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Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach

19.06.08, 22:45
Temat już wakacyjny. Nie chodzi mi o utwory opisujące zbrodnie, czy nawet zagadke kryminalną bo takich jest bez liku ale zajmujące się czy nawiązujące do kryminału jako gatunkiem literackim.

Na początek utwór śpiewany przez Ute Lemper (i słuchany przeze mnie z przyjemnością):

THE CASE CONTINUES
The suspect was a lover he had no alibi
The weapon was a phone call in the dead of night
You know I never really thought you had it in you
The case continues

The suspect was a cruel self-motivated man
He held the victim's heart in the palm of his hand
The motive is a mystery I'll never understand
The final cut went deep down to the very sinew
The case continues

Why did the blood-stained sheets that burned turn quite so cold
My only crime was passion wild and uncontrolled
If sex were an Olympic sport we'd've won the gold
Oh tell me that there's still a little love left in you
The case continues

The final cut went deep down to the very sinew

The case continues

The victim is in shock there's not much more to say
The suspect made a smooth and silent get-away
The scars may slowly heal but they'll never go away
I only hope that one day you understand just what I've been through

The case continues

I only hope that one day you understand just what I've been though

Oh tell me that there's a little love left in you

The case continues
Obserwuj wątek
    • drfell1 Dire Straits: Private Investigations 19.06.08, 22:49
      I oczywiście
      Dire Straits - Private Investigations
      Its a mystery to me
      The game commences
      For the usual fee
      Plus expenses
      Confidential information
      Its in a diary
      This is my investigation
      Its not a public inquiry

      I go checking out the report
      Digging up the dirt
      You get to meet all sorts
      In the line of work
      Treachery and treason
      Theres always an excuse for it
      And when I find the reason
      I still cant get used to it

      And what have you got at the end of the day ?
      What have you got to take away ?
      A bottle of whisky and a new set of lies
      Blinds on the window and a pain behind the eyes

      Scarred for life
      No compensation
      Private investigations
      • siostra_pelagia A oto polska odpowiedź na Private Investigations 20.06.08, 08:54
        Kult-Knajpa morderców

        Nie szukaj drogi, znajdziesz ją w sercu
        Smutna jest knajpa byłych morderców
        Niech Cię nie trwożą, gdy do niej wkroczysz
        Płonące w mroku morderców oczy
        Nieważny groźny grymas na gębie
        Mordercy mają serca gołębie
        Band armii, gangów i czarnych sotni
        Wczoraj rycerze dziś - bezrobotni
        Pustką i chłodem wieje po kątach
        Stary morderca z baru szkło sprząta
        Szafa wygrywa rzewne kawałki
        Siedzą mordercy łamią zapałki
        Czasem twarz obca mignie i znika
        Zaraz się dźwignie ktoś od stolika
        Wróci nazajutrz z miną nijaką
        Bluźnie na życie, postawi flakon
        Każdy do niego zaraz się tłoczy
        Wkrąg nad szklankami błyskają oczy
        I zaraz każdy lepiej się czuje
        Jeszcze morderców ktoś potrzebuje
        Może nareszcie któregoś ranka
        Znowu się zacznie wielka kocanka
        I wrócą chwile pełne zazdrości
        Znów będą płacić za przyjemności
        Znów w dłoni zamiast płaskiej butelki
        Znany kształt kolby od parabelki
        A w końcu palca wibruje skrycie
        Jak łaskotanie: tu śmierć, tu życie
        Wracajcie słodkie chwały godziny
        Sławne gonitwy i strzelaniny
        Tak tylko można znowu być młodym
        Zabić i z dumą czekać nagrody
        W knajpie morderców gryziemy palce
        Żądze nas dręczą i sny o walce
        Ale któż dzisiaj mordercom ufa
        Więc srebrne kule spią w czarnych lufach
        Zmazując barwy lasom i polom
        Mknie balon nocy z knajpy gondolą
        Kiedyś tak jasno a dziś tak ciemno
        Wroga, nie widzę wroga przede mną
        Rwie łeb od tortur alkoholowych
        Lecz wśród porcelan i rur niklowych
        Człowiek się znowu czuje półbogiem
        Bo oto stoi twarzą w twarz z wrogiem
        Kula jak srebrna żmija wyskoczy
        W lustrze nad kranem zagasną oczy
        Ciała morderców skry potu zroszą
        Gdy milcząc ciało za drzwi wynoszą
        Gdy bije północ
    • siostra_pelagia Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 20.06.08, 08:30
      I swear
      My mother came to hazard when I was just seven
      Even then the folks in town said with predjudiced eyes
      That boys not right
      Three years ago when I came to know Mary
      First time that someone looked beyond the rumors and the lies
      And saw the man inside

      We used to walk down by the river
      She loved to watch the sun go down
      We used to walk along the river
      And dream our way out of this town

      No one understood what I felt for Mary
      No one cared until the night she went out walking alone
      And never came home
      Man with a badge came knocking next morning
      Here was I surrounded by a thousand fingers suddenly
      Pointed right at me

      I swear I left her by the river
      I swear I left her safe and sound
      I need to make it to the river
      And leave this old Nebraska town

      I think about my life gone by
      And how its done me wrong
      Theres no escape for me this time
      All of my rescues are gone, long gone

      I swear I left her by the river
      I swear I left her safe and sound
      I need to make it to the river
      And leave this old Nebraska town

      To bardzo ładna i liryczna piosenka śpiewana kiedyś przez Richarda
      Marxa. Właściwie zeznanie chłopaka oskarżonego o morderstwo swojej
      dziewczynysmile. Tak wynikało z nakręconego do tego utworu teledysku.
      • siostra_pelagia Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 20.06.08, 08:42
        A może autor wątku zezwoliłby nam też na dodawanie piosenek i
        wierszy traktujących o morderstwach? Od razu bym wpisała Lilije
        Adama Mickiewicza i Murder Ballads Nicka Cave`a?smilesmile.
        • drfell1 Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 20.06.08, 18:58
          No właśnie jeśli weźniemy pod uwagę utwory, których tematem jest przestępstwo to ich liczba będzie astronomiczna. W końcu w pewnym okresie, kazde bardziej znane morderstwo zostało opisane w wierszu lub pieśni. Takie utwory czasami wymienia się jako przodków powieści kryminalnej. Np. The Dream of Eugene Aram
          www.bartleby.com/246/234.html
          W Polsce też spiewano np.
          I widzisz Lewicki, co miłość może:
          W mogile ciemnej kochanki trup,
          Tobie na szyję kat stryczek włoży
          I szubienicy wnet ujrzysz słup.

