J’observe le repos du dimanche
Et je loue la paresse
Comment comment réduire
L’infiniment petite science
Que m’imposent mes sens
L’un est pareil aux montagnes au ciel
Aux villes à mon amour
Il ressemble aux saisons
Il vit décapité sa tête est le soleil
Et la lune son cou tranché
Je voudrais éprouver une ardeur infinie
Monstre de mon ouïe tu rugis et tu pleures
Le tonnerre te sert de chevelure
Et tes griffes répètent le chant des oiseaux
Le toucher monstrueux m’a pénétré m’empoisonne
Mes yeux nagent loin de moi
Et les astres intacts sont mes maîtres sans épreuve
La bête des fumées a la tête fleurie
Et le monstre le plus beau
Ayant la saveur du laurier se désole

Apollinaire, "Alcools"

Let's Stay Together [Single]

J'observe le repos du dimanche

Nuit rhénane

Mon verre est plein d'un vin trembleur comme une flamme
Écoutez la chanson lente d'un batelier
Qui raconte avoir vu sous la lune sept femmes 
Tordre leurs cheveux verts et longs jusqu'à leurs pieds

Debout chantez plus haut en dansant une ronde
Que je n'entende plus le chant du batelier
Et mettez près de moi toutes les filles blondes
Au regard immobile aux nattes repliées

Le Rhin le Rhin est ivre où les vignes se mirent
Tout l'or des nuits tombe en tremblant s'y refléter
La voix chante toujours à en râle-mourir
Ces fées aux cheveux verts qui incantent l'été

Mon verre s'est brisé comme un éclat de rire

Guillaume Apollinaire, Alcools

Nuit rhénane

The Whole of it came not at once —
'Twas Murder by degrees —
A Thrust — and then for Life a chance —
The Bliss to cauterize —

The Cat reprieves the Mouse
She eases from her teeth
Just long enough for Hope to tease —
Then mashes it to death —

'Tis Life's award — to die —
Contenteder if once —
Than dying half — then rallying
For consciouser Eclipse —

Emily Dickinson

Cat & Mouse (Murder by Degrees)

The Butterfly upon the Sky,
That doesn't know its Name
And hasn't any tax to pay
And hasn't any Home
Is just as high as you and I,
And higher, I believe,
So soar away and never sigh
And that's the way to grieve —

There comes a warning like a spy
A shorter breath of Day
A stealing that is not a stealth
And Summers are away —

"Go travelling with us!"
Her travels daily be
By routes of ecstasy
To Evening's Sea —

His oriental heresies
Exhilarate the Bee,
And filling all the Earth and Air
With gay apostasy

Fatigued at last, a Clover plain
Allures his jaded eye
That lowly Breast where Butterflies
Have felt it meet to die —

Emily Dickinson

The Butterfly Upon The Sky

LIGHT IS SUFFICIENT TO ITSELF —
IF OTHERS WANT TO SEE
IT CAN BE HAD ON WINDOW PANES
SOME HOURS IN THE DAY.

A Pit — but Heaven over it —
And Heaven beside, and Heaven abroad,
And yet a Pit —
With Heaven over it.

To stir would be to slip —
To look would be to drop —
To dream — to sap the Prop
That holds my chances up.
Ah! Pit! With Heaven over it!

BUT NOT FOR COMPENSATION —
IT HOLDS AS LARGE A GLOW
TO SQUIRREL IN THE HIMMALEH
PRECISELY, AS TO YOU.

The depth is all my thought —
I dare not ask my feet —
'Twould start us where we sit
So straight you'd scarce suspect
It was a Pit — with fathoms under it —
Its Circuit just the same.
Seed — summer — tomb —
Whose Doom to whom?

Emily Dickinson

A Pit

Song

The weight of the world
is love.
Under the burden
of solitude,
under the burden
of dissatisfaction

the weight,
the weight we carry
is love.

