WEELCOMENE FOR My BLOGGER_MUSIC An POESI!!))GOD BLES YOU PIPOL!!

Copyright Disclaimer under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976,
allowance is madefor fair use for purposes such as criticism,
comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship and research.
Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing.
Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor
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THIS VIDEO IS HERE ONLY FOR SHARING.

01 Hot 'n' nasty
02 The fixer
03 You're so good for me
04 C'mon everybody
05 Old time feelin'
06 30 Days in the hole
07 Road runner / Road runner's 'G' jam
08 I wonder
09 Sweet peace and time
--------------------------------------
RECORDED: Olympic Sound Studios, London, February 1972
RELEASED: March 1972
EINGINEERS: Alan O' Duffy, Keith Harwood
PRODUCED BY: Steve Marriott
PERSONNEL:Steve Marriott - vocals, guitar, harp, keyboard Clem Clemson - guitar, keyboard, vocals Greg Ridley - bass, vocals Jerry Shirley - drums, keyboard

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Jours, année de vie !! _ LadislavZ .Est-ce moi??Le joyau comme la queue suspendu ??Ma vie est poésieL&Z_

Uvod

Je suis venu à l'exercice au cours duquel l'homme a demandé s'il mlad.do encore que j'étais un enfant, et à ce jeune? Quels sont les meilleurs? Older toujours dire que les années de quinze à vingt meilleurs, même après toutes ces années, et peut-être,etune trentaine d'années pour sont certainement ceux dans lesquels un homme se sent l'exhaustivité, l'épanouissement de l'âme et du cœur.Je suis impatient, quelque chose de tout regard fixe, et tant de choses ne sont souvent pas uradim.Nekako un rien de temps, et cette fois il a été jeté, nous aimerions revenir, et c'est la seule chose qui ne peut être arrière.parce que toutes les personnes présentes, la vie est présente, et tout ce que nous avons dans ce,temps,avenit sont nos rêves, les pensées et les espoirs qui sont souvent pas de régime de ostvare.Previse à la vie, et la vie dans les choses qui volent autour de nous et nous ne pouvons pas le faire ugrabimo. Rugueux est parce que beaucoup de ce que nous passé le pensais jamais, et pas ce qui est en quelque sorte et non ce qu'il avait en quelque sorte.

Le temps est venu où nos vies contrôlées, et nous vivons parce que la vie nous devons remplir.  pour quelques jours, pas joursvie .To est notre plus grand erreur.permanent,attente de quelque chose, et nous ne savons pas ce que exactement.devrait repentir seulement en raison de ce que nous avons fait.

Si vous ne voulez pas vieillir, étant jeunetoujours .décès vie plus tard n'est pas aussi difficile que la mort sur la vie ...Jesau que je ??....pénitent suspendu crédible front dans ses mains attraper un položivjernost froid invoquer maintenant restitutions al n'ont pas une lourde obscurité en termes rôdent intuition reproche luiil y avait une épaisseur de Et l'audace compromise enregistrée complètement la mauvaise direction pour djeneputem ombres lui escorté à l'amer  solitude ..... .LadislavZ ... Canada!
Gem !!!! Quant à la queue suspendu


parce que j'étais encore antédiluvien


si j'ai tiré Klis

dans tout mon été sédimentaire.
Mon idée principale placer profonde maintenant


denarcissisme  sans fin.


Sur moi est large abside

du calcul, laissez vaste terre voir sous ma tête


Je ne savais même pas,


et ici je suis dans la bonne jardin

où je me suis livré hommage,
morts queues de lézard


et Lupin tout le monde est ;


il n'ya pas de plumes blanches,

et de tracer canard,au milieu des trous de skoljkolike,


commence ma brille finement


qui tombe inondations

sur les paumes de mes horde de vers.Il a commence ne sera pas corrompu.


ne peut pas être récupéré


dans mon cœur tordu,

mais peut aussi affecter
motte de terre noire ...


Là, il resta quelque chaume


comme les taches de rousseur jeune cerf

et pique comme une épine,
Au milieu de tout ce qui est noir


et qui crée juste boues


un grain rocailleux

Ce sont ceux coquilles bijou
il détourne les musaraignes


alors je prends sous mon toit;


ne sera plus jurer

parce que j'ai trouvé une bénédiction
17.05.2014. 10:20.......Ladislav&Z_SHERBROOKE_Canada!!!!