          Czy juz po wojnie utwór którego sobie nie moge przypomnieć m.in. Mazurkiewiczu. Coś takiego "Mazurkiewicz zawisnął o styczniowym ranku, a profesor ... (?nazawiska nie pamietam) zyje z swą kochanką"

          Piosenek o przestepstwach sporo - twórczość Freda Buscaglione, oczywiście Cave. A Cell Block Tango (nie tylko zresztą) z Chicago ( some guys just can't hold their arsenic smile ).
          The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia jest do pewnego stopnia Whodunit z zaskakującym zakończeniem, można je nawet nazwać akroidalnym utworem smile
          Ode To Billy Joe pozostaje zagadka dla wielu słuchaczy, nie wiem czy poza samobójstwem doszło tam do innego przestepstwa ale motywy jego sa tajemnicze.
          • siostra_pelagia The Unread Christie by Norma Siebenheller 18.12.08, 09:04
            I caught the bug at twenty-six
            By thirty was quite bitten
            You might say I was in a fix
            You might say I was smitten

            The title, now-what might it mean?
            Who will the villain be?
            What house will figure in the scene?
            Will everyone have tea?

            Will I see the light before the end?
            Will I ever see a flicker?
            Can I guess whodunit? No my friend-
            I just know it`s not he vicar

            Should I read-and cease to speculate-
            My dreams would be diminished
            It`s more fun to anticipate
            Than, partake, and then be finished

            The book`s a symbol now, a token
            Like an eagle, or a thistle,
            Gleaming and bright, intact, unbroken
            My jewel My Agatha Crystal

            "Because murder is more fun away from home"
        • mika_p Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 21.06.08, 15:53
          I "Celinę" Kultu (Stanisława Staszewskiego) smile

          "Dlaczego taki ostry był Ziutkowej kosy szpic?
          Przecież znacie te balety, wszak w nich złego nie ma nic.
          Ale Celiny głos, Celiny włosów woń,
          Czerwoną mgłą zasnuwa oczy, w kamień zwiera dłoń,
          Ziutek tylko podniósł brew,
          Błysnęło, na białą pierś trysnęła krew!"
    • zettrzy Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 20.06.08, 16:00
      hej, a Kabaret Starszych Panow?
      Tanie Dranie, albo "piec lat dostal skutkiem tej willi z ogrodkiem",
      czy to nie kryminal i to do tego zyciowy?
      wzglednie "czy potrafi plywac w palcie taki Grzeszczyk", zbrodnia na
      tle erotycznym, to juz wlasciwie noir wink
      • siostra_pelagia Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 20.06.08, 17:55
        Whiskey in the jar - stara irlandzka piosenka o rzezimieszku zdradzonym przez
        kochankę. Ciekawie rozwinięty wątek socjologiczno-penitencjarnysmile.
    • drfell1 W.H. Auden - Detective Story 20.06.08, 18:17
      Detective Story

      For who is ever quite without his landscape,
      The straggling village street, the house in trees,
      All near the church, or else the gloomy town house,
      The one with the Corinthian pillars, or
      The tiny workmanlike flat: in any case
      A home, the centre where the three or four things
      That happen to a man do happen? Yes,
      Who cannot draw the map of his life, shade in
      The little station where he meets his loves
      And says good-bye continually, and mark the spot
      Where the body of his happiness was first discovered?

      An unknown tramp? A rich man? An enigma always
      And with a buried pastbut when the truth,
      The truth about our happiness comes out
      How much it owed to blackmail and philandering.

      The rest's traditional. All goes to plan:
      The feud between the local common sense
      And that exasperating brilliant intuition
      That's always on the spot by chance before us;
      All goes to plan, both lying and confession,
      Down to the thrilling final chase, the kill.

      Yet on the last page just a lingering doubt:
      That verdict, was it just? The judge's nerves,
      That clue, that protestation from the gallows,
      And our own smile . . . why yes . . .
      But time is always killed. Someone must pay for
      Our loss of happiness, our happiness itself.

      Ten wiersz prawdopodobnie powstał w 1936 roku i już zawiera idee, które pełny wyraz znalazły w napisanym w 1938 eseju "The Guilty Vicarage".
    • siostra_pelagia John Garth Raubenheimer-Murder 20.06.08, 22:05

      Murder has worn a bangle
      Murder has worn a brace
      Murder has worn a collar and tie
      And a smile upon its face

      Murder shaves punctiliously
      Murder hits the town in a beard
      Murder baths often or never at all
      Murder can be cleancut or weird

      Murder has blossomed in petticoats
      Murder has come out in lace
      Murder has togged up in rags and filth
      Murder can wear any old face

      Murder has cavorted with idiots
      Murder has flourished among fools
      Murder has cultivated genius
      Murder makes and breaks all the rules

      Murder has been fired from a cannon
      Murder has blasted from a gun
      Murder has been delivered with rapier and sword
      With a nod or a wink or a pun

      Murder has come wrapped in parcels
      Murder has arrived in the post
      Murder has been swallowed with cheese and wine
      Murder has been served on toast

      Murder has been commited by proxy
      Murder has been agreed on by vote
      Murder has been sent with roses
      Ribbons kisses and a note

      Murder has been done in a fit of rage
      On the main street in broad daylight
      Murder has been done with an icy calm
      In the middle of the night

      Murder has been done for money
      Murder has been done for a fix
      Murder has been done for good reason
      Murder has been done for kicks

      Murder has often been whitewashed
      Murder has been painted black
      Murder hired this morning
      Has already been given the sack

      Murder has languished in gaol
      Murder has cried in the dock
      Murder has sat in the court's highest seat
      Sending innocence to the block

      Murder sports a scowl and a bandolier
      or a politician's easy grin
      Some murder can murder from a distance
      As it prattles of morality or sin

      Murder has hidden in mountains
      Murder has hidden in caves
      Murder has hidden in government buildings
      A murder not normally brave

      Murder feels safe in large numbers
      Murder feels good on a hill
      Murder likes a uniform and big heavy boots
      A patriot's licence to kill

      Murder has worn a dog-collar
      Murder has carried a book
      Murder has worn solumn words and phrases
      A sanctimonious look

      Murder is fond of information
      And has a taperecorder handy to tell
      Murder likes statements made in confinement
      Murder wants a signature as well

      Murder has clubbed with a feather
      Murder can stab with a pen
      Murder comes to all from little plastic buttons
      Pressed by the mildest men

      Murder comes in every shape and colour
      Murder can be perfumed or smelly
      And only one thing can be said for certain
      Murder always has a navel on it's belly

      Murder has been managed in armour
      Murder has hurt in a glove
      Murder is like everything human
      It has even been done for love

    • drfell1 Hell of Writer - Roger Woddis 21.06.08, 23:43
      Hell of Writer

      Some writers live beyond their age,
      Their passing no excuse to mourn;
      Their pulse still beating on the page.
      The world has cause to celebrate
      That day in 1888
      When Raymond Chandler was born.
      Chicago was his native town,
      Though Dulwich College, strange to say,
      Was where he gained his cap and gown.
      Through Philip Marlowe, private eye -
      The Big Sleep and The Long Goodbye -
      He was to learn that crime does pay.
      The writer belied the mask he wore,
      The raincoat and the soft felt hat.
      Married for thirty years and more, he lived, when Cissy died, in hell
      And showed the pulp beneath the shell.
      He also loved his Persian cat.
      Corruption, his abiding theme,
      Was not the game that Marlowe played.
      The city could not destroy the dream
      Of those unmarked by what they know:
      'Down these means streets a man must go . . .
      Who is neither tarnished nor afraid.'

