Hello! And how are you today? Good? Yes? No? In-between? Rather not say? Me, I've had not only an exhausting week but a frustrating week trying to get my doctor to acknowledge a prescription refill request. Good thing I allowed extra time, because I'm still waiting to hear back. In the meantime, let's divert ourselves with a bit of Babelfishing poetry, where I take song lyrics, run them through an on-line translator such as (but not necessarily) Babelfish, change up the punctuation a bit, and wind up with a quirky kind of poem.
My first exposure to this week's song was from Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn singing it in the 1930s screwball comedy Bringing Up Baby. Without further ado, here's "I Can't Give You Anything But Love, Baby" (listen to Bob Wills and his Texas Playboys' Western swing version here, or Cootie Williams and his Rug Cutters' smooth and suave jazz version here, or jazz vocalist Annette Hanshaw's rendition, which includes the rarely-heard verse, here, or the Mills Brothers' version here, or cornettist Red Nichols & His Five Pennies' interpretation here). Enjoy.
Tiny, Tiny Dream Plan
Hi, it is difficult to gerilasau, it is. Yes.
Do not give the children jokes.
Change the first chance,
easy endommage, worst thing.
You know, after a few days you will earn.
I wish I had a place at the Summit.
Even if you want to see everything,
you can spend any time alone.
Children do nothing, but in love.
Only things, more children.
Tiny, tiny dream plan,
so full of joy to find,
so more than likely.
Things are always Bagan for me.
Hi, I'm looking at your baby, expected to be a blur
if diamond bracelets to sell Volvo.
For this reason we won the prize two days.
You know well, darned Jr.,
you don't have to love something.