Looking at this pig-ture just gives me so much joy.
Relevant: “That’ll do, pig. That’ll do.” (The Sheep-Pig by Dick King-Smith a.k.a. Babe)
Tag - love
So I mentioned that day that one of my poems has been published in the latest issue of Ceriph.
Here it is:
- Lucky Strikes
By Laremy Lee
For all the boys from 10A04.
Fumbles one out from the box, strikes
it at a dulled edge: conversation
does not ensue. He tries again – twice,
thrice, before its head snaps off, departing
into the distance of a long, lonely night.
Leaves him standing there, limp
cigarette dangling loosely from his lips,
moisture slowly soaking filter tip.
Lighting up shouldn’t be a dismal match
grovelling wildly at the feet of blunted flints,
looking to catch the song of a spark
in a vain draw on an inflamed hope –
that determination will grow into fire.
Go get your copy of Ceriph if you haven’t already done so.
I’ve just finished reading Map of the Invisible World by Tash Aw.
I got it at a book swap on Sunday and it’s accompanied me since my operation on Tuesday.
There was a motif in the text which I thought was quite cool: the recurrent use of “La Coccinelle (The Ladybird)” by Victor Hugo to discuss the theme of love.
The poem, in French, as far as I know, as follows:
La Coccinelle
Elle me dit: “Quelque chose
“Me tourmente.” Et j’aperçus
Son cou de neige, et, dessus,
Un petit insecte rose.
J’aurais dû, – mais, sage ou fou,
A seize ans, on est farouche, –
Voir le baiser sur sa bouche
Plus que l’insecte à son cou.
On eût dit un coquillage;
Dos rose et taché de noir.
Les fauvettes pour nous voir
Se penchaient dans le feuillage.
Sa bouche fraîche était là;
Je me courbai sur la belle,
Et je pris la coccinelle;
Mais le baiser s’envola.
“Fils, apprends comme on me nomme,”
Dit l’insecte du ciel bleu,
“Les bêtes sont au bon Dieu;
“Mais la bêtise est à l’homme.”
— Victor Hugo
An English translation, culled together from other translations plus my own limited knowledge of French:
The Ladybird
She told me: “Something is
Bothering me.” And I saw
Her snow-white neck, and, on it,
A small rose-coloured insect.
I should have, – but, wise or foolish,
One is awkward at sixteen, –
Seen the kiss on her lips
More than the bug on her neck.
One would have called it a seashell;
Red-backed and spotted black.
To see us, the warblers
Leaned forward in the foilage.
There was her cool mouth;
I bent over the lovely girl,
And I caught the ladybird;
But away flew the kiss.
“Son, learn my name,”
Said the bug from the sky blue,
“The beasts belong to our good Lord;
“But beastly stupidity belongs to man.”
— Victor Hugo
Here’s a comic of the poem too, if you’re so inclined.