      Roger Woddis
      • drfell1 Dulwich College 22.06.08, 22:10
        Dulwich College ma swoje miejsce w historii literatury kryminalnej niezależnie od tego, że uczęszczał tam Chandle. Został założona przez Edwarda Alleyna, aktora i współwłaściciela Admiral's Players rywalizującej z Lord Chamberlain's Men, której liderem był Richard Burbage. Tym kim dla Lord Chamberlain's Men i Burbage’a był Shakespeare, dla Admiral's Players i Alleyna był Marlowe. Oba te kompanie jako jedyne dostały licencję na występy w Londynie.
        Jeden z sześciu Domów w Dulwich College nosi teraz imię Marlowe. Domy rywalizują ze sobą. Nie wiem do jakiego Domu należał Chandler ale podejrzewam, że Kit Marlowe dał nazwisko Philipowi. Niektórzy wywodzą to nazwisko od Conrada, ale jego Marlow nie ma „e” na końcu. Robert B. Parker, uwazany za znawce Chandlera, dał swojemu bohaterowi na nazwisko Spenser, a tak nazywa się inny z Domów w Dulwich.
        Na pewno natomiast swoje nazwisko dał bohaterowi powieści Ngaio Marsh, Alleyn. Nazwała ona tak swojego detektywa inspektora Rodericka Alleyna, z szacunku dla sojego ojca absolwenta Dulwich College i podejrzewam z sentymentu dla elżbietańskiego teatru.
        A. E. W. Mason będzie kolejnym absolwentem Dulwich College, który zdobył sławe piszac kryminały. Napisał m.in. serię książek o inspektorze Hanaud, z których pierwsza, pod wieoma wglądami prekursorska, At the Villa Rose (1910) jest zaliczna do klasyków. Inne z serii to: The House of the Arrow (1924), The Prisoner in the Opal (1928), They Wouldn't Be Chessmen (1934),The House in Lordship Lane (1946).
        Dennis Wheatley zwany The Prince of Thriller Writers został wyrzucony z Dulwich College. Zajmował się okultyzmem, pisał kryminały, thriller, książki szpiegowskie I horrory. W swoim czasie należał do najlepiej sprzedających się pisarzy na świecie. M.in. zasłynął ze stworzonej w latach 30-tych tzw. 'Crime Dossiers': Murder Off Miami, Who Killed Robert Prentice, The Malinsay Massacre i Herewith The Clues.. Czutelnik otrzymał teczkę pełną raportów policyjnych, protokołów przesłuchań, fotografii odcisków palców, biletów kolejowych, strzępków odzienia, wło¬sów, popiołu i kurzu, a także dwie koperty. W pierwszej była broszurka wprowadzająca w sytuację ogólną, w drugiej (starannie zapieczętowanej) rozwiązanie zagadki. Kilka jego książek było sfilmowanych przez Hammer, a The Devil Rides Out (1934, film 1968), jest klasykiem w swoim gatunku.
        Simon Brett był niedawno tutaj omawiany, przypomnę, że jest prezydentem Detection Club i oczywiście absolwentem Dulwich College. W "Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe: A Centennial Celebration" [1988], zawierającym nowe opowiadania o Philipie Marlowe napisane przez róznych autorów, znalazło się też jedno napisane przez Simona Bretta.
        C. S. Forester (Cecil Louis Troughton Smith ) absolwent Dulwich College sławny za serie książek morski z epoki napoleońskiej, których bohaterem był Horatio Hornblower, napisał też dwa dość cenione kryminały Payment Deferred (1926), and Plain Murder (1930).
        P G Wodehouse kolejny Old Alleynian ( absolwent Dulwich College) nie pisał kryminałów, chociaż w niektórych jego książkach są wątki kryminalne (np. Psmith, Journalist). Jest autorem kilku opowiadań parodiujących powieściowych detektywów, np. Sherlocka Holmesa. Miał wyrzeć wpływ na autorów kryminałów piszących w latach 20-tych i 30-tych.
    • siostra_pelagia Hitchcock Robin-Raymond Chandler Evening 22.06.08, 08:38
      Bardzo lubię tę piosenkęsmile

      It's a Raymond Chandler Evening
      At the end of someone's day
      And I'm standing in my pocket
      But I can't remember why

      And I'm slowly turning grey
      And the yellow leaves are falling
      I remember what I told you

      In a spiral from the sky
      There's a body on the railings
      That I can't identify
      And I'd like to reassure you but
      It's a Raymond Chandler Evening
      I'm not that kind of guy
      And the pavements are all wet

      'Cause it hasn't happened yet And I'm lurking in the shadows
    • drfell1 John Heath Stubbs Send for Lord Timothy 22.06.08, 22:29
      Send for Lord Timothy

      The Squire is in his library. He is rather worried.
      Lady Constance has been found stabbed in the locked
      Blue Room; clutching in her hand
      A fragment of an Egyptian papyrus. His degenerate half-brother
      Is on his way back from New South Wales,
      And what was the butler, Glubb,
      Doing in the neolithic stone-circle
      Up there on the hill, known to the local rustics
      From time immemorial as the Nine Lillywhite Boys?
      The Vicar is curiously learned
      In Renaissance toxiocology. A greenish Hottentot,
      Armed with a knobkerry, is concealed in the laurel bushes.

      Mother Mary Tiresias is in her parlour.
      She is rather worried. Sister Mary Josephus
      Has been found suffocated in the scriptorium,
      Clutching in her hand a somewhat unspeakable
      Central American fetish. Why was the little novice,
      Sister Agnes, suddenly struck speechless
      Walking in the herbarium? The chaplain, Fr O'Goose
      Is almost too profoundly read
      In the darker aspects of fourth-century neo-Platonism.
      An Eskimo, armed with a harpoon
      Is lurking in the organ loft.

      The Warden of St Phenol's is in his study.
      He is rather worried. Professor Ostracoderm
      Has been found strangled on one of the Gothic turrets,
      Cluthing in his hand a patchouli-scented
      Lady's chiffon handkerchief.
      The brilliant under-graduate they unjustly sent down
      Has transmitted an obscure message in Greek elegiacs
      All the way from Tashkent. Whom was the Domestic Bursar
      Planning to meet in that evil smelling
      Riverside tavern? Why was the Senior Fellow,
      Old Doctor Mousebracket, locked in among the incunabula?
      An aboriginal Philipino pygmy,
      Armed with a blow-pipe and poisoned darts, is hiding behind
      The statue of Pallas Athene.