Who can deny?
In dreams
it touches
the body,
in thought
constructs
a miracle,
in imagination
anguishes
till born
in human--
looks out of the heart
burning with purity--
for the burden of life
is love,

but we carry the weight
wearily,
and so must rest
in the arms of love
at last,
must rest in the arms
of love.

No rest
without love,
no sleep
without dreams
of love--
be mad or chill
obsessed with angels
or machines,
the final wish
is love
--cannot be bitter,
cannot deny,
cannot withhold
if denied:

the weight is too heavy

--must give
for no return
as thought
is given
in solitude
in all the excellence
of its excess.

The warm bodies
shine together
in the darkness,
the hand moves
to the center
of the flesh,
the skin trembles
in happiness
and the soul comes
joyful to the eye--

yes, yes,
that's what
I wanted,
I always wanted,
I always wanted,
to return
to the body
where I was born.

Allen Ginsberg

Song (Allen Ginsberg)

Les colchiques

Les anges

Rosemonde

La chanson du Mal-Aimé

254

A Mien to move a Queen—
Half Child—Half Heroine—
An Orleans in the Eye
That puts its manner by
For humbler Company
When none are near
Even a Tear—
Its frequent Visitor—

A Bonnet like a Duke—
And yet a Wren's Peruke
Were not so shy
Of Goer by—
And Hands—so slight—
They would elate a Sprite
With Merriment—

A Voice that Alters—Low
And on the Ear can go
Like Let of Snow—
Or shift supreme—
As tone of Realm
On Subjects Diadem—

Too small—to fear—
Too distant—to endear—
And so Men Compromise
And just—revere— 

Emily Dickinson

Orleans In The Eye

252

I think just how my shape will rise—
When I shall be "forgiven"—
Till Hair—and Eyes—and timid Head—
Are out of sight—in Heaven—

I think just how my lips will weigh—
With shapeless—quivering—prayer—
That you—so late—"Consider" me—
The "Sparrow" of your Care—

I mind me that of Anguish—sent—
Some drifts were moved away—
Before my simple bosom—broke—
And why not this—if they?

And so I con that thing—"forgiven"—
Until& mdash;delirious—borne—
By my long bright—and longer—trust—
I drop my Heart—unshriven!

Emily Dickinson

J'imagine très exactement comment ma forme s'élèvera—
Quand je serai "pardonnée"—
Jusqu'à ce que les Cheveux—les Yeyx—et la Tête timide—
Soient hors de vue—dans le Ciel—

J'imagine très exactement le poids de mes lèvres—
Avec leur prière informe—tremblante—
Quand—si tardivement—tu me "prendras en considération"—
Moi— le "moineau" objet de tes soins—

Il me vient à l'esprit que l'Angoisse—qu'on m'avait envoyée—
On avait retiré quelques fragments—
Avant que mon coeur simple—ne se brise—
Et pourquoi pas elle—comme eux?

Par conséquent je répète ce mot—"pardonnée"—
Jusqu'à ce que—transportée—dans un délire—
Créé par ma longue confiance radieuse—plus longue encore—
Je laisse chuter mon Coeur—privé d'absolution!

Unshriven

649

No Rack can torture me —
My Soul — at Liberty —
Behind this mortal Bone
There knits a bolder One —

You cannot prick with saw —
Nor pierce with Scimitar —
Two Bodies — therefore be —
Bind One — The Other fly —

The Eagle of his Nest
No easier divest —
And gain the Sky
Than mayest Thou —

Except Thyself may be
Thine Enemy —
Captivity is Consciousness —
So's Liberty.

