mercredi 29 mars 2017

La belle dame sans merci

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful, a fairy’s child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna-dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
‘I love thee true’.

She took me to her Elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lullèd me asleep,
And there I dreamed—Ah! woe betide!—
The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—‘La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!’

I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gapèd wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side.

And this is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

dimanche 26 mars 2017

l'art du compliment

                             Cuthberg J. Twillie & Flowerbelle Lee, in My little chickadee 1940

« When I’m good, I’m very good. But when I’m bad, I’m better.” (Mae West)

Il est très difficile de complimenter autrui. Encore plus de s'auto-complimenter.
Voici quelques échantillons de compliments et auto compliments bien tournés.

Le seul jésuite intelligent (Voltaire sur Buffier)

Le meilleur des mauvais guitaristes (à propos de Keith Richards)

Le plus célèbre des auteurs obscurs (Benda, sur lui-même)

A raté de peu le Collège de France 

La plus fine des fausses maigres 

Il est presque parvenu à faire un livre 

Il a fait d’excellents livres d’introduction au sujet

Bien que raté il a su garder l’anonymat (variante : « La seule consolation d’une vie ratée est qu’elle soit inconnue » (à propos de l’auteur raté Colin Wilson)

Il a élevé l’imbécilité au niveau du génie