I Wouldn’t Thank You for a Valentine

By Liz Lochhead


I wouldn’t thank you for a Valentine.
I won't wake up early wondering if the postman’s been.
Should 10 red-padded satin hearts arrive with sticky
sickly saccharine
Sentiments in very vulgar verses I wouldn’t wonder if
you meant them.
Two dozen anonymous Interflora red roses?
I’d not bother to swither over who sent them!
I wouldn’t thank you for a Valentine.

Scrawl SWALK across the envelope
I’d just say ‘ Same Auld story
I canny be bothered deciphering it –
I’m up to hear with Amore!
The whole Valentine’s Day Thing is trivial and
commercial,
A cue for unleashing clichés and candyheart motifs to
which I personally am not partial.’
Take more than singing Telegrams, or pints of
Chanel Five, or sweets,
To get me ordering oysters or ironing my black satin sheets.
I wouldn’t thank you for a Valentine.

If you sent me a solitaire and promises solemn,
Took out an ad in the Guardian Personal Column
Saying something very soppy such as ‘Who Loves Ya,
Poo?
I’ll tell you, I do, Fozzy bear, that’s who!’
You’d entirely fail to charm me, in fact I’d detest it
I wouldn’t be eighteen again for anything, I’m glad I’m
past it.
I wouldn’t thank you for a Valentine.

If you sent me a single orchid, or a pair of Janet Reger’s
in a heart-shaped box and declared your Love Eternal
I’d say I’d rather not be caught dead in them they were
politically suspect and I’d rather something thermal.
If you hired a plane and blazed our love in a banner
across the skies;
If you bought me something flimsy in a flatteringly
wrong size;
If you sent me a postcard with three Xs and told me
how you felt
I wouldn’t thank you, I’d melt.

the papin sisters

Don't know why I have been so fascinated with this murder case. I am collecting all the related films and books.

给我讲一个故事

　　by Robert Penn Warren
(I translated it for fun)

　　A
　　很久以前，在肯塔基，我，一个男孩，
　　立在泥泞的路边。在夜幕初临的时候，
　　听到北飞的雁群的鸣叫。
　　
　　我看不见他们，没有月亮，
　　星光寥落。我听到了它们。
　　
　　彼时我不知我内心所发生的变动。
　　
　　那是接骨木开花之前的时节，
　　所以它们会飞往北方。
　　
　　叫声一直蔓延向北。
　　
　　B
　　给我讲一个故事
　　在这个狂躁的世纪与时刻。
　　
　　给我讲一个故事。
　　关于遥远的距离以及星光。
　　
　　故事的名字会是时间。
　　但你不可说出它的名。
　　
　　给我讲一个沉静愉悦的故事。

tell me a story

by Robert Penn Warren

A

Long ago, in Kentucky, I, a boy, stood
By a dirt road, in first dark, and heard
The great geese hoot northward.

I could not see them, there being no moon
And the stars sparse.I heard them.

I did not know what was happening in my heart.

It was the season before the elderberry blooms,
Therefore they were going north.

The sound was passing northward.

B

Tell me a story.

In this century, and moment, of mania,
Tell me a story.

Make it a story of great distances, and starlight.

The name of the story will be Time,
But you must not pronounce its name.

Tell me a story of deep delight.

The Rain

The afternoon grows light because at last
Abruptly a minutely shredded rain
Is falling, or it fell. For once again
Rain is something happening in the past.

Whoever hears it fall has brought to mind
Time when by a sudden lucky chance
A flower called “rose” was open to his glance
And the curious color of the colored kind.

This rain that blinds the windows with its mists
Will gladden in suburbs no more to be found
The black grapes on a vine there overhead

In a certain patio that no longer exists.
And the drenched afternoon brings back the sound
How longed for, of my father’s voice, not dead.

[From Dreamtigers, by Jorge Luis Borges, translated by Harold Morland]

雨

　　
　　By Borges 陈东飚译
　　　　
　　突然间黄昏变得明亮
　　因为此刻正有细雨在落下
　　或曾经落下。下雨
　　无疑是在过去发生的一件事
　　　　
　　谁听见雨落下 谁就回想起
　　那个时候 幸福的命运向他呈现了
　　一朵叫玫瑰的花
　　和它奇妙的 鲜红的色彩。
　　　　
　　这蒙住了窗玻璃的细雨
　　必将在被遗弃的郊外
　　在某个不复存在的庭院里洗亮
　　　　
　　架上的黑葡萄。潮湿的暮色
　　带给我一个声音 我渴望的声音
　　我的父亲回来了 他没有死去。