      A dark cloud of suspicion broods over all. But even now
      Lord Timothy Pratincole (the chinless wonder
      With a brain like Leonardo's) or Chief Inspector Palefox
      (Although a policeman, patently a gentleman,
      And with a First in Greats) or that eccentric scholar,
      Monsignor Monstrance, alights from the chuffing train,
      Has booked a room at the local hostelry
      {The Dragon of Wantley) and is chatting up Mine Host,
      Entirely democratically, noting down
      Local rumours and folk-lore.

      Now read on. The murderer will be unmasked,
      The cloud of guilt dispersed, the church clock stuck at three,
      And the year always
      Nineteen twenty or thirty something,
      Honey for tea, and nothing
      Will ever really happen again.

      John Heath Stubbs
    • siostra_pelagia Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 23.06.08, 08:17
      Private eye -Alkaline trio

      I dragged this lake looking for corpses
      Dusted for prints, pried up the floorboards
      Pieces of planes and black box recorders
      Don't lie, don't lie
      And I've been preoccupied with these sick, sick senses
      That sense DNA on barbed wire fences
      Maybe someday I'll find me a suspect
      That has no alibi
      New Year's Eve was as boring as heaven
      I watched flies fuck on channel 11
      There was no one to kiss, there was nothing to drink
      Except some old rotten milk someone left in the sink
      And there's no ring on the phone anymore
      There's no reason to call I passed out on the floor
      Smoked myself stupid and drank my insides raisin dry
      But at the right place at the right time
      I'll be dead wrong and you'll be just fine
      And you won't have to quit doing fucked up shit
      For anyone but me
      And at the right place at the right time
      It will have been worth it to stand in line
      And you won't have to stop
      Saying "I love cops" for anyone but me
      Your private eye
      I dragged this lake looking for corpses
      Dusted for prints, pried up the floorboards
      Pieces of planes and black box recorders
      Don't lie, don't lie
      And I've been preoccupied with these sick, sick senses
      That sense DNA on barbed wire fences
      Maybe someday I'll find me a suspect
      That has no alibi
      at the right place at the right time
      I'll be dead wrong and you'll be just fine
      And you won't have to quit doing fucked up shit
      For anyone but me
      And at the right place at the right time
      It will have been worth it to stand in line
      And you won't have to stop
      Saying "I love cops" for anyone but me
      Your private eye, your private eye
      And at the right place at the right time
      I'll be dead wrong and you'll be just fine
      You won't have to quit doing fucked up shit
      For anyone but me
      And at the right place at the right time
      It will have been worth it to stand in line
      And you won't have to stop
      Saying "I love cops" for anyone but me
      Your private eye
    • zettrzy Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 23.06.08, 15:42
      kontynuujac watek noir - Kalina Jedrusik:
      "jestem ciepla choc jeszcze nie wdowka
      ale moze mnie pan uwdowic"
    • drfell1 My Mystery Man - Joy Hewitt Mann 23.06.08, 17:23
      My Mystery Man
      Mystery Poem by Joy Hewitt Mann

      The love-of-my-life is a cross between Bond, Mike Hammer and Travis McGee.

      Although he's a Saint and Wimsey at times,

      He's in bed every night next to me.

      I love how he feels when I'm holding him tight,

      Each glance has me on tenterhooks.

      He's romantic, exciting
      • siostra_pelagia Ten little Indians - Harry Nilsson 23.06.08, 18:41
        Ten little Indians

        Ten little Indians,
        Standing in a line.
        One stood looking at another man's wife,
        Then there were nine.

        Nine little Indians,
        Their hearts were full of hate.
        One took his neighbour's goods,
        Then there were eight.

        Eight little Indians,
        They just got down from heaven.
        One told a lie about another's best friend,
        Then there were seven.

        Seven little Indians,
        All trying to get their kicks.
        One thought he'd found another way to get to heaven,
        Then there were six.

        Six little Indians,
        Trying to stay alive.
        One took another's life,
        Then there were five.

        Five little indians,
        All trying to find the door.
        One pulled his mother down,
        Then there were four.

        Four little Indians,
        All thinking that they gotta be free.
        One little Indian forgot to say his prayers,
        Then there were three.

        Three little Indians,
        Deciding what they're gonna have to do.
        One took the name of God in vain,
        Then there were two.

        Two little Indians,
        Thinking that they oughtta have some fun.
        One took a liking to a picture of himself,
        Then there was one.

        One little Indian,
        Out looking for the sun.
        At six o'clock, the moon came out,
        Then there was none


        C


    • zettrzy Brecht? 23.06.08, 22:49
      Mack the knife i cala reszta - w ogole czysty kryminal!
    • drfell1 Julian Symons - The Guilty Party 25.06.08, 22:48
      The Guilty Party

      It is the author who creates the crime
      And picks the victim, this blonde dark girl sprawled
      Across a bed; stabbed; strangled, poisoned bashed
      With a blunt instrument. Or the young middle-aged
      Old scandalous and respected beardless greybeard
      Destroyed most utterly by some unknown means
      In a room with doors and windows 'hermetically sealed'.

      So victims and means are found. As for the motive
      It is often impersonal, a matter of money;
      An estate to be gained; a will cheated on; a secret
      Within the family, a discreditable
      Business about the building contract for the new school.
      It is simple for Hawkshaw, whose life has been
      Logically given to the pursuit of logie.
      He reads the signs; dustmarks, thumbprint, human and animal blood, And arrests the solicitor.
      The author
      Puts down his pen. He has but poisoned in jest,
      Stabbed and strangled in jest; destroyed in jest
      By unknown means the smiling neuter victim.
      What has he done that could deserve the tap
      Upon the door of his butter-bright smiling room
      Where crimes are kept in filing cabinets
      Well out of sight and mind, what has he done
      To bring this horde of victim villains in,
      One paddling fingers in her own bright blood
      And staining his face with it, another
      Revealing the great wound gaping in his side,
      The sliced-up tart carrying a juicy breast,
      Inviting him to kiss it: and the villains all
      Crowding him with their horrid instruments,
      The rope that playfully tightens round his neck,
      The blue revolver used to mutilate,
      The dagger points to pierce out jelly eyes,
      The saw and hammer at their nasty work,
      The shapes of agony - and worst of all
      The unnamed death that strips away the flesh
      And melts the bone, a death unnamable
      Yet clearly known.

