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Wakefield

Cast: Jennifer Garner, Bryan Cranston, Jason O'Mara, Beverly D'Angelo, Ian Anthony Dale, Pippa Bennett-Warner, Ellery Sprayberry, Frederick Keeve, Monica Lawson, Isaac Leyva

trailer for Wakefield, directed by Robin Swicord, screenplay by Robin Swicord (2016)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Isaac and Archibald

(To Mrs. Henry Richards)

Isaac and Archibald were two old men.
I knew them, and I may have laughed at them
A little; but I must have honored them
For they were old, and they were good to me.

I do not think of either of them now,
Without remembering, infallibly,
A journey that I made one afternoon
With Isaac to find out what Archibald
Was doing with his oats. It was high time
Those oats were cut, said Isaac; and he feared
That Archibald—well, he could never feel
Quite sure of Archibald. Accordingly
The good old man invited me—that is,
Permitted me—to go along with him;
And I, with a small boy’s adhesiveness
To competent old age, got up and went.

I do not know that I cared overmuch
For Archibald’s or anybody’s oats,
But Archibald was quite another thing,
And Isaac yet another; and the world
Was wide, and there was gladness everywhere.
We walked together down the River Road
With all the warmth and wonder of the land
Around us, and the wayside flash of leaves,—
And Isaac said the day was glorious;
But somewhere at the end of the first mile
I found that I was figuring to find
How long those ancient legs of his would keep
The pace that he had set for them. The sun
Was hot, and I was ready to sweat blood;
But Isaac, for aught I could make of him,
Was cool to his hat-band. So I said then
With a dry gasp of affable despair,
Something about the scorching days we have
In August without knowing it sometimes;
But Isaac said the day was like a dream,
And praised the Lord, and talked about the breeze.
I made a fair confession of the breeze,
And crowded casually on his thought
The nearness of a profitable nook
That I could see. First I was half inclined
To caution him that he was growing old,
But something that was not compassion soon
Made plain the folly of all subterfuge.
Isaac was old, but not so old as that.

[...] Read more

poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Tale XX

THE BROTHERS.

Than old George Fletcher, on the British coast
Dwelt not a seaman who had more to boast:
Kind, simple and sincere--he seldom spoke,
But sometimes sang and chorus'd--'Hearts of Oak:'
In dangers steady, with his lot content,
His days in labour and in love were spent.
He left a Son so like him, that the old
With joy exclaim'd, ''Tis Fletcher we behold;'
But to his Brother, when the kinsmen came
And view'd his form, they grudged the father's

name.
George was a bold, intrepid, careless lad,
With just the failings that his father had;
Isaac was weak, attentive, slow, exact,
With just the virtues that his father lack'd.
George lived at sea: upon the land a guest -
He sought for recreation, not for rest;
While, far unlike, his brother's feebler form
Shrank from the cold, and shudder'd at the storm;
Still with the Seaman's to connect his trade,
The boy was bound where blocks and ropes were made.
George, strong and sturdy, had a tender mind,
And was to Isaac pitiful and kind;
A very father, till his art was gain'd,
And then a friend unwearied he remain'd;
He saw his brother was of spirit low,
His temper peevish, and his motions slow;
Not fit to bustle in a world, or make
Friends to his fortune for his merit's sake;
But the kind sailor could not boast the art
Of looking deeply in the human heart;
Else had he seen that this weak brother knew
What men to court--what objects to pursue;
That he to distant gain the way discern'd,
And none so crooked but his genius learn'd.
Isaac was poor, and this the brother felt;
He hired a house, and there the Landman dwelt,
Wrought at his trade, and had an easy home,
For there would George with cash and comforts come;
And when they parted, Isaac look'd around
Where other friends and helpers might be found.
He wish'd for some port-place, and one might

fall,
He wisely thought, if he should try for all;
He had a vote--and were it well applied,
Might have its worth--and he had views beside;

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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The Victories Of Love. Book I

