duminică, 15 august 2010

O poezioara ...

Am (re)gasit asta:

A Most Peculiar Man (P. Simon, 1965)

He was a most peculiar man.
That's what Mrs. Riordan said and she should know;
She lived upstairs from him
She said he was a most peculiar man.

He was a most peculiar man.
He lived all alone within a house,
Within a room, within himself,
A most peculiar man.

He had no friends, he seldom spoke
And no one in turn ever spoke to him,
'Cause he wasn't friendly and he didn't care
And he wasn't like them.
Oh, no! he was a most peculiar man.

He died last Saturday.
He turned on the gas and he went to sleep
With the windows closed so he'd never wake up
To his silent world and his tiny room;
And Mrs. Riordan says he has a brother somewhere
Who should be notified soon.
And all the people said, "What a shame that he's dead,
But wasn't he a most peculiar man?"

Mica Serenada

Intr-o Duminica "caniculara" - 36 la umbra, niste spanioli s-au asezat pe terasa de sub fereastra mea si au inceput sa cante. Si au cantat bine !!! Au tinut-o vreo 2 ore tot asa...Mi-au deranjat un pic somnul de dupa amiaza dar am trecut cu vederea.
Au cantat din placere, au cantat bine - s-au distrat si i-au distrat si pe altii !
Mi-au placut baietii !