and I, the while, the sole, unbusy thing…

And I, the while, the sole, unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

_Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Broken-heart

_ T'was by a lovely morning
_ When the summertime came
_ and just before that school closed
_ Going my way, nice and easy, in deed
_ suddenly, I felt inside of me something bleed
_ making my day not so bright
_ a surge of tears, an urge to cry, in despair 
_ I had none, something to tell, or to whom to write, 
_ nor to recite, this piece of poetry, nor pair
_ that's when sometimes you got the blues
_ and you had the heart torn away, too loose.
_  I encarved our hearts into a trunk of a tree,
_ At the fork of two roads, I lingered as often, 
_ I decided, but to choose that day the one not taken, 
_ I stopped by, at the school of cutting classes,
    where you play hide, and seek, by the bushes
_ where you learnt the tools of the trades, arts and crafts, 
_ those small things of life, state-of-art, of everything,
_ things that people envy you for, gossip about and jibe, 
_ but silently wish to do, and dare never did. 
_ Sweet sixteen, smoking cigs, makes you feel not at ease, 
_ just because to show off, among friends, and but just to please. 
_ What had left, at last, of things that had to pass, 
  but then when there is no more of such sweet thing, 
_ of see you later, I love you and for forever, alas 
_ who fancy, to tell me how? It’s all fake
_  you, who knows, where and how to take
_ "and I, the while, the sole unbusy thing,
_ Not honey to make, nor pair, no build or sing" 
_ It was all about love, and understanding.
_  Bitterly, this is it, C’est la vie, yes I learnt
_ By the road not always that people took,
_  I went to see the railroads men, and departing train.
_ with pain in my heart, and the day as it mights rain 
_ I will tell you such, and such where the joy 
_ tears, laughter, wounded limbs of a lit’l boy
_  If you please, take pain to listen to me
_ it's a nonsense, you may say
_  then you burst in laughers,
_ and that, also I know, and dare say
_  Oh, my heart, you still remember, do you?
_ When Marie went to draw water from the well
_  She was so pretty and jolly.
_ Then, Fatima, the brunette, oh! Holy molly, 
_ when I took her hand, it was so smooth 
_ ever than a step stone, where we sat,
_  at the threshold of a fountain
_ tearing off petals of daisy flowers, hours, and hours
_  we thought then, nights and days, that the world was ours
_ To please them both, I learnt poetry, De Musset, 
_ Baudelaire, et Rimbaud, Aragon, Hugo and La Fontaine. 
_ Love me, love me not, a love play 
_ Forget me not, Proust, the Swann's way. 
_ à L'ombre des Jeunes Filles en Fleurs. 
_ But I forgot love it's a leur
_ Cutting classes, The Fridays afternoon 
_ And Sweet Tuesdays, with moon 
_ For the love of a girl’smile
_  you can do anything, like walking  hundred and a mile
_ Many years, later on, I can’t help But still remember now and then 
_ Those were the days, my friend That seemed never end 
_ Please tell me where are they
_ When, eat, love and play 
_ Was a day of not worried

_Kalimelo

So, if I had a hammer…

“Ain’t such an easy thing. To make a dream comes true, nowadays. So then if I have a hummer,  after that, I did it, I  can still stay a dreamer, you may say that, but I am not the only one…” I said to my muse

“Imagine All the people…Poets, and_ you know, The Beatles

“Imagine all the people…
You may say I am a dreamer,
but I am not the only one.
I hope someday, you will join us”_ John Lennon

So If I had a hummer

If I have a hammer
I would be a carpenter,
I’ll build a boat,
A dream of a kid, a once I got

If I have a hammer
I would be a sailor,
and I would be an Art-painter
Then I’ll say, lo! and pray,Oh! Lord!

I have pain in my heart to soothe
I would have astrolabe,
sextant and compasses
I’ll trace my route
On maps, as hour passes

So, then I’ll throw off the bowlines, and go at sea,
and see people, and things I would never see
If I staid I would take root
But here I am, and where I stood

If I have a hammer
I would be a skipper,
I got urgent desire,
a heart on dire,

to see the seven seas_
“Les Îles Marquises, le ciel est bleu la mer est grise.

Cheers

 Then, I would reconcile my heart 
 with that old dream of mine,
 that I had once ago when I was a kid of nine.
 That is, it would be it, a state-of-mind, and art?
 Then there, I'll stand with sheer delight 
 with a glass of wine in my hand 
 Then I can sing Brel, and draw like Gauguin
 With Peace in mind, And I'll dance all night
 I'll sit on the shore, at a bonfire light

That is all about; A stirring Conversation, a Tête-à-Tête, à tue-téte,   with my muse,  le cœur en fête, the joy at heart…if I have a million dollars…

 

Poet n’ troubadour|Soul-of-my guitar

http://poetreecreations.org/2014/06/23/passing-time-square-promote-yourself/

Thanks to http://poetreecreations.org/author/poetreecreations/, Gillian Sim, by them I get published my poem above,

The poem must resist the intelligence, Almost successfully.

_http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wallace_Stevense

 “Companionable.”

Soul-of-My Guitar

 Sometimes, when you get the Blues
 or The Nana of yours, she is jalous.
 That whe You feel lonely, to-night
 and in your heart, insides, it tears

 I harken to the Soul-of-my guitar,
 I hugged that Old'-companion of mine

 It's my Pêché-Mignion, my glass of wine
 My-bread-and-butter, my Duchess
 It's My guitar, my Gitane*, my muse.
 
