Heroes & Villains, the Aston Villa fanzine
Heroes & Villains => Heroes Discussion => Topic started by: dave.woodhall on August 10, 2010, 11:30:59 PM
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I think it's time for some appropriate culture.
"The Moving Finger writes: and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it."
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Is that written in Yam?
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And these words shall then become
Like Oppression's thundered doom
Ringing through each heart and brain,
Heard again - again - again -
'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number -
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many - they are few.'
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Dave, can you read that in the style of Pam Ayres next time I see you. Thanks.
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Or, to quote Alan Partridge quoting Kipling:
"If ... you do X, Y and Z, Bob's your uncle."
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Omar Khayyam? Isnt that the bloke from the Remmington adverts?
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Omar Khayyam? Isnt that the bloke from the Remmington adverts?
Mazrim, this comment is so good I am putting my name to it.
Leighton
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Uncultured oafs.
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You wouldnt get this on KRO
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Uncultured oafs.
Damn right I’m uncultured. I’ve read all of your books.
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Uncultured oafs.
Damn right I’m uncultured. I’ve read all of your books.
Get it right. You've had my books read to you. Slowly.
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Uncultured oafs.
Damn right I’m uncultured. I’ve read all of your books.
Get it right. You've had my books read to you. Slowly.
That's an idea: Dave Woodhall audiobooks.
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I heard The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam was spotted by the same scout that discovered Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink.
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Omar Khayyam programme on BBC4 at 2.30am tomorrow. It's rather good. A bit of an arse to subtitle though, as I discovered.
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Omar Khayyam? Isnt that the bloke from the Remmington adverts?
Mazrim, this comment is so good I am putting my name to it.
Leighton
I saw Dave on the telly today, whatever he's using definitely doesn't shave you closer than a razor blade.
Then again, he was probably put off the whole idea for life at the mention of the words "or your money back".
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Never seen Dave, i have imagined him as a younger Fagin type with a long slightly soiled raincoat, long staggly hair and a five day beard. Am i close?
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Never seen Dave, i have imagined him as a younger Fagin type with a long slightly soiled raincoat, long staggly hair and a five day beard. Am i close?
Thats how he looked in 1980's..........before he made his dosh.
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Omar comin' (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMm1Wih0kug)
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Randy: Neither a borrower nor a lender be;
For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. (Hamlet, Act 1, Scene III)
Mon: Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow,
That I shall say goodnight till it be morrow. (Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II)
Randy (Aside): The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers. (Henry VI, Act IV, Scene ii)
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Omar Khayyam programme on BBC4 at 2.30am tomorrow. It's rather good. A bit of an arse to subtitle though, as I discovered.
Why do some subtitles get missed off, even though the programme is old? e.g. "I've got an annoying pain in my back" becomes "I've got a pain in my back"
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Never seen Dave, i have imagined him as a younger Fagin type with a long slightly soiled raincoat, long staggly hair and a five day beard. Am i close?
He is actually a very nice chap despite appearances ;-)
Anyway, my AVFC beach towel is still 'flying' proudly around the poolsides of the Costa Blanca!
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Omar Khayyam programme on BBC4 at 2.30am tomorrow. It's rather good. A bit of an arse to subtitle though, as I discovered.
Why do some subtitles get missed off, even though the programme is old? e.g. "I've got an annoying pain in my back" becomes "I've got a pain in my back"
Monkey was good for that. You'd see his lips moving for 20 seconds yet only get "OK. Let's go."
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Omar Khayyam programme on BBC4 at 2.30am tomorrow. It's rather good. A bit of an arse to subtitle though, as I discovered.
Why do some subtitles get missed off, even though the programme is old? e.g. "I've got an annoying pain in my back" becomes "I've got a pain in my back"
The boring answer is that back in the day, the policy was to edit the hell out of the subtitles in order to make them readable in the time they were on the screen. A few years ago (maybe about 2000?) that was relaxed and we typically keep most of the original text in as most people can read them all no problems, though occasionally sometimes we have to brutally edit - for example during a blazing argument in EastEnders where both people are talking really quickly.
However if an old programme is repeated, we use the old subtitle file from back then, and so it's one of the harshly edited ones.
I bet you wish you'd never asked now.
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From Omar Khayyam to Eastenders....that's the problem with modern society, we all retreat to the lowest common denominator...bloody Eastenders.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Kubla Khan, Scoleridge taylor. And you won't get the like of that on East-bloody-enders.
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I thought this was the inside scoop on who our new manager was.
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There was a wee man from Killrea
Who left with a flea in his ear
He wanted McGeady
His boss thought him greedy.
Coz Heskey's vet bill's in arrears.
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I thought this was the inside scoop on who our new manager was.
I thought it might be news about a new investor.
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Either accidentally or knowing Dave deliberately appropriate for the current state of affairs is that the Moving Finger did write but nobody did or can fathom the meaning of what was writ. Thus the layering of the poem tells us that that which was written cannot be shortened or erased nobody knew what it meant in the first place.