I
From Frederick Graham

Mother, I smile at your alarms!
I own, indeed, my Cousin's charms,
But, like all nursery maladies,
Love is not badly taken twice.
Have you forgotten Charlotte Hayes,
My playmate in the pleasant days
At Knatchley, and her sister, Anne,
The twins, so made on the same plan,
That one wore blue, the other white,
To mark them to their father's sight;
And how, at Knatchley harvesting,
You bade me kiss her in the ring,
Like Anne and all the others? You,
That never of my sickness knew,
Will laugh, yet had I the disease,
And gravely, if the signs are these:

As, ere the Spring has any power,
The almond branch all turns to flower,
Though not a leaf is out, so she
The bloom of life provoked in me;
And, hard till then and selfish, I
Was thenceforth nought but sanctity
And service: life was mere delight
In being wholly good and right,
As she was; just, without a slur;
Honouring myself no less than her;
Obeying, in the loneliest place,
Ev'n to the slightest gesture, grace
Assured that one so fair, so true,
He only served that was so too.
For me, hence weak towards the weak,
No more the unnested blackbird's shriek
Startled the light-leaved wood; on high
Wander'd the gadding butterfly,
Unscared by my flung cap; the bee,
Rifling the hollyhock in glee,
Was no more trapp'd with his own flower,
And for his honey slain. Her power,
From great things even to the grass
Through which the unfenced footways pass,
Was law, and that which keeps the law,
Cherubic gaiety and awe;
Day was her doing, and the lark
Had reason for his song; the dark
In anagram innumerous spelt
Her name with stars that throbb'd and felt;

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poem by Coventry Patmore
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Allegany Camp

amazing grace circus camp
amazing grace day camp
amazing grace hallelujah jeremy camp
amazing grace jeremy camp
amazing love jeremy camp
amazing place chalet pigeon forge
amazing race church camp
amazing race games for camps
amazing race girl scout camp
amazon camp dutch lodge oven
amazon camp in sweetwater missouri
amazon cast iron dutch lodge camp
amazon dutch oven camp
amazon lodge dutch oven camp
ambassador camp at lake waccamaw nc
ambassador camp inc
ambassador chalet
ambassador chalet at doral
ambassador chalet wgc
amber bowers
amber camp lazlo
amber pow camp
amberg germany dp camp
ambition camp hockey pro
ambler baseball camp
ambleside scotland school camp
ambon pow camp
ambor island pow camp
ambor pow camp
ambulance bower
amc camp dodge
amc camp movie summer
amc camp summer theater
amc little lyford camps
amc movie camp
amc movie camps
amc north west camp bear mountain
amc pinkham notch camp
amc summer camp for s
amc summer camp for s 2007
amc summer camp movies
amc summer movie camp
amc summer movie camp 2007
amc summer movie camp 2008
amc summer movie camp arlington
amc summer movie camp ontario california
amc theater camp hill
amc theatres summer camp
amcmovie camps
amelia earhart in japanese war camp

[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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The Victories Of Love. Book II

I
From Jane To Her Mother

Thank Heaven, the burthens on the heart
Are not half known till they depart!
Although I long'd, for many a year,
To love with love that casts out fear,
My Frederick's kindness frighten'd me,
And heaven seem'd less far off than he;
And in my fancy I would trace
A lady with an angel's face,
That made devotion simply debt,
Till sick with envy and regret,
And wicked grief that God should e'er
Make women, and not make them fair.
That he might love me more because
Another in his memory was,
And that my indigence might be
To him what Baby's was to me,
The chief of charms, who could have thought?
But God's wise way is to give nought
Till we with asking it are tired;
And when, indeed, the change desired
Comes, lest we give ourselves the praise,
It comes by Providence, not Grace;
And mostly our thanks for granted pray'rs
Are groans at unexpected cares.
First Baby went to heaven, you know,
And, five weeks after, Grace went, too.
Then he became more talkative,
And, stooping to my heart, would give
Signs of his love, which pleased me more
Than all the proofs he gave before;
And, in that time of our great grief,
We talk'd religion for relief;
For, though we very seldom name
Religion, we now think the same!
Oh, what a bar is thus removed
To loving and to being loved!
For no agreement really is
In anything when none's in this.
Why, Mother, once, if Frederick press'd
His wife against his hearty breast,
The interior difference seem'd to tear
My own, until I could not bear
The trouble. 'Twas a dreadful strife,
And show'd, indeed, that faith is life.
He never felt this. If he did,
I'm sure it could not have been hid;
For wives, I need not say to you,