 Keep your laughers, and your tears,
 and your sarcasm, and also please
 Doesn't matters if my sorrow that's ye amuse

 we had, an _á peut-prêt, this small talk
 T'was two o'clock in morning, I suppose
 This kind of a language, I propose,
 and a lit'le of your time, I may dispose
 if you please, and I will take
 
 I said to her: "Longtime no-see, dear"
 She said: " I was just  sitting here,
 already set, with all my frets
 Longing for your fingers,
 on my neck to linger
 I was all the time Resting on a chair,"
 I was "Just gathering some dust_
 And you were always  at a hast,"
 "You fled for a woman,and her hair,"
 Now, that you come back to me,
 with heart-broken, at last
 And for my hard strings always to press_
 At seventeen, I know L'Amour, ç'a blesse."
 I'm longing for your caress,
 I am weeping, Can't you see it?"
 with some reproach in her voice,
 She said: "can You believe it?"
 I said: " Ain't  got no choice"
 "mais encore", she said
 I said, "Strike a chord"
 "It doesn't mean a thing," I plaid
 "Seise the thing,"  she said,
 "and let it go"
 Grate the strings,
 just add a touch,
 some Sol La Si and the such
 And Say it low
 And the words will follow
 And put some rhymes.
 It works sometimes
 Then, there you get the Blues,
 And you'll be at ease"
 I said: "tonight.
 " I have to write,
 she  said:" and it's will be alright,
 just get it right."
 "And you are done with that beautiful mess"
 
__At a wee hour, I felt like my soul of a poet, and a troubadour, I ceise my companionable guitar 
so  I just gave it a try, and see what happens, like bonjour, it's five morning
_Kalimelo

*Gitannes, a trademark of French cigarettes, and it means also, a gypsy woman fortune-teller

*gitane, a gypsy woman_ Frensh Dictionaries

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/strike-a-chord/

Chaabi hours

I felt so good, sometimes ago, last summer, when browsing YouTube, I came across a video of “ El Gusto” Group Orchestra, during its passage at the RockefellerCenter, in New York, taken by aficionado of the Chaabi Music of Algiers. Which exhibition unfortunately I missed, alas! Then, after show, it’s averred to be a grandiose manifestation of a coterie of remaining talented artists , who were still alive, belonging from all of the communities that existed in Algiers before the events of 1962. Which venue reunites them to un orchestra,  thanks to a lit’le bout- de- femme, named Safinez with a tremendous talent, for a unique Concert in the history of the Chaabi music of all times. And that event will make history for the next coming generations of fans, for sure. There were a golden time for the Algerian Chaabi music, a Blues Genre in the Algerian music repertoires in the 60’s, that was just  after the Independence of Algeria.

Continue reading Chaabi hours

Chaabi hours

I felt so good, some times ago, when browsing YouTube, I came across a video of “ El Gusto”, on the Chaabi Music of Algiers. After show, it’s averred that it was a grandiose manifestation of remaining talented artists of all the communities existing in Algiers, before the events of 1962, which venue reunites in un orchestra for a unique Concert, in the history of the Chaabi music of all times. And it will make history for the next generations of fans, for sure. There were a golden time for the Algerian Chaabi music, a Blues Genre in the Algerian music repertoires in the 60’s, just  after the Independence of Algeria.

A small talk about it, for instance, is necessary I presume to introduce the Chaabi by its own. The name of Chaabi was given by its master himself, El hadj El Anka to a popular genre of music, that distinct its self from the Medheh, a religious music, and the classic schools of the typical music of Andalusia. The Chaabi draws its sources from the Andalusia Heritage Arab-Moorish music culture, and a proper Algerian country background. Before the fall of the cities of Granada, and Seville  in Spain during the Reconquista epoch, the cities were the poles of attraction for the refugees of Muslim’s and Jewish communities, from all over the places in Spain, fleeing the persecution of the Spaniards.

We might say that the Chaabi genre is born in tragedy times, and tell the story of the tragedy. And each time, it regenerates from the its aches, like the Sphinx, and the name “El Anka” is of a rare bird of mythology also, given from a master of olden to his disciple of a rare talent, when he exceled to the point of surpassing the teacher.

The Chaabi sings the separation, the tear-off, of lovers, the longing for a remote home, lost forever ,the diaspora, but also celebrates the gathering and reunion of the two lovers.

Fifty years later,  a joyful band members celebrated the event , a dream came true, to play one more time on stage together, in Paris, at the Opera or wherever, and above all within an orchestra.

In some sort the consecration, a revenge  on the odds, after an exile of more the half a millennium, an off-spring of the Arab-Moorish music is raised in apotheoses on the other side of the Mediterranean.

In memories of all the Olden and new masters of Chaabi.

kamal        

Save the Algerian Goldfinch” El Mackneen”

Few more days, and spring is here!
“So what!  is it essential to fuzz about that? to have put it in a cage? it’s my pet!” you may said that, it’s your right, and I totally agree with you. You can even have an alligator, or a boa constractor with free shipping delivered directly to your door. So, are you ready to set him free, the little dude? not the alligator, I mean the Goldfinch? you do? do you know that there is more than a hundred thousand birds “Mackneen_godlfinch in cages, just in Algiers, the Capital, only to cite it as example, besides the rest of cities in  the country. For, imagine that it actually exists one bird in a cage in a home, if we count per habitat, if we do the maths, provided that just as  it is existential for you to be free, and leave free, think about “it”, so be the first, get some guts open the d*** cage,  and do it!  just like that: and baby fly, yes baby, fly