Randy's statement comes very close to something similar, saying much but saying nothing.
I prefer rather more robust verse to illustrate the futility of uncertain knowledge like
A maths student of Trinity Hall
Had a hemispherical ball
He worked out that the weight
Of his penis, times eight
Was three fifths times five eighths of fuck all.
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Ich denke dein,
wenn mir der Sonne schimmer
Vom Meere strahlt;
Ich denke dein,
wenn sich des Mondes Flimmer
In Quellen malt.
Ich sehe dich,
wenn auf dem fernen Wege
Der Staub sich hebt,
In tiefer Nacht,
wenn auf dem schmalen Stege
Der Wandrer bebt.
Ich höre dich,
wenn dort mit dumpfem Rauschen
Die Welle steigt.
Im stillen Haine geh' ich oft zu lauschen,
Wenn alles schweigt.
Ich bin bei dir,
du seist auch noch so ferne,
Du bist mir nah!
Die Sonne sinkt,
bald leuchten mir die Sterne.
O wärst du da!
J.W. von Goethe
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How long before the mods kick this to off topic?? I reckon we are sailing close to the wind...poetry on a football site....we'll be a laughing stock. ::)
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Uncultured oafs.
This from the man who eats at Nando's
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From the lofty heights of poetry to the humdrum of folk rock:
I dreamed I stood like this before
And I'm sure the words that I heard then
Were much the same
It's just an old Greek tragedy they're acting here
Held over by popular acclaim
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The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though childlike form.
The flames roll'd on...he would not go
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He call'd aloud..."Say, father, say
If yet my task is done!"
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.
"Speak, father!" once again he cried
"If I may yet be gone!"
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames roll'd on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death,
In still yet brave despair;
And shouted but one more aloud,
"My father, must I stay?"
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud
The wreathing fires made way,
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And stream'd above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.
Then just before the season starts he fucked off.
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Here lies the body of Mary Box
She gave 10,000 men the pox
Soldiers and sailors and men of honour
would fight like fiends to climb upon her
Though now she's dead she's not forgotten
They dig her up and stuff her rotten
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I have of late—but wherefore I know not—lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory, this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
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From Omar Khayyam to Eastenders....that's the problem with modern society, we all retreat to the lowest common denominator...bloody Eastenders.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Kubla Khan, Scoleridge taylor. And you won't get the like of that on East-bloody-enders.
Isn't that Frankie Goes To hollywood and welcome to the pleasure Dome?
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I set out on Monday
The night was cold and vast
My brother slept
I left quite quietly
My father raged and raged
My mother wept
My life was like a river
All sucked into the ground
And then the hammer came down
Lord, the hammer came down
Many miles did I roam
Through the ice and through the snow
My horse died on the seventh day
I stumbled into a city
Where the people tried to kill me
And I ran in shame
Then I came upon a river
And I laid my saddle down
And then the hammer came down
Lord, the hammer came down
It knocked me to the ground
And I said, "Please, please
Take me back to my home ground"
Lord, the hammer came down
Now I've been made weak by visions
For many visions did I see
All through the night
On the seventh hour an angel came
With many snakes in all his hands
And I fled in fright
I pushed off into the river
And the waters came around
And then the hammer came down
Lord, the hammer came down
It did not make a sound
And I said, "Please, please
Take me back to my home ground"
Lord, the hammer came down
I was stuffed into the river
And the waters spelled around
And then the hammer came down
Lord, the hammer came down
It did not make a sound
And I said, "Please, please
Take me back to my home ground"
Lord, the hammer came down
It drove me around the ground
And I said, "Please, please
Take me back to my home town"
Lord, the hammer came down
And knocked him to the ground
And I got down on my knees
And I said, "Please, please
Take me back to my home town"
Lord, the hammer came down
It did not make a sound
And I said, "Please, please
Take me back to my home town"
Lord, the hammer came down
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I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
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Mon triste coeur bave à la poupe,
Mon coeur couvert de caporal :
Ils y lancent des jets de soupe
Mon triste coeur bave à la poupe :
Sous les quolibets de la troupe
Qui pousse un rire général,
Mon triste coeur bave à la poupe,
Mon coeur couvert de caporal.
Ithyphalliques et pioupiesques
Leurs quolibets l'ont dépravé.
Au gouvernail, on voit des fresques
Ithyphalliques et pioupiesques.
O flots abracadabrantesques
Prenez mon coeur, qu'il soit lavé.
Ithyphalliques et pioupiesques
Leurs quolibets l'ont dépravé !
Quand ils auront tari leurs chiques
Comment agir, ô coeur volé ?
Ce seront des hoquets bachiques
Quand ils auront tari leurs chiques
J'aurai des sursauts stomachiques
Moi, si mon coeur est ravalé:
Quand ils auront tari leurs chiques,
Comment agir, ô coeur volé ?
