Quotes about french, page 3
I am a guest of the French language. My poems in French are born of my interaction with the French language, which is not the same as that of a French poet.
quote by Tahar Ben Jelloun
Added by Lucian Velea
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French, The Language Of Love
French, the Language of Love.
Darling, speak French to me when we make love, wicked words
I don’t understand, but have a whispering meaning of delight.
I stand before you with salutial erection, a soldier of love ready
to sacrifice myself for your subterranean pleasure.
Your wishes have to be expressed in French or the steed’s chase
will not react with proper force, It will think it’s time to go back
into the stable, hanging about, wondering what went wrong.
At the subway in Paris I was in the way of a woman who wanted
to exit, she swore at me, thinking it were words of love, I kissed
her and was arrested. But released, though when they understood
I was a foreigner, lost in the baffling ways of the French idiom.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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My Funny Sunny Holiday!
At first, my trip to sunny France
Was simply for some wild romance,
Away from folks at home I'd miss
While some French girl I'd soon kiss-kiss!
So off I flew upon the plane
Till almost reaching Sunny Spain,
But landing still on France's soil,
With temperatures still set to boil!
At dead of night, we all arrived,
Just thanking God, we'd all survived
And from the journey in the coach
Our half-built hotel to approach!
Our rooms sufficed to suit our needs
And I slept well from all these deeds...
When I awoke, the beach called me!
So off I went to sun and sea...
[...] Read more
poem by Denis Martindale
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Spanish Lessons
Romantic languages hold the greatest history in my life.
Born into a French speaking home, English remained quite unknown.
In primary school the teachers insisted that French be left home.
Secondary school brought the language of ancient Rome.
French and Latin provided a vocabulary of such richness,
That I found I could think in emotions and speak in images.
Used in everyday conversation produced interesting visages
On the faces of the audience not prepared for linguistic pillages.
Spanish would be a romantic trifecta, and would be of most use.
Latin has continually lost favor since the time of St. Jerome
French while of some use, for me, has not been spoken since home.
This line is of no use, ‘cept I need a rhyme, for example, chrome.
Te amo con todo mi corazón* spoken in a soft lover’s whisper
Provides Spanish a romantic richness and a sensual tone
Warmth and love deep enough to call it my own.
But why take classes at this time in my life?
[...] Read more
poem by Dan Byron
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What's Left Behind Of All Our Love
Translation of the song 'Que Reste-t-il De Nos Amours? '
by Charles Trenet
(I was introduced to this song by Walter Hyatt when we were writing together in Nashville. He performed it once on AUSTIN CITY LIMITS and dedicated it to his high school French teacher. I thought that was so cool! On a trip to Paris I worked on a translation so I could sing it first in French, then English. By the end of the first phrase I'm back at a sidewalk cafe in Paris, sipping espresso and soaking in ambience. I dedicate my translation to my college French professors, Waring McCrady, Jacqueline Schaefer and Scott Bates.)
What's left behind of all our love,
Of those good times, what stays with us,
A photograph, faded but true,
The days of our youth.
What's left behind of April days,
Of tender notes and secret ways,
A never ending memory
Which follows me.
Good times together,
Free as a breeze,
Stolen kisses, sweet reveries.
What's left behind of all of these
Tell me please.
[...] Read more
poem by Carol Elliott
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Less Seductive
Less seductive than potato casseroles,
some women don’t deserve from me a ballad,
to get one, they have got to please me with their roles,
more like chopped liver than potato salad.
My favorite women arfe not entrées but desserts,
tiramisu, a sherbert or a crème
brûlée, and after I have cleared my breath with Certs,
I get rewarded by most fatales femmes.
I’ve learned that making unforeseeable what life
becomes can be for sexual tastebuds most exciting,
and since my unchaste chef is my blue-ribboned wife,
I do not worry about wine and lighting.
