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"It little profits that an idle king, By this still hearth, among these barren crags, Match'd with an agèd wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me."

Saturday, September 10, 2005

Quiberon... a poem

I wrote a poem in French this evening!!! Not in some cozy atmosphere, in which I could pay heed to rhyme and metre. It was written in the space of exactly four minutes... during a test. I was supposed to fill out a picture postcard with a few lines, the other side of which (I had to assume) was an some image of this place.

Here goes the poem...

Voici la presqu'île de Quiberon
Fondé par Bobet, le champion

Le célèbre centre de thalassothérapie
Dont on a toujours ravie

Les longues plages, et les promenades
Le vieil port, et les remparts

Vous aurez vraiment de la chance
Pour passer là-bas, vos vacances!

It translates to There is the peninsula of Quiberon, founded by Bobet, the champion... The famous centre for thalassotherapy, that one would always dream of... The long beaches and the walks, the old port and the ramparts... You will be really lucky to spend your vacations over there.

(Bobet - Louison Bobet, French cyclist, the first person to win the Tour de France for three consecutive years; thalassotherapy - sea-water therapy)

One of the things I hate about wannabe poets is their adherence to homonyms. Any poem that the budding poet writes will end in words that sound alike... and on numerous occassions, one can sense the extra effort that has gone into it. I used to comment that such people had a simple algorithm to produce a poem.

1. First think of a subject, or a theme - mostly love.
2. Decide the number of lines, and then divide it into groups of 3 or 4. (12 lines, so 3 groups of 4 lines each)
3. Find 3 groups of 4 rhyming words... moon, soon, noon, boon.
4. Complete the poem with lines ending with these words. For example,
You are like the moon
Bright as the noon!
Come let's go soon,
And read Mills & Boon!

It is an irony that my first attempt at poetry has turned out that way too; but who cares? I am poet, and I've got the poetic license! Monsieur Vijay KRISHNA, the newest French poet on the block, takes a bow...

7 Comments:

Blogger airanand said...

very very interesting.. a poem in French!!

and that too with an unbelievable set of vocab!!

well I too claim to know french.. but I can never come close to this..

all the best for all future endeavours!!

9/11/2005 11:39:00 PM  
Blogger Karthik said...

Hey, I know the French too. They were in Pondicherry, weren't they?

The substance was very good as you would expect from VK. But as VK himself says, it is not upto his standard.

9/12/2005 10:18:00 AM  
Anonymous Nitin said...

Nice effort

9/13/2005 02:13:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

LMAO @ the comparison with the wannabes. The -oon poem is too good.

9/13/2005 10:50:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

A tous mes loupes, mes rates, mes vrais soleils
Tous les chemins qui mes sont passes a' cote
A tous mes bateaux manques, mes mauvais sommeils
A tous ceux que je n'ai pas ete'

:-)

9/14/2005 04:35:00 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Ooops.. the poet above was me...Jupe

9/14/2005 04:36:00 AM  
Blogger Vijay Krishna said...

Formidable, M. Jupe!

I'll try translating for the sake of others... (correct me if I'm wrong)

With all my analyses, my failures, and glaring truths,
All the routes that passed alongside me,
With all my missed boats, and the bad sleeps,
All for which, I wasn't!


I'm particularly unsure about mes vrais soleils

9/14/2005 08:28:00 PM  

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