[...] Read more

poem by Coventry Patmore
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Money For Nothing/beverly Hillbillies

Beverly
Beverly hillbillies
Huh, now lookie here people
Listen to my story
A little story bout a man named jed
You know something?
That poor mountaineer
They say he barely kept his family fed
Now, let me tell you
One day he was shootin
Old jed was shootin at some food
When all of a sudden right up from the ground, there
Well, there came a bubblin crude
Oil that is well, maybe you call it black gold or texas tea
He gonna move next to mr. drysdale and be a beverly hillbilly...
Before you know it, all the kinfolk are-a-sayin
Yeah, buddie, move away from there
That little clampet got his own cement pond
That little clampet, hes a millionaire
Now, everyone said californie
Is the place that you oughta be
We got to load up this here truck now
We got to move to beverly
Hills, that is
Swimming pools
Move-a-move-a-movie stars
Huh
Lookit that, lookit that
Beverly beverly beverly hillbillies
Yall come back now, yhear?
Beverly beverly beverly hillbillies
Beverly beverly beverly hillbillies
Beverly beverly beverly hillbillies

song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
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All I Have (feat. Jennifer Lopez)

(LL Cool J)
Baby, don't go... Baby, don't go...
Baby, dont go... Baby, don't go...
Baby, don't go... Baby, don't go...
(Jennifer)
Ooh... Yeah... Yeah... Yeah...
(Jennifer)
It's such a shame but I'm leaving
Can't take the way you're mistreating me
And it's crazy, but oh baby
It don't matter, whatever
Don't phase me
(LL Cool J)
I don't believe you wanna leave like this
I don't believe I just had my last real kiss
I do believe we'll laugh and reminisce
Wait a minute, don't bounce baby,
let's talk about this, man...
(Jennifer)
Well I'm bouncin' and I'm out son
I gotta leave you alone
'Cause I'm good
Holdin' down my spot
And I'm good
Reppin' the girls on the block
And I'm good
I got this thing on lock
So without me you'll be fine - right
(Jennifer)
All my pride is all I have
(LL Cool J)
Pride is what you had, baby girl I'm what you have
(Jennifer)
You'll be needing me but too bad
(LL Cool J)
Be easy, don't make decisions while you're mad
(Jennifer)
The path you chose to run alone
(LL Cool J)
I know you're independent, you can make it on your own
(Jennifer)
Here with me you had a home, oh yeah...
(LL Cool J)
But time is of the essence, why spend it alone
(Jennifer)
The nights I waited up for you
Promises you made about coming through
So much time you wasted
That's why I had to replace you
(LL Cool J)

[...] Read more

song performed by LL Cool J
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bryan, Bryan, Bryan, Bryan

I

In a nation of one hundred fine, mob-hearted, lynching, relenting, repenting millions,
There are plenty of sweeping, swinging, stinging, gorgeous things to shout about,
And knock your old blue devils out.

I brag and chant of Bryan, Bryan, Bryan, Bryan,
Candidate for president who sketched a silver Zion,
The one American Poet who could sing outdoors,
He brought in tides of wonder, of unprecedented splendor,
Wild roses from the plains, that made hearts tender,
All the funny circus silks
Of politics unfurled,
Bartlett pears of romance that were honey at the cores,
And torchlights down the street, to the end of the world.