      From all such visions;
      Unreal, absurd, phantasmagorical,
      We naturally wish to be preserved.
      If for a moment this white neutral room
      Is filled with smells of rotted or burning flesh
      There is a specific by which a respectable
      Writer may puff away such nastiness
      And regiment like Hawkshaw the unruly
      Shapes of life to an ideal order.
      He picks up his pen.

      Julian Symons
    • siostra_pelagia Agatha Christie Novel-Filligar 27.06.08, 08:35
      Znalazłam na yuotubie. Ale jakość odtwarzania tego utworu na moim komputerze
      jest prawie żadna, więc trudno mi powiedzieć, czy treść piosenki jest związana w
      jakikolwiek sposób z Christie i jakąkolwiek zagadką kryminalnąsmile.
      youtube.com/watch?v=Z7iLn3BawjQ
    • drfell1 Macavity - The Mystery Cat 29.06.08, 16:19
      Macavity - The Mystery Cat
      T S Eliot

      Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw--
      For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
      He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair:
      For when they reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!

      Macavity, Macavity, there's no on like Macavity,
      He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
      His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare,
      And when you reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there!
      You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air--
      But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there!

      Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
      You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
      His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly doomed;
      His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
      He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;
      And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.

      Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity,
      For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
      You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square--
      But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there!

      He's outwardly respectable. (They say he cheats at cards.)
      And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
      And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled,
      Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled,
      Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair--
      Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!

      And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty's gone astray,
      Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way,
      There may be a scap of paper in the hall or on the stair--
      But it's useless of investigate--Macavity's not there!
      And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say:
      "It must have been Macavity!"--but he's a mile away.
      You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs,
      Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.

      Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macacity,
      There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
      He always has an alibit, or one or two to spare:
      And whatever time the deed took place--MACAVITY WASN'T THERE!
      And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known
      (I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone)
      Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
      Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
      • siostra_pelagia Re: Macavity - The Mystery Cat-polskie tłumaczeni 29.06.08, 17:15
        TAJEMNICZY KOT MAKAWITY

        Makawity to tajemniczy kot; zowią go też Skryty Pazur,
        Gdyż jest arcymistrzem zbrodni, który urąga Prawu,
        Kpi sobie ze Scotland Yardu, a zwłaszcza z Odddziału Lotnego.
        I nigdy na miejscu zbrodni NIE MA MAKAWITEGO!

        Bo któż jak Makawity? Któż jest jak Makawity?
        On wznosi się w powietrze jak fakir znakomity,
        Łamiąc Powszechne Prawa wraz z Prawem Ciążenia Ziemskiego,
        I nigdy na miejscu zbrodni NIE MA MAKAWITEGO!
        Niech się policja czai w powietrzu, pod ziemią na niego -
        Ja wiem to lepiej niż oni - NIE MA MAKAWITEGO!

        Makawity ma kolor imbiru, smukły jest i wysoki;
        Poznasz go, gdy go ujrzysz, gdy cię przeszyje wzrokiem.
        Głowa do góry wzniesiona, namysł na czoło się kładzie,
        Płaszcz jego kurzem okryty, wąsy - w niedbałym nieładzie.
        Szyję przeginać umie miękkim, wężowym ruchem;
        Gdy sądzisz, że śpi głęboko - on czuwa ciałem i duchem.

        Któż jest jak Makawity? Któż jest jak Makawity?
        To potwór deprawacji, czort w kocim ciele skryty.
        Miniesz go na ulicy i przejdziesz tuż obok niego,
        Ale na miejscu zbrodni NIE MA MAKAWITEGO!

        Szlachetny jest na pozór (nie siadaj z nim do kart),
        Odcisków jego palców nie zdobył Scotland Yard -
        Lecz gdy słonina ginie lub skrzynka biżuterii,
        Gdy ktoś dzban mleka wypił, stłukł szybę w oranżerii
        Lub łeb ukręcił kurze ni z tego, ni z owego -
        Jedna jest rzecz przedziwna: NIE MA MAKAWITEGO!

        A kiedy z Foreign Office'u niknie Przyjaźni Traktat
        Albo z Admiralicji - Plany i Tajne Akta,
        Być może strzęp jaki znajdą i to czy tamto spostrzegą,
        Lecz śledztwo jest bezcelowe: NIE MA MAKAWITEGO!

        I Tajna Policja mówi, kiedy ją zawiadomić:
        - TO MUSIAŁ BYĆ MAKAWITY! - a on daleko o sto mil
        Na słońcu się wyleguje i liże leniwie pazur
        Albo liczb długie kolumny mnoży i dzieli od razu.

        Któż jest jak Makawity? Któż jest jak Makawity?
        Tak gładki i zwodniczy, i tak niesamowity?
        On zawsze ma alibi (dwa albo trzy do tego),
        Ale na miejscu zbrodni NIE MA MAKAWITEGO!
        Mówią, że wszystkie koty ze swoich przestępstw znane
        (Że wspomnę o Januarym czy kocie Kajetanie),
        To tylko zwykli agenci posłuszni, sprawni, zgodni
        Kota Makawitego - Napoleona Zbrodni!

        Tłumaczenie Andrzeja Nowickiego i słusznie wskazuje się na podobieństwo tego
        wiersza do tego o Majcherze Bertolda Brechtasmile.

        • drfell1 Re: Macavity - The Mystery Cat-polskie tłumaczen 29.06.08, 18:53
          Zgadza się, natomiast polskie tłumaczenie chyba gubi nawiązanie do profesora M.
          The Final Problem:
          You have probably never heard of Professor Moriarty?" said he.
          "Never."
          "Ay, there's the genius and the wonder of the thing!" he cried.
          Macavity:
          Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there!

          The Final Problem:
          "... he is extremely tall and thin, his forehead domes out in a white curve, and
          his two eyes are deeply sunken in his head ... "
          Macavity:
          Mcavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin;
          You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
          His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly domed;
          The Final Problem:
          "...his face protrudes forward
          and is forever slowly oscillating from side to side in a curiously
          reptilian fashion."
          Macavity:
          He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake;

          Czy:
          And when the Foreign Office find a Treaty's gone astray,
          Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way - The Adventure of the Naval Treaty lub The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans