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Je bois
Systématiquement
Pour oublier les amis de ma femme
Je bois
Systématiquement
Pour oublier tous mes emmerdements
Je bois
N'importe quel jaja
Pourvu qu'il fasse ses douze degrés cinque
Je bois
La pire des vinasses
C'est dégueulasse, mais ça fait passer l'temps
La vie est-elle tell'ment marrante
La vie est-elle tell'ment vivante
Je pose ces deux questions
La vie vaut-elle d'être vécue
L'amour vaut-il qu'on soit cocu
Je pose ces deux questions
Auxquelles personne ne répond... et
Je bois
Systématiquement
Pour oublier le prochain jour du terme
Je bois
Systématiquement
Pour oublier que je n'ai plus vingt ans
Je bois
Dès que j'ai des loisirs
Pour être saoul, pour ne plus voir ma gueule
Je bois
Sans y prendre plaisir
Pour pas me dire qu'il faudrait en finir...
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Extracts from the Roman des Franceis by Andrew de Coutances circa 1190:
Arthur besieged Paris, doubt it not at all!
He had a large force of
Well trained and equipped knights,
So he fiercely attacked the city.
The English went on the attack,
And the French defended like cowards,
They gave up at the first onset
And shamefully ran away.
It was from this flight [partir] that
Paris got its name, there is no concealing it,
Originally the place was called Thermes
And was indeed very famous.
Arthur took homage from the French
And he established as a release-payment
A four-pence charge for being a peasant
To be paid as their poll tax.
People remind them often enough about
This source of shame, but they may as well not have bothered;
For they take neither offence or account,
As they know no shame.
Such a Frenchman as does value virtue and honour
Will not like it of course,
But so far as he is the more ashamed
He will boast twice as much
So know that, wherever you go,
Believe a Frenchman not at all;
Seek indeed and you shall find
But you find no prowess if there’s none to be had.
A man who dines with the French
Should grab whatever he may
As either he will end up with nuts
Or will just carry off the shallots
A Frenchman would need to own the world
To live as well as he would like.
Because that is something that cannot happen
The French know to hold what provisions they have.
That’s the way they are in their own land
But when they’re abroad they’re even more greedy
And shamefully gorge themselves at every table
Whenever they get near one.
And whenever hosts have them in their homes
They realise the French are such men
So greedy and so avaricious
That he ought to drive them off with kicks.
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Ὀδύσσεια
ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, μοῦσα, πολύτροπον, ὃς μάλα πολλὰ
πλάγχθη, ἐπεὶ Τροίης ἱερὸν πτολίεθρον ἔπερσεν:
πολλῶν δ᾽ ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω,
πολλὰ δ᾽ ὅ γ᾽ ἐν πόντῳ πάθεν ἄλγεα ὃν κατὰ θυμόν,
ἀρνύμενος ἥν τε ψυχὴν καὶ νόστον ἑταίρων.
ἀλλ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ὣς ἑτάρους ἐρρύσατο, ἱέμενός περ:
αὐτῶν γὰρ σφετέρῃσιν ἀτασθαλίῃσιν ὄλοντο,
νήπιοι, οἳ κατὰ βοῦς Ὑπερίονος Ἠελίοιο
ἤσθιον: αὐτὰρ ὁ τοῖσιν ἀφείλετο νόστιμον ἦμαρ.
τῶν ἁμόθεν γε, θεά, θύγατερ Διός, εἰπὲ καὶ ἡμῖν.
ἔνθ᾽ ἄλλοι μὲν πάντες, ὅσοι φύγον αἰπὺν ὄλεθρον,
οἴκοι ἔσαν, πόλεμόν τε πεφευγότες ἠδὲ θάλασσαν:
τὸν δ᾽ οἶον νόστου κεχρημένον ἠδὲ γυναικὸς
νύμφη πότνι᾽ ἔρυκε Καλυψὼ δῖα θεάων
ἐν σπέσσι γλαφυροῖσι, λιλαιομένη πόσιν εἶναι.
ἀλλ᾽ ὅτε δὴ ἔτος ἦλθε περιπλομένων ἐνιαυτῶν,
τῷ οἱ ἐπεκλώσαντο θεοὶ οἶκόνδε νέεσθαι
εἰς Ἰθάκην, οὐδ᾽ ἔνθα πεφυγμένος ἦεν ἀέθλων
καὶ μετὰ οἷσι φίλοισι. θεοὶ δ᾽ ἐλέαιρον ἅπαντες
νόσφι Ποσειδάωνος: ὁ δ᾽ ἀσπερχὲς μενέαινεν
ἀντιθέῳ Ὀδυσῆι πάρος ἣν γαῖαν ἱκέσθαι.
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The auguries, the inagurations
Proceed at vast expense, banquet after banquet.
A fire of the mind is invoked, and this is what
We must live with as the century raises itself
On crippled limbs to proclaim victory.
Neither Alexander nor Trajan combined
Such arrogance with ignorance
But, in the end, what difference does it make?
Persepolis burned, and Fallujah is emptied.