There were truths eternal in the gap and tittle-tattle.
There were real heads broken in the fustian and the rattle.
There were real lines drawn:
Not the silver and the gold,
But Nebraska's cry went eastward against the dour and old,
The mean and cold.

It was eighteen ninety-six, and I was just sixteen
And Altgeld ruled in Springfield, Illinois,
When there came from the sunset Nebraska's shout of joy:
In a coat like a deacon, in a black Stetson hat
He scourged the elephant plutocrats
With barbed wire from the Platte.
The scales dropped from their mighty eyes.
They saw that summer's noon
A tribe of wonders coming
To a marching tune.

Oh the longhorns from Texas,
The jay hawks from Kansas,
The plop-eyed bungaroo and giant giassicus,
The varmint, chipmunk, bugaboo,
The horn-toad, prairie-dog and ballyhoo,
From all the newborn states arow,
Bidding the eagles of the west fly on,
Bidding the eagles of the west fly on.
The fawn, prodactyl, and thing-a-ma-jig,
The rackaboor, the hellangone,
The whangdoodle, batfowl and pig,
The coyote, wild-cat and grizzly in a glow,
In a miracle of health and speed, the whole breed abreast,
The leaped the Mississippi, blue border of the West,
From the Gulf to Canada, two thousand miles long:-
Against the towns of Tubal Cain,

[...] Read more

poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Angelo

Seven moons, new moons, had eastward set their horns
Averted from the sun; seven moons, old moons,
Westward their sun-averted horns had set;
Since Angelo had brought his young bride home,
Lucia, to queen it in his Tuscan halls.
And much the folk had marvelled on that day
Seeing the bride how young and fair she was,
How all unlike the groom; for she had known
Twenty and five soft summers woo the world,
He twice as many winters take 't by storm.
And in those half-an-hundred winters,-ay,
And in the summer's blaze, and blush of spring,
And pomp of grave and grandiose autumntides,-
Full many a wind had beat upon his heart,
Of grief and frustrate hope full many a wind,
And rains full many, but no rains could damp
The fuel that was stored within; which lay
Unlighted, waiting for the tinder-touch,
Until a chance spark fall'n from Lucia's eyes
Kindled the fuel, and the fire was love:
Not such as rises blown upon the wind,
Goaded to flame by gusts of phantasy,
But still, and needing no replenishment,
Unquenchable, that would not be put out.

Albeit the lady Lucia's bosom lacked
The ore had made her heart a richer mine
Than earth's auriferous heart unsunned; from her
Love went not out, in whom there was no love.
Cold from the first, her breast grew frore, and bit
Her kind lord's bosom with its stinging frost.
Because he loved the fields and forests, made
Few banquetings for highborn winebibbers,
Eschewed the city and led no sumptuous life,
She, courtly, sneered at his uncourtliness,
Deeming his manners of a bygone mode.
And for that he was gentle overmuch,
And overmuch forbearant, she despised,
Mocked, slighted, taunted him, and of her scorn
Made a sharp shaft to wound his life at will.
She filled her cup with hate and bade him drink,
And he returned it brimming o'er with love.

And so seven moons had waxed and waned since these
Were wedded. And it chanced, one morn of Spring
Lucia bespake her spouse in even more
Ungentle wise than was her wont, and he,
For the first time, reproved her;-not as one
That having from another ta'en ill words
Will e'en cry quits and barter words as ill;

[...] Read more

poem by William Watson
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Monica

Under a lamp light
Monica stands at midnight,
And every guy think he can buy her love,
But money cant buy sweet lovin from monica.
Morning to moonshine,
Monica knows every line.
Dont ever propose cause monica knows, you know.
Shell turn up her nose and say what a fool you are.
I, I shall die,
I, I shall die if I should lose monica.
(oh monica my love.)
People can try,
People can try, but they cant buy monica, my love.
You take the sunshine,
Ill take the nightly shadows.
cause everyone knows that monica glows at night.
Shell do something wrong and prove to you she is right.
I, I shall die,
I, I shall die if I should lose monica.
(oh monica my love.)
People may try,
People may try, but they cant buy monica, my love.
Morning to moonshine,
Monica knows every line.
Dont ever propose cause monica knows, you know.
Shell turn up her nose and say what a fool you are.
Monica.

