Tag Archive: Sting


you can’t say that

“There were rooms of forgiveness
In the house that we share
But the space has been emptied
Of whatever was there
There were cupboards of patience
There were shelf loads of care But whoever came calling
Found nobody there
After today, consider me gone

Roses have thorns and shining waters mud
And cancer lurks deep in the sweetest bud
Clouds and eclipses stain the moon and the sun
And history reeks of the wrongs we have done
After today, consider me gone

After today, consider me gone

I’ve spent too many years at war with myself
The doctor has told me it’s no good for my health
To search for perfection is all very well
But to look for heaven is to live here in hell

After today, consider me gone.” 

(Sting: Consider Me Gone lyrics)

The Chartreux – Das Kartäuserkatzen-Mädchen

It had been raining all day today
and therefore I left my flat quite
reluctantly at – as usual – three ante meridiem.

It wasn’t to be expected to turn into
a fine harvesting night for me:
Me being on the hunt for cig butts
and empty bottles to buy (with
the change ) food on the next morning.

Out on the sleeping street I let
the rays of the full -boozing-moon
find my path into the down and out.
Into down downtown.

Close to the metro station closest to me
I suddenly encountered the Chartreux
who – so at least it appeared to me –
had just out of bourgeois boredness
and because of no charme discret d’un
Monsieur Buñuel in reach of her curiosity,
decided to take a moonlight walk
and I could almost hear her purring:
there’s a moon over Bourbon street
tonight, which appealed to me because I
prefer Bourbon over Scotch mostly:

I wouldn’t go so far as
to reject some Johnny walking in a bottle
but I’m totally fine with some underdog
Bourbon from Kentucky or Tennessee
because I get two for one.

Well, to break it down to the lowdown then:

I seriously considered to catnap la Chartreuse
but I have standards comes it to friendshipping.
I will never steal pussies from the streets.
I will never grab a pussy and run away with her
because that behaviour is lacking style and any
cat with at least a minimum of self-respect
would rightfully turn her lower back to me.

So instead, I just sat down with her and
– heureux qui comme Ulysse -*
recited softly the least harmfully sad
lines of du Bellay’s epitaphe d’un chat,
a tomcat named Belaud killed by
the Mafia of rats of Rome.
And when I finally had reached
the final lines of this sad dedication:

Belaud, ma foi, je te promets
que tu vivrois, tant que sur terre
les Chats aux Rats feront la guerre, **

me ending with a warning to the cats,

the Chartreux rubbed my leg good bye
and disappeared into the night again.

*Heureux comme Ulysee : orobably the best know poem by du Bellay (besides Kes Regrets( a collection of poems by him) .
** quote from l’epitaphe d’un chat, of course.

I am too lazy to retrieve the epitaphe online.
Just google: Gallica bnfr de Bellay

Das Kartäuserkatzenmädchen

This is a  copyright free foto from wikipedia. But the cat I met looked exactly the same. ,-)

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