Inspired by Kenneth Turan’s comment, LA Times, September 2008, reviewing “Appaloosa, ” comparing the seductivness of Renée Zellweger, playing the role of Allison French, to that of a potato casserole:
Given the marked lack of piano-playing women with extensive wardrobes in Appaloosa, both Cole and Hitch are smitten, albeit to varying degrees, with the newcomer. Which really is too bad. Though the press notes insist that Allison French is 'beguiling, ' the reality is that she is anything but. With a simpering manner that offers all the charm and seductiveness of a potato casserole, she is not only unconvincing as the object of multiple suitors, she is also so off-putting a character that you wince when she comes on the screen. Though the Oscar-winning Zellweger has been excellent when she matches up well with the roles she plays, this is not a part she connects to at all. French is such a distraction that it's difficult to focus on the rest of 'Appaloosa's' plot, which involves the attempt to bring that reprobate rancher to justice and the working out of various romantic entanglements. One of the best lines in 'Appaloosa's' script talks about how fate has a way of making 'the unforeseeable that which your life becomes' and the way French's presence derails the entire enterprise is also something no one had the vision to foresee.
11/27/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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‘Poverello’ – the Life-story of St.Francis of Assisi (1181-1226)
The grace of God ’lone suffices
To help all persons live on earth,
A life, God-directed, divine,
And leave the world in happy state!
A wealthy merchant father’s son,
The boy was christened ‘Giovanni’
After ‘St.John, the Baptist’;
His name was changed to ‘Francesco’;
The lad grew up in lavish ways!
The boy was fond of songs in French-
Troubadours and French traditions;
He was a Roman Catholic,
But loved his Mother Nature much.
His father wished son be like him:
A wealthy businessman and great!
The boy grew up at first that way;
And led a group of raucous men!
[...] Read more
poem by John Celes
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The Battle of Inkermann
'Twas in the year of 1854, and on the 5th November,
Which Britain will no doubt long remember,
When the Russians plotted to drive the British army into the sea,
But at the bayonet charge the British soon made them flee.
With fourteen hundred British, fifteen thousand Russians were driven back,
At half-past seven o'clock in the morning they made the attack,
But the Grenadiers and Scottish Fusilier Guards, seven hundred strong,
Moved rapidly and fearlessly all along.
And their rifles were levelled ready for a volley,
But the damp had silenced their fire which made the men feel melancholy,
But the Russians were hurled down the ravine in a disordered mass
At the charge of the bayonet-- an inspiring sight!-- nothing could it surpass.
General Cathcart thought he could strike a blow at an unbroken Russian line;
Oh! the scene was really very sublime,
Because hand to hand they fought with a free will,
And with one magnificent charge they hurled the Russians down the hill.
[...] Read more
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Battle of Cressy
'Twas on the 26th of August, the sun was burning hot,
In the year of 1346, which will never be forgot,
Because the famous field of Cressy was slippery and gory,
By the loss of innocent blood which I'11 relate in story.
To the field of Cressy boldly King Philip did advance,
Aided by the Bohemian Army and chosen men of France,
And treble the strength of the English Army that day,
But the lance thrusts of the English soon made them give way.
The English Army was under the command of the Prince of Wales,
And with ringing cheers the soldiers his presence gladly hails,
As King Edward spoke to the Prince, his son, and said,
My son put thou thy trust in God and be not afraid,
And he will protect thee in the midst of the fight,
And remember God always defends the right.
Then the Prince knelt on one knee before the King,
Whilst the soldiers gathered round them in a ring;
Then the King commanded that the Prince should be carefully guarded,
[...] Read more
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Variations At Home And Abroad
It takes a lot of a person's life
To be French, or English, or American
Or Italian. And to be at any age. To live at any certain time.
The Polish-born resident of Manhattan is not merely a representative of
general humanity
And neither is this Sicilian fisherman stringing his bait
Or to be any gender, born where or when
Betty holding a big plate
Karen crossing her post-World War Two legs
And smiling across the table
These three Italian boys age about twenty gesturing and talking
And laughing after they get off the train
Seem fifty percent Italian and the rest percent just plain
Human race.
O mystery of growing up! O history of going to school!
O lovers O enchantments!
The subject is not over because the photograph is over.
The photographer sits down. Murnau makes the movie.
Everything is a little bit off, but has a nationality.
[...] Read more
poem by Kenneth Koch
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