pahavit (pahavit) wrote,

Babelfishing Poetry: "Financial Standing In The Garden Of Mosquito"

Babelfishing Poetry: "Financial Standing In The Garden Of Mosquito"

Hello? How are you?  Hope you're very well, fine, and dandy.   I've had some very challenging weeks recently, so I'm glad the weekend is just ahead and that the weather continues to be nice.  So let's plunge right in with this week's Babelfishing poetry, where I take song lyrics, run them through an on-line translator such as (but not necessarily) Babelfish, goof around with the punctuation a bit, and wind up with a quirky kind of poem.

A recent discussion on one of my forums mentioned this week's feature as popping up on many of the "most-hated songs" lists throughout the years, which slightly puzzled me.  I was fascinated with this song whenever I heard it on the radio after it came out.  The lyrics were obscurely intriguing and the progressive music was unlike anything else heard on the current Top-40 radio.  It was definitely ahead of its time, and remains polarizing to this day.

Originally written in 1967 by Jimmy Webb for a cantata and first recorded by Richard Harris, here's the epic, monumental "MacArthur Park" (listen to Richard Harris sing the song here).  Enjoy. 

Financial Standing In The Garden Of Mosquito

Girl Stanfinas spring.
Step forward to run,
then keep dancing.
They promote two different leaves.
We heat, thermal mad love.
Put on painted shoes.

I remember the series of quality cotton clothing.
The waves are like bubbles
under the knee.
Children are children with lightweight hands.
He played near the old chess tree.

I have another song.
He sang the reason.
We have my own personal delusion.
Number brings one
and Japanese nicotine.
You do not have to absorb the sun's emergence.
Cognac as a human being?
Impossible cuisine.
Stop before.

MacArthur Park melted in the dark.
Financial standing in the garden of mosquito.
All suites go, Green Street.
Some people make dry bread.
I think it is impossible
because it took time because it is roasted.
As a result, it will never happen.
Oh, my God!
I cannot!
No, no, no!
Not good!
Not good!

Tags: babelfishing, poem

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