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Class Reunion

[Monica]
It's a class reunion, you come home from the ATM (oh yeah)
[Wyclef (Monica)]
Monica you ready, oh yeah
Man she look so good
Rolling through the hood
God bless the dead (bless the dead)
Jerry Wonder knock on wood
She was a ghetto queen, yeah
Turned into a fiend, yeah
Night I heard her scream
? to a nightmare dream, oh yeah (oh)
[Wyclef]
She was mine, she was pop
She was hip, she was hot
She was too fly, butterfly
It was her time, her time
It was her time, her time
So much dope on the streets
That I'm praying for peace
But the poor gotta eat
Talking bout my time
Everybody say it's my time, oh yeah
[Wyclef (Monica)]
Baby girl, the world is yours, just look through
That open door, I'll be there for you
If you ever feeling blue (oh), it's a beautiful world
[Monica]
Baby boy, the world is yours, when you're sad
I'll be your joy, I'm still your friend
And I'm a love you till the end
[Monica]
Said he looks so real
When he was running on the football field
I love the cheerleader scream his name
Even in ? he had game
But didn't show up at the class reunion
And when I asked one of my girls what happened
That's when they told me he got life in prison
Caught up in the system
Trying to be a kingpin
The story never ever ends
[Monica (Wyclef)]
He was mine, he was fine
He was hip, he was hot
He was too fly, butterfly
It was his time, it was his time (oh why, oh why, oh why)
So much dope on the streets
And I'm praying for peace
But the poor gotta eat

[...] Read more

song performed by Wyclef Jean
Added by Lucian Velea
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Barefoot In Beverly Hills

Still walkin barefoot, still walkin barefoot, still,
Still walkin barefoot, in beverly hills,
Still walkin barefoot still, in beverly hills,
I can walk on the stone, I can walk on the grass,
Im walkin all over this earth,
I can walk on the line, I can walk on the edge,
Im walkin all over this earth,
I can walk on low, I can walk on high,
Im walkin all over this earth,
And, I can walk on the grass, I can walk on the grass,
And walk on, you name it.
Still walkin barefoot, in beverly hills,
Still walkin barefoot still, in beverly hills,
(? )
I keep my feet from burning up,
For years I walked back beat,
With anything under my feet,
An immunity to heat,
An immunity to heat,
And walk on, you name it.
Still walkin barefoot, in beverly hills,
Still walkin barefoot still, in beverly hills,
Still walkin barefoot, in beverly hills,
Still walkin barefoot still, in beverly hills,
An immunity to heat.
Still walkin barefoot, in beverly hills,
Im still walkin barefoot still, in beverly hills,
Still walkin barefoot, in beverly hills,
Still walkin barefoot still, in beverly hills, (x2)
Oh for years I walked back beat,
All the years have gone to my feet,
Ive walked in the tall grass?
An immunity to heat.

song performed by Grace Jones
Added by Lucian Velea
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Beverly Hills

Where I come from it isn't all that great
My automobile is a piece of crap
My fashion sense is a little whack
And my friends are just as screwy as me
I didn't go to boarding schools
Preppie girls didn't look at me
Why should they?
I ain't nobody
got nothin' in my pocket
Beverly Hills
That's where I want to be!
Livin' in Beverly Hills
Beverly Hills
Rollin' like a celebrity!
Livin' in Beverly Hills
Look at all those movie stars
They're all so beautiful and clean
When their house maids scrub the floors
They get the spaces in between
I wanna live a life like that
I wanna live just like a king
Take my picture by the pool
'Cause I'm the next big thing!
Beverly Hills
That's where I want to be!
Livin' in Beverly Hills
Beverly Hills
Rollin' like a celebrity!
Livin' in Beverly Hills
The truth is I don't stand a chance
It's somethin' that you're born into
And I just don't belong
Well I know I'm a beat-down fool
And I will always be that way
I might as well enjoy my life
And watch the stars fall
Beverly Hills
That's where I want to be!
Livin' in Beverly Hills
Beverly Hills
Rollin' like a celebrity!
Livin' in Beverly Hills!