          Lub:
          Or engaged in doing complicated long-division sums.
          Moriarty:
          "...endowed by nature with a
          phenomenal mathematical faculty."
          I na zakończenie:
          Makavity:
          Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time
          Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!
          Moriarty (za Final Problem):
          "He is the Napoleon of crime, Watson.(...)He does little himself.
          He only plans. But his agents are numerous and splendidly
          organized. "
          • siostra_pelagia Re: Macavity - The Mystery Cat-polskie tłumaczen 29.06.08, 19:05
            Nie mogę odnaleźć teraz książki z tłumaczeniem Eliota przez Barańczaka. Może tam
            lepiej ten związek pokazano?
            • drfell1 Re: Macavity - The Mystery Cat-polskie tłumaczen 29.06.08, 19:21
              Dostałem Barańczaka kiedys w prezencie, ale od dawna go nie widziałem. Pamietam, że dziwnie tłumaczył imiona kotów.
              • siostra_pelagia Re: Macavity - The Mystery Cat-polskie tłumaczen 29.06.08, 19:29
                Strasznie udziwnił Barańczak nazwy kotów, mi się te wcześniejsze bardziej
                podobały. U niego Makawity Makiawelem został nazwany.
              • siostra_pelagia Marsz Cierpliwych Detektywów-Kajetan Chrumps 29.06.08, 19:34
                Jak szukałam Barańczaka, to ta książeczka spadła mi na głowę, a w niej utwór
                skomponowany przez słynnego detektywa Kajetana Chrumpsa, pogromcy arcy-łotra
                Makawitegosmile

                Cierpliwość cnotą detektywa.
                Wytrwałym w dociekaniu bądź,
                zawsze bądź!
                Myślenie prawdę nam odkrywa,
                więc sprawnie wnioskuj, sprawnie sądź,
                sprawnie sądź!

                Ref.:
                Hip! hip! rozumowanie!
                i chłodna logika!
                Dokładnie trzeba sprawdzić,
                co z czego wynika.
                Hip! Hip! Hip!

                Więc przemierzajmy nowe szlaki,
                wędrujmy kryjąc w głowie plan,
                mądry plan!
                Dopomagajmy stworom takim,
                którym jest ciężej, niż jest nam,
                właśnie nam!
                Niech sprawiedliwość triumfuje,
                gdzie skierujemy dziarski krok,
                śmiały krok!
                A nam po trudach niech smakuje
                świeżutki porzeczkowy sok,
                pyszny sok!
    • es_zet_pe Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 30.06.08, 17:59
      Pamiętam z dość dawnych czasów jak byłem mały, u rodziców była taka
      płyta winylowa (singiel) jakiejś polskiej piosenkarki z lat 60-tych,
      na które była piosenka o Sherlocku Holmesie oczywiście dość
      ironiczna, nie pamiętam całości, ale urywki chodzą mi do dziś po
      głowie.

      Zaczynało się tak, że dwaj kasiarze włamują się do banku, a tu:
      "To Sherlock Holmes bandytów wewnątrz wita
      To Sherlock Holmes wymierza w nich z kopyta
      Dawny zapaśnik "Stali" Kraśnik i Wałbrzycha
      Stylem Templera się zabiera za oprycha"

      potem było coś takiego:
      "Śpi na tarasie córeczka lorda
      Gdy wtem bandycka zjawia się morda
      Zerka obleśnie w górę i w dół
      A jednocześnie chwyta ją w pół"
      Ta córeczka to był też przebrany Sherlocksmile Na końcu demaskował
      sprawców manka w Geesie czy w Pegeerze. Ot taki Sherlock w
      gomułkowskich chyba realiachwink
      • negev56 Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 30.06.08, 19:03
        Nada się do tego wątku lub nie, ale proponuję zamknąć oczy i posłuchać, ten
        głosss...smile)
        youtube.com/watch?v=tBGXwX-TdTY&feature=related
        fajne co?
        • siostra_pelagia Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 30.06.08, 19:41
          To była grupa... Niech się Stonsi i Beatlesi schowająsmile.
      • drfell1 Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 30.06.08, 20:39
        Całości nie pamietam (przy okazji gratuluje pamieci) ale
        przy córeczce lorda było cos takiego (na pewno przekrećam):
        "... bo to nie była wcale kobita,
        To Sherlock Holmes perukę włożył rudą.
        to Sherlock Holmes mistrz wagi średnie w dżudo
        Dawny zapaśnik "Stali" Kraśnik i Wałbrzycha
        Stylem Templera się zabiera za oprycha"

        Było coś jeszcze takiego:
        "To Sherlock Holmes w przestępczych znany gangach,
        To Sherlock Holmes zaprasza mich do tanga."

        Może ktoś pamieta całość.

        Była jeszcze inna polska piosenka, ale z niej pamietam tylko:
        ...miał on faceta z dyplomem, nazywał go Watsonem"
    • drfell1 Powieści kryminalne wierszem 30.06.08, 21:41
      Powstało też kilka powieści kryminalnych pisanych wierszem.
      Najbardziej udaną podobno jest Jack, The Lady Killer - H. R. F. Keatinga

      Przytoczę poczatek (znam tylko fragmenty):

      Jack, the Lady Killer, there's
      My title, chosen for this tale.
      A tribute, bold, from one who dares
      Follow a poet (will I fail?)
      Of sparkling wit and dazzling rhyme.
      But, as for me, I'll stick to crime.
      Vikram Seth's The Golden Gate,
      My quote's from that. If not quite straight,
      it holds my plot in embryo.
      But where to set my nascent verse?
      Answer: yes, I can't do worse
      than India. So, there I'll go,
      back to my old stamping ground.
      But with a yesteryear sleuthhound
      .
      The place? Punjab, its dusty plains
      The time our story comes alive?
      A time gone by, a day remains,
      India 1935.
      Our hero? He’s a lad called Jack.
      Just that. Not John. Alas, alack,
      That single name will be a weight
      Around his neck, a heavy fate.
      Before we reach our final word
      He’ll curse this name that is his own.
      A name, he thinks, not his alone
      but a killer’s, though unheard.
      A killer Jack – it’s much to ask –
      Will find his duty to unmask.

      I ostatnie słowa:

      Jack Steele, a boy a week ago,
      is now a man. Thus do we grow.
      • drfell1 Re: Powieści kryminalne wierszem - Send Bygraves 30.06.08, 21:43
        Chwalona jest też póba Marthy Grimes

        Send Bygraves - Martha Grimes

        Znowu fragment:

        We're a decent lot. We cause no trouble.
        (That Spot of bother with the poisoned dogs
        At Smyth-Montcrieff's? We'd nothing to do with that!)
        You standing, Sergeant? Ah, thank you, I'll have a Double
        Diamond. Jameson on the side. That fog's
        Thick as pea soup ihnit? I'll tell you flat:
        We don't' much like the Yard nosing about
        In little Puddley. Keeping ourselves to ourselves,
        We do. We've nothing to hide. We're a decent lot.
      • drfell1 A Crime in Rhyme: and Other Mysterious Fragments 30.06.08, 22:00
        A Crime in Rhyme: and Other Mysterious Fragments - Simon Brett
        Niestety nie mam fragmentów do przytoczenia ale miałem okazję słuchać jak Simon Brett wygłaszał jeden z utworów. Wydawało mi sie to bardzo smieszne. Są rymowane utwory parodiujace popularne wątki i trendy w współczesnej literaturze kryminalnej. Dodatkową atrakcja było to, że wśród słuchaczy byli parodiowani twórcy np. Val McDermid, którzy sie dobrze bawili (bądź dobrze udawali). Czy przy czytaniu jest też tak śmieszne. Nie wiem.

