mercredi 13 novembre 2013

Beasts of the Trenches

Beasts of the Trenches, an homage to the book by Eric Baratay

Here I lie on the battlefield


I think I saw my Sargent die

One of his legs still has his boot on

Lies not far from my hoofs

I can hear the rats making house calls in his entrails

They do go to the trouble to feed themselves.

Now I remember:

I was galloping when a mortar exploded

It propelled me into the air like a Dove with flattened wings

Suddenly a war dog came to my rescue

It licked my bleeding abdomen

Before me and behind me the wailing of soldiers resounds

They are almost blind in this field where

Fog and smoke mix like a bourbon highball

We, animals, hear loud and clear above the darkened clouds

We can sense the poisoned air

"Nonsense!" I laugh to myself

And I see the clouds of flies approaching 

Signaling my end.

Written by a War Horse, Yser, France, October 22, 1914

dimanche 10 novembre 2013

Bêtes de tranchées

Bêtes des tranchées , une hommage au livre de Éric Baratay

Je suis couché sur un champ de bataille


Je pense avoir vu mon sergent mourir

Une de ses jambes portant sa botte

Git près des mes sabots

J'entends les rats visiter ses entrailles

Ils se donnent de la peine pour se nourrir.

Maintenant je me souviens:

J'ai galopé sur un obus

Qui m'a propulsé dans l'air comme un pigeon colombin avec ses

ailes écrasées

Soudain un chien de guerre vient me secourir

Il lèche mon ventre ensanglanté

Devant et derrière moi des soldats crient

Ils sont presque aveugles dans ce champ ou

Brouillard et fumée se mélangent

Nous, les animaux, nous entendons les cris bien plus fort

Nous sentons l'air empoisonné

Et nous voyons les nuages de mouches qui approchent

Signalant notre fin.

Écrit par un cheval de guerre, Yser, le 22 octobre 1914.

samedi 9 novembre 2013

My QR Cemetery

Wearing my Pestalozzi smiling brace
It is Time to go visit my beloved at Montparnasse
(Wearing the brace is mandatory)

If you are caught with a tear or a sob
The sentence is particularly harsh
So many call it "Montsourrire"
It's a place where you flash a smile

Weaving through the small cobblestoned alleys
I find myself finally in front of Him
I pull out my smartphone an point it at his stone
I can sense the scanning, beaming
Split lights that gloriously connect me to his site

Every stone now has a QR:
Next to me, behind me
Gracious faces are all smiling
A new poem appears
(He programmed many before passing)
It goes:
"I love you more than a thousand garbage trucks
The great expectation I had
When that noisy rumble and flashing lights that came down 
Our street at sunrise
When tons of trash would be trucked away
Never to be seen again
Pales to the expectation I lived to hear your breath 
to see the flash in your eyes
and the rumble in your soul."

A tear dribbles down my cheek that is about to twitch
Thankfully my smiling brace holds firm
Then the poem is interrupted with a film about apples and compote

There is buffering
I can hear the music coming from my neighbor's QR Stone

It is the Avengers, not the Avengers super heroes but the one with
Emma Peel and John Steed 
Ironically I am holding onto an umbrella and 
wearing kinky black boots

Suddenly I feel elated
full of digital love

Condensation floated out of my mouth that cool November morning 
Then I remember SMOG
The scientific measurement of ghosts
I quickly turn the scanner on me
I need to QR myself, now!