song performed by Weezer
Added by Lucian Velea
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Saint Monica

AMONG deep woods is the dismantled scite
Of an old Abbey, where the chaunted rite,
By twice ten brethren of the monkish cowl,
Was duly sung; and requiems for the soul
Of the first founder: For the lordly chief,
Who flourish'd paramount of many a fief,
Left here a stipend yearly paid, that they,
The pious monks, for his repose might say
Mass and orisons to Saint Monica.

Beneath the falling archway overgrown
With briars, a bench remains, a single stone,
Where sat the indigent, to wait the dole
Given at the buttery; that the baron's soul
The poor might intercede for; there would rest,
Known by his hat of straw with cockles drest,
And staff and humble weed of watchet gray,
The wandering pilgrim; who came there to pray
The intercession of Saint Monica.
Stern Reformation and the lapse of years
Have reft the windows, and no more appears
Abbot or martyr on the glass anneal'd;
And half the falling cloisters are conceal'd

By ash and elder: the refectory wall
Oft in the storm of night is heard to fall,
When, wearied by the labours of the day,
The half awaken'd cotters, starting say,
'It is the ruins of Saint Monica.'
Now with approaching rain is heard the rill,
Just trickling thro' a deep and hollow gill
By osiers, and the alder's crowding bush,
Reeds, and dwarf elder, and the pithy rush,
Choak'd and impeded: to the lower ground
Slowly it creeps; there traces still are found
Of hollow squares, embank'd with beaten clay,
Where brightly glitter'd in the eye of day
The peopled waters of Saint Monica.

The chapel pavement, where the name and date,
Or monkish rhyme, had mark'd the graven plate,
With docks and nettles now is overgrown;
And brambles trail above the dead unknown.­
Impatient of the heat, the straggling ewe
Tinkles her drowsy bell, as nibbling slow
She picks the grass among the thistles gray,
Whose feather'd seed the light air bears away,
O'er the pale relicks of Saint Monica.
Reecho'd by the walls, the owl obscene
Hoots to the night; as thro' the ivy green

[...] Read more

poem by Charlotte Smith
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Metamorphoses: Book The Seventh

THE Argonauts now stemm'd the foaming tide,
And to Arcadia's shore their course apply'd;
Where sightless Phineus spent his age in grief,
But Boreas' sons engage in his relief;
And those unwelcome guests, the odious race
Of Harpyes, from the monarch's table chase.
With Jason then they greater toils sustain,
And Phasis' slimy banks at last they gain,
Here boldly they demand the golden prize
Of Scythia's king, who sternly thus replies:
That mighty labours they must first o'ercome,
Or sail their Argo thence unfreighted home.
The Story of Meanwhile Medea, seiz'd with fierce desire,
Medea and By reason strives to quench the raging fire;
Jason But strives in vain!- Some God (she said)
withstands,
And reason's baffl'd council countermands.
What unseen Pow'r does this disorder move?
'Tis love,- at least 'tis like, what men call love.
Else wherefore shou'd the king's commands appear
To me too hard?- But so indeed they are.
Why shou'd I for a stranger fear, lest he
Shou'd perish, whom I did but lately see?
His death, or safety, what are they to me?
Wretch, from thy virgin-breast this flame expel,
And soon- Oh cou'd I, all wou'd then be well!
But love, resistless love, my soul invades;
Discretion this, affection that perswades.
I see the right, and I approve it too,
Condemn the wrong- and yet the wrong pursue.
Why, royal maid, shou'dst thou desire to wed
A wanderer, and court a foreign bed?
Thy native land, tho' barb'rous, can present
A bridegroom worth a royal bride's content:
And whether this advent'rer lives, or dies,
In Fate, and Fortune's fickle pleasure lies.
Yet may be live! for to the Pow'rs above,
A virgin, led by no impulse of love,
So just a suit may, for the guiltless, move.
Whom wou'd not Jason's valour, youth and blood
Invite? or cou'd these merits be withstood,
At least his charming person must encline
The hardest heart- I'm sure 'tis so with mine!
Yet, if I help him not, the flaming breath
Of bulls, and earth-born foes, must be his death.
Or, should he through these dangers force his way,
At last he must be made the dragon's prey.
If no remorse for such distress I feel,
I am a tigress, and my breast is steel.
Why do I scruple then to see him slain,