650

Death is potential to that Man
Who dies — and to his friend —
Beyond that — unconspicuous
To Anyone but God —

Of these Two — God remembers
The longest — for the friend —
Is integral — and therefore
Itself dissolved — of God —

Emily Dickinson

Gratis Hits

No Rack Can Torture Me

J'aimerais malgré tout m'interroger sur toi,
mince et blond de peau fine et de cheveu très flou.
C'était un agrément c'était même touchant
la pellicule américaine sur un garçon
romantique malgré le matérialisme yanki.
Entre deux attouchements plutôt terrassants
je te demande "comment tu t'appelles? - Philippe.
- Il était bien ce film hein? - Oui c'était charmant."
Ton français se pince au clavier de ton souci
car tu ne veux paraître en deça du petit
monsieur que je suis. Et alors on est partis
dans les rues de Bruxelles, tu vis avec un type
de trente-cinq ans mais il en paraît beaucoup moins,
il a eu un accident et il est peut-être défiguré,
rien dans les faits divers du Soir, tu téléphones
et tu viens avec moi à la gare centrale,
la foule des employés fait un bruit assommant,
je prends mon billet, tu me cherches des yeux,
c'est que j'avais l'air honnête, pas tout à fait
comme les autres. Mille questions sur mes lèvres,
m'interroger sur toi Philippe, m'interroger
avant que mon train pressé me conduise là
où personne Philippe ne rêve de toi.
Et tu vois que je suis là qui t'attends dans la foule
et tu souris tu viens vers moi, je ne suis pas
tout à fait comme les autres, un peu plus honnête quoi.

William Cliff, Homo Sum (1970)

Singles From Petra Vol. 1

Philippe (sur un poème de William Cliff)

1320

Dear March — Come in —
How glad I am —
I hoped for you before —

Put down your Hat —
You must have walked —
How out of Breath you are —
Dear March, Come right up the stairs with me —
I have so much to tell —

I got your Letter, and the Birds —
The Maples never knew that you were coming — till I called
I declare — how Red their Faces grew —
But March, forgive me — and
All those Hills you left for me to Hue —
There was no Purple suitable —
You took it all with you —

Who knocks? That April.
Lock the Door —
I will not be pursued —
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied —
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come

That Blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame —

Emily Dickinson

Dear March

690

Forever — is composed of Nows —
'Tis not a different time —
Except for Infiniteness —
And Latitude of Home —

From this — experienced Here —
Remove the Dates — to These —
Let Months dissolve in further Months —
And Years — exhale in Years —

Without Debate — or Pause —
Or Celebrated Days —
No different Our Years would be
From Anno Dominies —

Emily Dickinson

pigFACTORY.com :: +1.323.653.1200 :: pigfactory@pigfactory.com

Forever Is Composed Of Nows

917

As One does Sickness over
In convalescent Mind,
His scrutiny of Chances
By blessed Health obscured —

As One rewalks a Precipice
And whittles at the Twig
That held Him from Perdition
Sown sidewise in the Crag

A Custom of the Soul
Far after suffering
Identity to question
For evidence 'thas been —

Emily Dickinson

As One Does Sickness Over

The Pile of Years is not so high
As when you came before
But it is rising every Day
From recollection's Floor
And while by standing on my Heart
I still can reach the top
Efface the mountain with your face
And catch me ere I drop

Emily Dickinson

Impromptu (The Pile Of Years)

SATYRE

Que mes jours ont un mauvais sort, 
Que ma planète est mal logée, 
Que la fortune est enragée 
De me persécuter si fort. 
  
L’on ne me voit point rire aux farces, 
Je n’aime ni bals ni chansons, 
Foutre des culs et des garçons, 
Maugrébieu des cons et des garces. 
  
L’un me dit : Ta femme chevauche. 
Je viens de perdre mon argent. 
J’ai fait rencontre d’un sergent, 
Et j’ai vu le croissant à gauche. 
  
Je me fâche et me plains de tout, 
Tout ce que je vois m’importune ; 
Ventre-bleu, le destin me fout, 
J’enrage contre la fortune. 
  
Je pisse le verre et le feu, 
Je ne crache que de la colle, 
Je n’ai pas presques un cheveu, 
Ha ! ventre-bleu, j’ai la vérole ! 
  
J’ai la gravelle dans les reins, 
Je ne trouve plus qui je foute, 
Et la sainte Ampoule de Reims 
Tarirait plus tôt que ma goutte. 
  