        The Monkey's Mask - Dorothy Porter
        Jest określana jako: "A lesbian detective novel in verse form"
        • siostra_pelagia Re: A Crime in Rhyme: and Other Mysterious Fragme 30.06.08, 22:13
          A Martha Grimes Send Bygraves? To chyba też takie poematy kryminalne były?
          • drfell1 Re: A Crime in Rhyme: and Other Mysterious Fragme 30.06.08, 23:54
            Też jakieś fragmenty tylko czytałem. Każdy rozdział jest pisany w innym stylu.
    • siostra_pelagia Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 01.07.08, 22:29
      To jest tak ładna piosenka, że zasługuje, by sie tu znaleźćsmile

      Where the wild roses grow (Kylie Minogue i Nick Cave)

      They call me The Wild Rose
      But my name was Elisa Day
      Why they call me it I do not know
      For my name was Elisa Day

      From the first day I saw her I knew she was the one
      As she stared in my eyes and smiled
      For her lips were the colour of the roses
      They grew down the river, all bloody and wild

      When he knocked on my door and entered the room
      My trembling subsided in his sure embrace
      He would be my first man, and with a careful hand
      He wiped the tears that ran down my face

      On the second day I brought her a flower
      She was more beautiful than any woman I'd seen
      I said, 'Do you know where the wild roses grow
      So sweet and scarlet and free?'

      On the second day he came with a single rose
      Said: 'Will you give me your loss and your sorrow?'
      I nodded my head, as I layed on the bed
      He said, 'If I show you the roses will you follow?'

      On the third day he took me to the river
      He showed me the roses and we kissed
      And the last thing I heard was a muttered word
      As he stood smiling above me with a rock in his fist

      On the last day I took her where the wild roses grow
      And she lay on the bank, the wind light as a thief
      As I kissed her goodbye, I said, 'All beauty must die'
      And lent down and planted a rose between her teeth
    • drfell1 The Owl Writes a Detective Story - Gavin Ewart 04.07.08, 17:54
      The Owl Writes a Detective Story

      A stately home where doves, in dovecotes, coo,
      fields where calm cattle stand and gently moo,
      trim lawns where croquet is the thing to do.
      This is the ship, the house party's the crew:
      Lord Feudal, hunter of the lion and gnu,
      whose walls display the heads of not a few,
      Her Ladyship, once Ida Fortescue,
      who, like his Lordship very highborn too,
      surveys the world with a disdainful moue.
      Their son—most active with a billiard cue—
      Lord Lazy (stays in bed till half past two).
      A Balkan Count called Popolesceru
      (an ex-Dictator waiting for a coup).
      Ann Fenn, most English, modest, straight and true
      a very pretty girl without a sou.
      Adrian Finkelstein, a clever Jew.
      Tempest Bellairs, a beauty such as you
      would only find in books like this (she'd sue
      if I displayed her to the public view—
      enough to say men stick to her like glue).
      John Huntingdon, who's only there to woo
      (a fact, except for her, the whole house knew)
      Ann Fenn. And, last, the witty Cambridge Blue,
      the Honourable Algy Playfair, who
      shines in detection. His clear 'View halloo!'
      puts murderers into a frightful stew.
      But now the plot unfolds! What deja vu!
      There! In the snow!—The clear print of a shoe!
      Tempest is late for her next rendez-vous,
      Lord Feudal's blood spreads wide-red sticky goo
      on stiff white shirtfront—Lazy's billet-doux
      has missed Ann Fenn, and Popolesceru
      has left—without a whisper of adieu
      or saying goodbye, typical mauvais gout!
      Adrian Finkelstein, give him his due,
      behaves quite well. Excitement is taboo
      in this emotionless landowner's zoo.
      Algy, with calm that one could misconstrue
      (handling with nonchalance bits of vertu)
      knows who the murderer is. He has a clue.
      But who? But who? Who, who, who, who, who ?

      Gavin Ewart
    • drfell1 Clerihew 05.07.08, 12:25
      Clerihew

      Co to jest clerihew ?
      Wg internetowej wersji Słownika Wyrazów Obcych:

      clerihew [wym. klerihju:] ang., rodzaj humorystycznego czterowiersza biograficznego wynaleziony przez dziennikarza i literata ang. Edmunda Clerihew Bentleya (1875-1956); istotną cechą clerihew jest umyślna niezdarność metrum i rymów (aabb) oraz całkiem osobliwa pointa typu uczniowskiego.
      Oto przykład jednego z wcześniejszych i bardziej znanych clerihews Bentleya:

      Sir Humphrey Davy
      Abominated gravy.
      He lived in the odium
      Of having discovered sodium.


      Edmund Clerihew Bentley napisał pierwszy clerihew jako uczeń (St. Paul's School w Londynie). W 1905 roku, już jako dorosły, przy niewielkiej pomocy swojego kolegi szkolnego G. K. Chestertona, wydał kolekcję tych utworów pt. Biography for Beginners pod pseudonimem E. Clerihew B.A.
      Ze wstepu:

      The Art of Biography
      Is different from Geography.
      Geography is about Maps,
      But Biography is about Chaps.

      My oczywiście znamy go jako twórcę Trent's Last Case (1911), czyli po polsku Ostaniej sprawy Trenta, powieści uważanej za kamień milowy w historii kryminałów.
      Po polsku clerihew można znaleźć np. w Księdze nonsensu Marianowicza i Nowickiego, lub Fioletowej krowie Stanisława Barańczaka.
      Czy Bentley pisywał też clerihew związane z kryminałami. Ja znalazłem dwa. Często cytowany:

      Edgar Allan Poe
      Was passionately fond of roe.
      He always liked to chew some
      When writing anything gruesome.

      Natomiast swoją parodię twórczości D.L. Sayers o Lordzie Peterze zatytułowaną 'Greedy Night' (w Parody Party, 1936) Bentley poprzedził tskim clerihew:

      Lord Peter Wimsey
      May look a little flimsy,
      But he's simply sublime
      When nosing out a crime.

      Sam Bentley też sie stał celem clerihew.
      Tom Kreitzberg napisał clerihew o nim w dwóch wersjach:

      Edmund Clerihew Bently
      Created Philip Trent. He
      Also defined the norm
      For his eponymous poetic form.

      Not only did Bentley
      Create Philip Trent, he
      Invented the norm
      Of this poetic form.

      O Bentleyu clerihew stworzył również Michael Curl:

      E. C. Bentley
      Mused while he ought to have studied intently;
      It was this muse
      That inspired clerihews.

      Wspomniany Tom Kreitzberg specjalizuje się w tzw. mystery clerihews czyli związanych z twórczościa kryminalną.