Moji uspjesi

Pour la vie que vous ne verrez pas le succès qu'après la mort et y célébrer !! LZ_Canada!!!!!

HÉLENÉ Seara Duo&Dassin.Cd Complrt)enchanier regisesigle.mp4))

Joe Dassin - L'été Indien [1975] ReWorked ...((Original remastered video, upscaled to HD. Audio stereo.
Joe Dassin - L'été Indien [1975] ReWorked))

From

Cry of a Slave

(1920)

Daily Lament

How hard it is not to be strong,

how hard it is to be alone,

and to be old, yet to be young!

and to be weak, and powerless,

alone, with no one anywhere,

dissatisfied, and desperate.

And trudge bleak highways endlessly,

and to be trampled in the mud,

with no star shining in the sky.

Without your star of destiny

to play its twinklings on your crib

with rainbows and false prophecies.

– Oh God, oh God, remember all

the glittering fair promises

with which you have afflicted me.

Oh God, oh God, remember all

the great loves, the great victories,

the wreaths of laurel and the gifts.

And know you have a son who walks

the weary valleys of the world

among sharp thorns, and rocks and stones,

through unkindness and unconcern,

with his feet bloodied under him,

and with his heart an open wound

keep your head down, you follow your nose, you fool around,

you suddenly wake up in the middle of the night with a better

alternative for a phrase running through your head, you turn

the light on and scribble it down for fear of forgetting it, you

recheck it next morning, you revise, you polish – and sometimes,

if you’re lucky, one or two poems do come out right.

Of course, I felt it at all times necessary to transmute Tin’s

form

, in both the narrow and broad senses. At the micro-level,

his patterns of rhyme, rhythm, melopoeia and so on, and at the

macro-level, his overall musicality and sense of number, measure

and measurement, are integral to his poems and inseparable from

their overall meaning – though number and measure of course

come in at all other levels too. At any rate, without rendering

all these elements, Tin’s genius gets lost. ‘Meaning’ is in no way

reducible to ‘literal meaning’.

•

Born in 1891 in Vrgorac, a small town in the Dalmatian

hinterland, Tin grew up in Imotski and Makarska, and attended

the classical gymnasium in Split. His language and sensibility are

indelibly marked by the rugged beauty of the Dalmatian littoral,

that narrow, sunbaked, rocky coastline, backed by mountains,

facing out over the Adriatic sea and the islands of Hvar, Brač

and Korčula. So, for example, in

‘

Slaboća’

(‘

Frailty’), he writes

longingly of “našem plavom, plavom valu,/...našem bijelom,

bijelom žalu” (translated as “the waves of our blue blue sea, / and

white, white pebbles”).

Although Tin’s major achievement is as a lyricist, his

oeuvre

is

much broader than lyric alone. He was a writer of profound and

discerning intellect, broad and capacious interests, inquisitive

appetite and eclectic range. His

Collected Works

number sixteen

volumes, including poems in many forms, from free verse to the

Whitmanesque

verset

, prose-poems, essays, criticism, aphorisms,

a book of thoughts and jottings compiled into a personal

‘encyclopedia’, and translations of fiction, poems and plays by

authors as various as Poe, Whitman, Verhaeren, Rimbaud, Gide,

Conrad, Meredith and Benvenuto Cellini, among others.

9

Tin spent many years living in Zagreb, as well as periods

in Split, Sarajevo, Mostar, and Belgrade. In his youth, his

involvement in the Pan-Slav movement to establish a Yugoslav

state earned him the disapprobation of the Austro-Hungarian

authorities and the close attention of their police. From 1913

to 1919, he lived in exile in Paris (Montparnasse), where he

mingled in the same milieu as other radical writers, artists

and intellectuals from Croatia, Bosnia and Serbia, as well as

such figures as Picasso, Modigliani, Cocteau, Ehrenburg, and

d’Annunzio.

Throughout his life, he lived simply. Well-known as an

anarchic bohemian, he was a frequenter of bars and cafés,

and always poor. Typical photos show him wearing a battered

and ramshackle trilby cocked at a lopsided angle. Affectionate

anecdotes about him abound, whether true or apocryphal, like

the one I heard about him from poet-friends in Kragujevac,

Šumadija, the Serbian heartland. It goes like this: Tin is sitting

in a bar with friends, blindfold, tasting wines from all over

Yugoslavia and identifying them. He sips half a dozen samples

in turn, swirls each one around his mouth, and names all of

them in quick succession without a single mistake. Then some-

one thrusts a glass of water into his hands. He takes a slurp.