[...] Read more

poem by Ovid
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Brent River Bride

Flow proudly fair river,
For one who fell under
Your spell was the liver
Doc, Gershon - asunder
Found all his plans, muddled
By nymphs of the water -
He greatly befuddled
Then married the daughter
Of Count Joe of Wandle
Far south of the city
And went on to fondle
Her milk flowing titty.
I send this wet letter
To Brentische planners;
Such amour is better
Than yekkishe manners.

LRH
6.5.06 In reply to GWH's Bride of Brent of 6.5.06

Bride of Brent

Unlike Lucia from far Lammermoor,
fair Linda, hailing from far Chaumonix,
excels when she’s preparing salmon or
deep-frying spuds and spinach that aren’t gammony.

She tried to keep the frog which wooing went
outside the net she guarded as a goalie
till she became the Bride of River Brent
and played the role of Princess Rowley-Powley.

The frog, he always used to say “Heigh-ho, '
because he knew that he could never find a
more lovely princess once she’d kissed him so
he was more charmed than Chaumonix by Linda.

Inspired by Linda, who married me at the Brent Bridge Hotel in August 1996, and by “A frog he would a-wooing go”: [Old folk song].

A Frog he would a-wooing go,
Heigho! says Rowley,
Whether his mother would let him or no.
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.

So off he set with his opera hat,
Heigho! says Rowley,
And on the way he met with a Rat.
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.

[...] Read more

poem by Linda Hepner
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Si Seor

S seor, s seor, es mi son
Como no, como no
Bailador, bailador, ven goza el son
S seor, como no
Tengo este son que es fruto de inspiracin
Que viene del monte y del campo de caa
Un canto alegre lleno de tradicin
Como el sol que asoma tras de la montaa
Que nace del alma, lleno de cielo azul y palmas
S seor, yo tengo mi son
S seor, s seor, es mi son
Como no, como no
Bailador, bailador, ven goza el son
Caf y tabaco es el corazn del son
Con el ritmo del galope de un caballo
Cgele el paso y coge la entonacin
Grita tu alegra como el canto de un gallo
Comenzo la verbena
Y aroma de albahaca y hierbabuena siento ya
Ven baila mi son
S seor, s seor es mi son
Como no, como no
Bailador, bailador, ven goza el son
S seor, como no
Ritmo de alborozo, de risa y de gozo
Msica de vida y fiesta, con mi son sabroso
S seor, como no
Dale bien, dale bien
Bailador, bailador
Cgele el vaiven con sabrosura
Dale bien, dale bien
Bailador, bailador
Cgele el vaiven con sabrosura
Yo le canto a todo el mundo
Y les brindo mi alegra
Con el cario profundo que en mi tierra
Es garanta
Dice as
Dale bien, dale bien
Bailador, bailador
Cgele el vaiven con sabrosura
Una sola humanidad, con un solo corazn
Con una sola piedad que al fin
Nos traiga paz y amor...quiera dios
Dale bien, dale bien, con sabor
Bailador, bailador, que bueno el guateque
Cgele el vaiven, ay qu bien
Con sabrosura
Dale bien, dale bien por favor
Bailador, bailador