      The priest Father Brown
      Has gained wide renown,
      Not for prayerbooks or hyminals,
      But for collaring criminals.

      Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
      Learned the meaning of "loyal."
      When he killed off Holmes at Reichenbach,
      His fans all cried, "We'd like him back!"

      Agatha Christie
      Wrote plot lines so twisty,
      Whodunit we'd never know
      If it weren't for the little grey cells of Poirot.

      Dashiell Hammett
      Wrote like dammit.
      For a time he was a little too much on the Red side
      To keep one of his books by your bedside.

      Philip Marlowe
      Never went to Barstow.
      He preferred the mean streets of L.A.,
      Though sometimes he slummed in Marina del Rey.

      John Dortmunder
      Is no Master of Plunder.
      If you say one of his plans didn't fail,
      It means not everyone wound up in jail.

      Dorothy L. Sayers,
      For translating prayers
      From Italian? Can't beat her.
      (Still, I'd like more Lord Peter.)

      Kreitzberg stworzył pewna odmianę clerihew, którą nazwał cleriview (a clerihew that is a review), czyli clerihew bedący recenzją książki.
      Przykład recenzji książki Sue Grafton “L is for Lawless”:

      "L of a Book"
      Sue Grafton
      Knows her craft, 'n'
      She gets better
      With each letter.

      I książki Margaret Chittenden pt. Dying to Sing:

      Margaret Chittendon
      Shows us her wit, and then
      Procedes to regale
      Us with a fine tale.
    • drfell1 Denouement - Reginald Hill 12.07.08, 09:47
      Denouement

      Ali in the library? Then I’ll begin.
      First reconstruction. Lady Mary, your story . . .

      No story; but the truth.

      Of course. Your truth. You heard
      at midnight. . .
      Perhaps later. My truth
      is not as precise as grocer's butter.
      Just so. Around midnight. . .
      Not earlier.
      Not around because not earlier.
      Just so. You heard a sound like a shot. . .
      a shot like the sound of a drayman's whip like the fiat of a hand
      on a naughty buttock like the split of a cane
      on a bloodstained thigh.

      Just so.
      Did you get that, Sergeant? At midnight,
      or just after, and then a thud; you too
      Mr Murdo, you heard the thud?
      Like the drop of a corpse from a hanging hook,
      like a broadbreast turkey on a window tray.
      But not the shot?
      I do not listen to shots,
      only thuds.

      Just so.
      Now Gilchrist the butler . . .
      Gilchrist, you may speak.
      Thank you, Lady Mary. I found his Lordship
      as I tested the windows; he lay by the sofa.
      He had not spilt his whisky though his blood
      spoilt the carpet.
      Was there much blood, Gilchrist?

      It covered two strange flowers and an Oriental Goddess.
      Ali those arms.
      What did you do then?
      I awoke Mr Murdo.
      And you, Mr Murdo?
      I awoke Lady Mary.
      And you, Lady Mary?
      I awoke.
      And then?
      We all went down
      and we looked at the blood. We all took our shoes off
      and we danced in the blood. Who would have thought
      who would have thought who would have thought

      Just so. Thank you all three. Let us pull the curtains.
      We must go further into this.

      Reginald Hill

      It covered two strange flowers and an Oriental Goddess. All those arms.
      What did you do then? I awoke Mr Murdo.
      Ąnd you, Mr Murdo?
      I awoke Lady Mary.
      And you, Lady Mary?
      I awoke.
      And then?
      .< '
      We all went down and we looked at the blood. We all took our shoes off and we
      danced in the blood. Who would have thought who would have thought who would
      have thought
      Just so. Thank you all three. Let us puli the curtains. We must go further into
      this.

      Reginald Hill
    • ugugunana Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 12.07.08, 17:00
      Proszszsz...

      youtube.com/watch?v=lneSAju-Xtc
    • drfell1 Don't Guess Let Me Tell You - Ogden Nash 15.07.08, 19:48
      Don't Guess Let Me Tell You

      Personally I don't care whether a detective story writer was educated in night school
      or in day school

      So lońg as they don't belong to the H.I.B.K. school.

      The H.I.B.K. being a device to which too many detective-story writers are prone,

      Namely the Had I But Known.

      Sometimes it is the Had I But Known what grim secret lurked behind that smiling exterior
      I would never have set foot within the door,

      Sometimes the Had I But Known then what I know now I could have saved at least three lives by revealing to the Inspector the conversation I heard through that fortuitous hole in the floor.

      Had-I-But-Known narrators are the ones who hear a stealthy creak at midnight in the tower where the body lies, and; instead of locking their door or arousing the drowsy policeman posted outside their room, sneak off by themselves to the tower and suddenly they hear a breath exhaled behind them,

      And they have no time to scream, they know nothing else till the men from the D.A.'s office come in next morning and find them.

      Had I But known-ers are ąuick to assume the prerogatives of the Deity,

      For they will suppress evidence that doesn't suit their theories with appalling spontaneity,

      And when the killer is finally trapped into a confession by some elaborate device of the Had I But Known-er some hundred pages later than if they hadn't held their knowledge aloof,

      Why they say Why Inspector I knew all along it was he but I couldn't tell you, you would have laughed at me unless I had absolute proof.

      Would you like a nice detective story for your library which I am sorry to say I didn't rent but owns?

      I wouldn't have bought it had I but known it was impregnated with Had I But Knowns.

      Ogden Nash

      Twórca tej (HIBK) szkoły była Mary Roberts Rinehart (1876-1958). Kiedyś jedna z najbardziej popularnych autorek amerykańskich, teraz prawie zapomniana. Chyba niesłusznie. Krytyka szkoły HIBK nie tylko przez Ogdena Nasha, odnosi sie w wiekszym stopniu do jej mniej utalentowanych nasladowców.

      Ogden Nash napisał często cytowany wierszyk:
      Philo Vance
      Needs a kick in the pance.
    • siostra_pelagia Re: Kryminały w wierszach i piosenkach 24.08.08, 21:23
      Posłuchajcie, co śpiewam, a zapewniam was,
      Że będziecie parskali śmiechem raz po raz.
      Chociaż pieśnią swą trafić chcę do waszych serc
      -Dla wielu z wszak uciechą jest gwa-a-u-u-towna śmierć!

      Jak najwięcej pogrzebów! Groszem sypią wdowy,
      Więc kwitnie nam miejscowy zakład pogrzebowy.
      I grobów jak najwięcej! Znów robótka przy tym
      Dla pana kamieniarza. Na grób kładź pan płyty,
      By zmarły nie zmarzł zimą!

      Piosenka z music hallu śpiewana przez ś.p. T. E. Dunville`a, ok. r. 1899-cytat
      z książki M. Allingham Jak najwięcej grobów
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