“No, I don’t recognize that one,” he says. Other stories aren’t so

salubrious. There’s one about him taking off his hat, picking two

fleas out of his hair, and inviting his friends to place bets on a

race between them across a café table. Apparently, he spent five

years in the French Foreign Legion, though I haven’t yet found

out when or where he served.

•

Tin’s most celebrated lyrics are those in the collection

Kolajna

[

The Necklace

] (1926), the

tour-de-force

‘Svakidašnja jadikovka’

(‘Daily Lament’) as well as several other poems that first appeared

with it in

Lelek sebra

[

Cry of a Slave

] (1920). The poems in this

small introductory selection are taken from these two books.

Tin’s poems of the 1920s are immediately approachable in thei

surface lucidity and simplicity. Every poem is interpretable as a

formally composed container or vessel from which an interior

feeling emerges. And if it is a truism that exploration and ex-

pression of subjectivity are part and parcel of all lyrical poetry,

what particularly characterises Tin is that the feeling itself appears

to be allowed ‘out’ and ‘up’ in the very instant of being felt; or,

rather, it is released, simply and clearly, in the precise act of being

apprehended. That is to say, it is expressed directly, with neither

resistance nor hesitation, and certainly with no need of filtration

through the kinds of self-irony, emotional reticence or linguistic

gamesmanship that mark a good deal of modernist and post-

modernist writing. There is artifice, to be sure, and it is of a high

order: Tin is far too sophisticated a poet ever to be interpretable

as a naïf. Once (or, rather, if ) this point has been accepted, it

then becomes evident that his artifice operates so unobtrusively

that it

implies

an effortless spontaneity and sincerity. At this level

of reading, then, if there is an impression of transparency in

Tin’s lyrics, this becomes convincing and genuine thanks to his

artifice.

•

The crafted quality of Tin’s lyrics is often flawless and their

perfection of musicality is comparable, I think, to that of

Verlaine. Among all the gems in his ‘necklace’ of poems, it is

fitting, I think, to end these introductory notes by drawing

particular attention to the first poem in this selection, ‘Daily

Lament’ (‘Svakidašnja jadikovka’). Unrhymed, but with an

inescapable, incessant, pounding rhythm, it insists, with slow

inevitability, on successive waves of feeling that tumble over one

another in rapid succession, oscillating between unease, anxiety,

angst, anger, anguish and despair. Here is a poem that, from

the point of view of both subject matter and tone, takes every

imaginable risk. It is, in all senses, on the edge. At the same time,

in its modulation, pace and emphasis, the patterning is flawless.

I don’t believe there is a human being, however sanguine, who

hasn’t at some time felt something of what it

11

is perhaps most astounding about it is the vitality, vigour and

dignity that pulse through it: even in the fullness of its diatribe

against life’s pains and difficulties, in its beat, its breath, it is

paradoxically most full of life. This poem is generally agreed to

be Tin’s lyrical masterpiece. It is universally powerful.

Richard Berengarten

Cambridge, July 2012

r

7

Tin Ujević, Lyricist

The Croatian poet Augustin (Tin) Ujević (1891-1955) is one of

the finest Southern Slav lyric poets and one of the great poets

of Europe in the first half of the twentieth century. While Tin

Ujević’s poems are hardly known in English, they are loved in his

native Croatia and throughout former Yugoslavia. I say ‘loved’

advisedly. I don’t mean just admired or respected. At least until

the break-up of the Yugoslav Federation, many of Tin’s lyrics

were known by heart and quoted by people all over the country,

even those who weren’t particularly literary, in much the same

way as some of W.B. Yeats’s early poems, like ‘The Lake Isle of

Innisfree’, ‘He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven’ and ‘Down by

the Salley Gardens’, are known and quoted all over Ireland and

the UK. This is mainly because people brought up in the various

Yugoslav republics learned some of Tin’s poems at school. What

is more, the sincerity of affection for him as a poet and as a man

is evident even today in South-Slavic countries, especially in the

tendency still to refer to him by his pet-name, Tin. And just as

the topics of his poems are intimate, and his poetic personality

comes across as endearing and sympathetic, so readers in his

own language experience and share an intimate response to his

poems and feel that they ‘know’ the ‘real’ Tin too.

