme tous les autres avant lui.

À 22 h 44 cesse la guerre du Dernier Pèté dans l'Oural qui aurait même pas existé si y avait lu son histoire à 13 h 19 ou à 16 h 48, digue don duite.

Il est 23 heures quelque chose lorsque l'horloge du monde refuse de donner l'heure juste.

Par delà les fuseaux horaires, les derniers pacifistes non internés ont donné un grand coup de collier.

La paix vient d'éclater, digue don dé yé!

Guy Perreault Mai 2002

It’s 8.02 on the world clock
A four-handed thing brandishes a carrot and incites his fellows.
It’s 8.05 when the War of the Carrot ends, according to the scribes, digue don da.

It’s 13.17 on the world clock.
A biped brandishes a rapier and challenges the monopoly of the mammoth.
At 13.21, the War of the Mammoth is over, for lack of mammoths.
Its memory is consigned to the guardian angel who throws jelly in the glaciers, digue don de.

It’s 16.42 on the world clock.
A great feathery thing brandishes a sceptre with the horns of a bull and becomes ipso facto the equal of a god, incurring in the process the jealousy of those less equal than him.
The War of the Equals to God is terminated officially at 16.48, but that’s not really the end, faith of a friend. She trades under other names, burns Ireland and the hills of Sion, and each year kills a turkey, digue dindon.

It’s 7.23 on the world clock.
A laurel-crowned head drapes itself in a toga and sends legions in all directions. Their mission: veni, vidi, vici and fill their pockets with whatever they find.
At 7.25 the War of Veni, Vidi, Vici ended on the plain of civilisation’s remains, digue don daine digue don don.

It’s 22.42 on the world clock.
A hullabaloo caught the toodledoo and thrust his right hand into his waistcoat a la Napoleon. And in less time than it takes to shout “Armageddon!” he soaked Europe in blood and farted in the general direction of the Ural Mountains like all the others before him.

At 22.44 the War of the Last Fart in the General Direction of the Urals ended, and it would never have happened if we’d all read the history of what happened at 13.19 and 16.48, digue don date.

It’s 23 o’clock or thereabouts – the world clock is refusing to give the right time.
Beyond the burning hours, the last pacifists not interned are beheaded.

Peace is declared, digue don de ye!

Deep Sorriness Atonement Song




(For missed appointment, BBC North, Manchester)

The man who sold Manhattan for a halfway decent bangle,
He had talks with Adolf Hitler and could see it from his angle,
And he could have signed the Quarrymen but didn't think they'd make it
So he bought a cake on Pudding Lane and thought "Oh well I'll bake it"
But his chances they were slim
And his brothers they were Grimm,
And he's sorry, very sorry,
But I'm sorrier than him.

And the drunken plastic surgeon who said "I know, let's enlarge 'em!"
And the bloke who told the Light Brigade "Oh what the hell, let's charge em",
The magician with an early evening gig on the Titanic
And the Mayor who told the people of Atlantis not to panic,
And the Dong about his nose
And the Pobble re his toes,
They're all sorry very sorry
But I'm sorrier than those.

 And don't forget the Bible, with the Sodomites and Judas,
And Onan who discovered something nothing was as rude as,
And anyone who reckoned it was City's year for Wembley.
And the kid who called Napoleon a shortarse in assembly,
And the man who always smiles
Cause he knows I have his files,
They're all sorry, really sorry,
But I'm sorrier by miles.

And Robert Falcon Scott who lost the race to the Norwegian,
And anyone who's ever split a pint with a Glaswegian,
Or told a Finn a joke or spent an hour with a Swiss-German,
Or got a mermaid in the sack and found it was a merman,
Or him who smelt a rat,
And got curious as a cat,
They're all sorry, deeply sorry,
But I'm sorrier than that.

All the people who were rubbish when we needed them to do it,
Whose wires crossed, whose spirit failed, who ballsed it up or blew it,
All notches of nul points and all who have a problem Houston,
At least they weren't in Kensington when they should have been at Euston.
For I didn't build the Wall
And I didn't cause the Fall
But I'm sorry, Lord, I'm sorry,
I'm the sorriest of all.

Glyn Maxwell