À cinquante ans un homme est mort, 
Ce n’est plus rien que pourriture ; 
Morbleu les destins nous font tort, 
Foutre d’eux et de la nature ! 

Théophile de Viau

Satyre de la vérole

963
Banish Air from Air —
Divide Light if you dare —
They'll meet
While Cubes in a Drop
Or Pellets of Shape
Fit
Films cannot annul
Odors return whole
Force Flame
And with a Blonde push
Over your impotence
Flits Steam.

964
Like Men and Women Shadows walk
Upon the Hills Today —
With here and there a mighty Bow
Or trailing Courtesy

To Neighbors doubtless of their own
Not quickened to perceive
Minuter landscape as Ourselves
And Boroughs where we live —

Emily Dickinson

Banish Air From Air

985
Here, where the Daisies fit my Head
'Tis easiest to lie
And every Grass that plays outside
Is sorry, some, for me.

986
Where I am not afraid to go
I may confide my Flower —
Who was not Enemy of Me
Will gentle be, to Her.

Nor separate, Herself and Me
By Distances become —
A single Bloom we constitute
Departed, or at Home —

987
Her little Parasol to lift
And once to let it down
Her whole Responsibility —
To imitate be Mine.

A Summer further I must wear,
Content if Nature's Drawer
Present me from sepulchral Crease
As blemishless, as Her.

Emily Dickinson

Her Little Parasol

997
Not so the infinite Relations — Below
Division is Adhesion's forfeit — On High
Affliction but a Speculation — And Woe
A Fallacy, a Figment, We knew —

998
Somewhat, to hope for,
Be it ne'er so far
Is Capital against Despair —

Somewhat, to suffer,
Be it ne'er so keen —
If terminable, may be borne.

999
Spring comes on the World —
I sight the Aprils —
Hueless to me until thou come
As, till the Bee
Blossoms stand negative,
Touched to Conditions
By a Hum.

1000
Lest this be Heaven indeed
An Obstacle is given
That always gauges a Degree
Between Ourself and Heaven.

Emily Dickinson

Somewhat To Hope For

1150
These are the Nights that Beetles love —
From Eminence remote
Drives ponderous perpendicular
His figure intimate
The terror of the Children
The merriment of men
Depositing his Thunder
He hoists abroad again —
A Bomb upon the Ceiling
Is an improving thing —
It keeps the nerves progressive
Conjecture flourishing —
Too dear the Summer evening
Without discreet alarm —
Supplied by Entomology
With its remaining charm —

Emily Dickinson

Nuits Scarabées

J'suis allé passer la nuit dans la forêt profonde / dans la forêt profonde
J'ai vu un champignon fluide dans la forêt profonde...

Chorus
Passiflore & Champignon dans la forêt profonde / dans la forêt profonde

J'suis allé fumer ma pipe dans la forêt profonde...
J'suis allé chercher des vibrations dans la forêt profonde...

Chorus

Où est le sens de la vie? Dans la forêt profonde

Chorus (bis)

Music © Pierre Courcelle
Lyrics © Viviana Moin & Pierre Courcelle
Chant Pierre Courcelle & Olivier Fichet

Spectacle "Passiflore & Champignon dans la forêt profonde" / Cie Lea P. Ning

Passiflore & Champignon dans la forêt profonde

365

I know that He exists.
Somewhere — in Silence —
He has hid his rare life
From our gross eyes.

'Tis an instant's play.
'Tis a fond Ambush —
Just to make Bliss
Earn her own surprise!

But — should the play
Prove piercing earnest —
Should the glee — glaze —
In Death's — stiff — stare —

Would not the fun
Look too expensive!
Would not the jest —
Have crawled too far!

Emily Dickinson

I Know That He Exists

Toutes les musiques sur ce site © Pierre Courcelle
https://www.facebook.com/pierre.courcelle.127/
http://www.pierrecourcelle.fr/
https://www.theatre-contemporain.net/biographies/Pierre-Courcelle/presentation

Pierre Courcelle

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