When I first went to live in former Yugoslavia in 1987, the

poems of Tin’s that I first came across, as might be expected,

were his most anthologised pieces. In Split, 1987, Daša Marić

asked me to try translating some of these best-known poems, and

because my Croatian at that time – or rather, my Serbo-Croat

– was a beginner’s, she helped me by making literal versions,

which we worked from together. Later, in Belgrade and then in

Cambridge, I became more or less proficient enough to translate

several more poems alone.

Tin’s art is delicate, highly crafted, akin to that of filigree.

Translation of a poet as intricate as he is sometimes works,

sometimes doesn’t. You try things out, one after another, you

Daily Lament

How hard it is not to be strong,

how hard it is to be alone,

and to be old, yet to be young!

and to be weak, and powerless,

alone, with no one anywhere,

dissatisfied, and desperate.

And trudge bleak highways endlessly,

and to be trampled in the mud,

with no star shining in the sky.

Without your star of destiny

to play its twinklings on your crib

with rainbows and false prophecies.

– Oh God, oh God, remember all

the glittering fair promises

with which you have afflicted me.

Oh God, oh God, remember all

the great loves, the great victories,

the wreaths of laurel and the gifts.

And know you have a son who walks

the weary valleys of the world

among sharp thorns, and rocks and stones,

through unkindness and unconcern,

with his feet bloodied under him,

and with his heart an open wound

First published in English and Croatian

in the United Kingdom in 2013 by

Shearsman Books, 50 Westons Hill Drive, Emersons Green

BRISTOL BS16 7DF

Shearsman Books Ltd Registered Office

30–31 St. James Place, Mangotsfield, Bristol BS16 9JB

(this address not for correspondence)

www.shearsman.com

ISBN 978-1-84861-316-4

English translations ~ prijevod na engleski jezik

© Richard Berengarten and Daša Marić 2013

Introduction ~ uvod © Richard Berengarten 2013

Cover design ~ dizajn naslovnice © Arijana Mišić-Burns 2013

The rights of Richard Berengarten and Daša Marić to be identified as the

translators of this work in English have been asserted by them in accordance

with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Richard Berengarten i Daša Marić smatraju se prevoditeljima-autorima ovog

djela na engleskom jeziku prema Glavi 77. Zakona o autorskim pravima,

dizajnu i patentima iz 1988.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to the editors of the following journals and websites, in/on which some

of these translations have appeared: ‘Listen how in this perfumed dark’,

Celtic

Dawn

(

Yeats Club Review

,

“special distinction”), No. 5, 1990; ‘Daily Lament’,

‘Frailty’, ‘Star on High’, and

The Necklace

XXV, XXXI and XXXII,

North Dakota

Quarterly

(

Out of Yugoslavia,

special issue), Winter 1993; ‘Blessed morning’ and

‘Daily Lament’,

Borut’s Literature Collection

,

http://www.borut.com/library/

texts/tin/poetry_u.htm; ‘Tonight my forehead gleams’, http://www.ezgeetacom/

notturno.html;

The Necklace

XI, XX, XXI (‘Nocturne’), XXXII, ‘Star on High’

and ‘Frailty’,

Mediterranean Poetry

: http://www.Mediterranean.nu/?p=1713.

The present selection of translations was first published in the online journal

[sic]

(no. 3, yr. 2), 2011; and the introduction to this selection is extracted (and slightly

adapted) from an essay which appeared in the same issue, entitled ‘A Nimble

Footing on the Coals, Tin Ujević, Lyricist: Some English Perspectives’. http://

www.sicjournal.org/en/contents. Special thanks go to Tomislav Kuzmanović,

the translation editor of

[sic]

, for his valuable critical comments on that essay

and for his support in the preparation of this book, and to Anne Stevenson, for

an improvement in nuance to the translation of

The Necklace

XXI.

Twelve Poems

by Tin Ujević

Copyright Disclaimer under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976,
allowance is madefor fair use for purposes such as criticism,
comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship and research.
Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing.
Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor
of fair use.

01 Sex sux (amen)
02 Slushy
03 Monsterpussy
04 Bitch [bonus track]
05 No hope
06 Oliver Twosted
07 The day i was a horse
08 Dum dum
09 Hairy
10 Lovecraft
11 Dying for it (the blues) [bonus track]
12 Let's get ugly [bonus track]
----------------------------------------­------------------
RECORDED: December 1988 - January 1989, Chamber Studios, Edinburgh, Scotland

RELEASED: June 1989

PRODUCED BY: Jamie Watson & The Vaselines

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