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Post by Alan Palmer on Aug 19, 2008 10:04:36 GMT
A search of YouTube shows several promising Betjeman/Metroland clips. I'm at work at the moment so can't watch them, but will take a look this evening from home.
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Post by Alan Palmer on Aug 19, 2008 10:11:50 GMT
A deceptively simple poem by Robert Frost: The Road Not Taken
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.
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Post by Twoddle on Aug 19, 2008 10:26:01 GMT
Was the railway station still functioning? It closed in 1966, apparently. Thanks, Alan.
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Post by Pete on Aug 19, 2008 10:37:12 GMT
A search of YouTube shows several promising Betjeman/Metroland clips. I'm at work at the moment so can't watch them, but will take a look this evening from home. Alan, only one is about Betjeman's Metroland programme. It's actually a short recent clip about one of the buildings that features. The rest of the Metroland stuff is about some shopping mall. But thanks for looking.
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Post by Twoddle on Aug 19, 2008 10:42:17 GMT
Déjeuner du Matin, by Jacques Prévert
Il a mis le café He put the coffee Dans la tasse In the cup Il a mis le lait He put the milk Dans la tasse de café In the cup of coffee Il a mis le sucre He put the sugar Dans le café au lait In the white coffee Avec la petite cuiller With the teaspoon Il a tourné He stirred it Il a bu le café au lait He drank the white coffee Et il a reposé la tasse And he replaced the cup Sans me parler Without speaking to me
Il a allumé He lit Une cigarette A cigarette Il a fait des ronds He blew rings Avec la fumée With the smoke Il a mis les cendres He put the ash Dans le cendrier In the ash tray Sans me parler Without speaking to me Sans me regarder Without looking at me
Il s'est levé He rose Il a mis He put Son chapeau sur sa tête His hat on his head Il a mis son manteau de pluie He donned his raincoat Parce qu'il pleuvait Because it was raining Et il est parti And he left Sous la pluie In the rain Sans une parole Without a word Sans me regarder Without looking at me
Et moi j'ai pris And me, I put Ma tête dans ma main My head in my hands Et j'ai pleuré And I cried
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Post by Verbivore on Aug 19, 2008 11:19:18 GMT
From Roald Dahl's Revolting Rhymes (my 1984 Picture Puffin edition, illustrated by Quentin Blake - and signed on the inside of the front cover by that old fraud Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh for a late b/f of mine, poor deluded bugger).
Just the first 14 lines of each.
Cinderella
I guess you think you know this story. You don't. The real one's much more gory. The phoney one, the one you know, Was cooked up years and years ago, And made to sound all soft and sappy Just to keep the children happy. Mind you, they got the first bit right, The bit where, in the dead of night, The Ugly Sisters, jewels and all, Departed for the Palace Ball, While darling little Cinderella Was locked up in a slimy cellar, Where rats who wanted things to eat, Began to nibble at her feet.
Little Red Riding Hood
A soon as Wolf began to feel That he would like a decent meal, He went and knocked on Grandma's door. When Grandma opened it, she saw The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin, And Wolfie said, 'May I come in?' Poor Grandmamma was terrified, 'He's going to eat me up!' she cried. And she was absolutely right. He ate her up in one big bite. But Grandmamma was small and tough, And Wolfie wailed, 'That's not enough! 'I haven't yet begun to feel 'That I have had a decent meal!'
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Post by amanda on Aug 19, 2008 11:32:17 GMT
A deceptively simple poem by Robert Frost: [/blockquote][/quote] Simple, but how those final lines lines pang the heart! Similarly, I think, with "Not Waving but Drowning" by Stevie Smith:Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he's dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.
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Post by Twoddle on Aug 19, 2008 12:13:54 GMT
A deceptively simple poem by Robert Frost: [/blockquote][/quote] Simple, but how those final lines lines pang the heart! [/quote] Wouldn't we all like to be able to go back and try the other road!
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Post by Verbivore on Aug 19, 2008 12:44:06 GMT
Wouldn't we all like to be able to go back and try the other road! Nope. Tried it and had to jump the tracks! Je ne regrette rien. Life's too short for the pointless exercise of what-iffing.
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Post by Paul Doherty on Aug 19, 2008 13:00:35 GMT
As Amanda says, it's not for me to criticise other people's choice of poetry. But Desiderata wouldn't be in my top 100, I'm afraid.
The Stevie Smith reminded me that I must dig out some Dorothy Parker. Wasn't her autobiography called Not Waving But Downing? (And I also liked the title of Diana Rigg's No Turn Unstoned.)
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Post by Twoddle on Aug 19, 2008 17:26:10 GMT
Wouldn't we all like to be able to go back and try the other road! Nope. Tried it and had to jump the tracks! Je ne regrette rien. Life's too short for the pointless exercise of what-iffing. Unfortunately, je regrette beaucoup; but, as you say, what-iffing achieves nothing except plus de regrets.
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Post by TfS on Aug 19, 2008 19:27:59 GMT
As Amanda says, it's not for me to criticise other people's choice of poetry. But Desiderata wouldn't be in my top 100, I'm afraid. Works for me.
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Post by Paul Doherty on Aug 19, 2008 19:45:51 GMT
Fair enough, TfS.
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Post by Twoddle on Aug 19, 2008 21:19:43 GMT
What is it you don't like about Desiderata, Paul? It seems to be filled with sound - if over-idealistic - advice, although I confess I find myself more in tune with Theodore Roosevelt's advice to "Walk softly and carry a big stick".
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Post by Paul Doherty on Aug 19, 2008 21:49:06 GMT
It wouldn't be fair to offer a critique here, Twod. Poetry is a very personal thing, and if TfS likes it, that's fine by me, even though it's not to my taste.
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