[...] Read more

song performed by Gloria Estefan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rebekkah

When Abraham was weak and old
he forced his slave to swear an oath,
while grasping of his member hold:
“Make sure that Isaac plights his troth
to someone from my ancient clan;
from Canaanites don’t choose a damsel;
in Canaan I believe each man
to be a mamzer, girl a mamzelle.”
Everybody knows a mamzer
is repulsive to the Jews,
a cockroach rather than Greg Samsa,
but mamzelle is a word I choose
instead of mademoiselle, for rhyming;
a lot of members of my tribe
like them a lot when they’re good-timing,
though outlawed by the Bible scribe.

The slave asked God to make it clear,
by giving him a secret sign:
“The first young girl who will appear
and bring me water, not cool wine,
should be for Isaac lifelong mate.”
She came, of Bethuel the daughter,
and didn’t cause the slave to wait
until she brought him ice-cold water.
A prompt response, what he’d been urgin’,
occurred at once, and what is more
she was what he had asked for, virgin,
a miracle, I’d say, encore.
Some water for the camels, too,
she brought, precisely as he’d bid,
although she clearly never knew
it was God’s will, because He hid,
as later He would hide when Ruth
by Boaz was allowed to glean.
His hidden will reveals the truth
like daylight coming through a screen,
a scrim that only may be lifted
by those who’re spiritually gifted.

I ought to mention here a point.
Though Canaanite, the slaveman thought
that Abraham might yet appoint
him as his heir, and therefore sought
to lie with that young girl, he knew
he ought to bring back to his lord
for Isaac as a virgin. Clue
for this interpretation find
in language that describes him as
a man, a word that should remind

[...] Read more

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Monica

Look at monica walking in her sleep
Look at monica running through the fields
In her dream, so serene
Monica, monica
Hush, dont you say a word
Did you see the smile she made today?
Look at monica
Look at monica
Mornings coming ever so fast
Shadows realitys cast
More like a dream that just wont last
Look at monica walking in her sleep
Look at monica running through the fields
In her dream, so serene
Monica, monica
Please keep quiet, let her sleep
Cant you see the smile she made today?

song performed by Extreme
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rokeby: Canto III.

I.
The hunting tribes of air and earth
Respect the brethren of their birth;
Nature, who loves the claim of kind,
Less cruel chase to each assign'd.
The falcon, poised on soaring wing,
Watches the wild-duck by the spring;
The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair;
The greyhound presses on the hare;
The eagle pounces on the lamb;
The wolf devours the fleecy dam:
Even tiger fell, and sullen bear,
Their likeness and their lineage spare,
Man, only, mars kind Nature's plan,
And turns the fierce pursuit on man;
Plying war's desultory trade,
Incursion, flight, and ambuscade,
Since Nimrod, Cush's mighty son,
At first the bloody game begun.

II.
The Indian, prowling for his prey,
Who hears the settlers track his way,
And knows in distant forest far
Camp his red brethren of the war;
He, when each double and disguise
To baffle the pursuit he tries,
Low crouching now his head to hide,
Where swampy streams through rushes glide
Now covering with the wither'd leaves
The foot-prints that the dew receives;
He, skill'd in every sylvan guile,
Knows not, nor tries, such various wile,
As Risingham, when on the wind
Arose the loud pursuit behind.
In Redesdale his youth had heard
Each art her wily dalesmen dared,
When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high,
To bugle rung and bloodhound's cry,
Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear,
And Lid'sdale riders in the rear;
And well his venturous life had proved
The lessons that his childhood loved.

III.
Oft had he shown, in climes afar
Each attribute of roving war;
The sharpen'd ear, the piercing eye,
The quick resolve in danger nigh;
The speed, that in the flight or chase,

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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