jenny

• (bkz: jenny mccarthy)
• buffy the vampire slayer dizindeki bilgisayar ogretmeni.aslinda ogretmenlikten baska islerle de ilgileniyor.angel'i lanetleyen kabilenin budist uyesi.bu fark edilince direk giles ile iliskisi bozulur.ama bir gece tam aralarinin duzelecegi zaman angel tarafindan oldurulur ve cesedi giles'in evine atilir.
• rossetti'nin bir şiiri.
  
  lazy laughing languid jenny,
  fond of a kiss and fond of a guinea,
  whose head upon my knee to-night
  rests for a while, as if grown light
  with all our dances and the sound
  to which the wild tunes spun you round:
  fair jenny mine, the thoughtless queen
  of kisses which the blush between
  could hardly make much daintier;
  whose eyes are as blue skies, whose hair
  is countless gold incomparable:
  fresh flower, scarce touched with signs that tell
  of love's exuberant hotbed:--nay,
  poor flower left torn since yesterday
  until to-morrow leave you bare;
  poor handful of bright spring-water
  flung in the whirlpool's shrieking face;
  poor shameful jenny, full of grace
  thus with your head upon my knee;--
  whose person or whose purse may be
  the lodestar of your reverie?
  
  this room of yours, my jenny, looks
  a change from mine so full of books,
  whose serried ranks hold fast, forsooth,
  so many captive hours of youth,--
  the hours they thieve from day and night
  to make one's cherished work come right,
  and leave it wrong for all their theft,
  even as to-night my work was left:
  until i vowed that since my brain
  and eyes of dancing seemed so fain,
  my feet should have some dancing too:--
  nd thus it was i met with you.
  well, i suppose 'twas hard to part,
  for here i am. and now, sweetheart,
  you seem too tired to get to bed.
  
  it was a careless life i led
  when rooms like this were scarce so strange
  not long ago. what breeds the change,--
  the many aims or the few years?
  because to-night it all appears.
  something i do not know again.
  
  the cloud's not danced out of my brain,--
  the cloud that made it turn and swim
  while hour by hour the books grew dim.
  why, jenny, as i watch you there,--
  for all your wealth of loosened hair,
  your silk ungirdled and unlac'd
  and warm sweets open to the waist,
  all golden in the lamplight's gleam,--
  you know not what a book you seem,
  half-read by lightning in a dream!
  how should you know, my jenny? nay,
  and i should be ashamed to say:--
  poor beauty, so well worth a kiss!
  but while my thought runs on like this
  with wasteful whims more than enough,
  i wonder what you're thinking of.
  
  if of myself you think at all,
  what is the thought?--conjectural
  on sorry matters best unsolved?--
  or inly is each grace revolved
  to fit me with a lure?--or (sad
  to think!) perhaps you're merely glad
  that i'm not drunk or ruffianly
  and let you rest upon my knee.
  
  for sometimes, were the truth confess'd,
  you're thankful for a little rest,--
  glad from the crush to rest within,
  form the heart-sickness and the din
  where envy's voice at virtue's pitch
  mocks you because your gown is rich;
  and from the pale girl's dumb rebuke,
  whose ill-clad grace and toil-worn look
  proclaim the strength that keeps her weak
  and other nights than yours bespeak;
  and from the wise unchildish elf,
  to schoolmate lesser than himself
  pointing you out, what thing you are:--
  yes, from the daily jeer and jar,
  from shame and shame's outbraving too,
  is rest not sometimes sweet to you?--
  but most from the hatefulness of man
  who spares not to end what he began,
  whose acts are ill and his speech ill,
  who, having used you at his will,
  thrusts you aside, as when i dine
  i serve the dishes and the wine.
  
  well, handsome jenny mine, sit up,
  i've filled our glasses, let us sup,
  and do not let me think of you,
  lest shame of yours suffice for two.
  what, still so tired? well, well then, keep
  your head there, so you do not sleep;
  but that the weariness may pass
  and leave you merry, take this glass.
  ah! lazy lily hand, more bless'd
  if ne'er in rings it had been dress'd
  nor ever by a glove conceal'd!
  
  behold the lilies of the field,
  they toil not neither do they spin;
  (so doth the ancient text begin,--
  not of such rest as one of these
  can share.) another rest and ease
  along each summer-sated path
  from its new lord the garden hath,
  than that whose spring in blessings ran
  which praised the bounteous husbandman,
  ere yet, in days of hankering breath,
  the lilies sickened unto death.
  
  what, jenny, are your lilies dead?
  aye, and the snow-white leaves are spread
  like winter on the garden-bed.
  but you had roses left in may,--
  they were not gone too. jenny, nay,
  but must your roses die, and those
  their purfled buds that should unclose?
  even so; the leaves are curled apart,
  still red as from the broken heart,
  and here's the naked stem of thorns.
  
  nay, nay, mere words. here nothing warns
  as yet of winter. sickness here
  or want alone could waken fear,--
  nothing but passion wrings a tear.
  except when there may rise unsought
  haply at times a passing thought
  of the old days which seem to be
  much older than any history
  that is written in any book;
  when she would lie in fields and look
  along the ground through the blown grass,
  and wonder where the city was,
  far out of sight, whose broil and bale
  they told her then for a child's tale.
  
  jenny, you know the city now.
  a child can tell the tale there, how
  some things which are not yet enroll'd
  in market-lists are bought and sold
  even till the early sunday light,
  when saturday night is market-night
  everywhere, be it dry or wet,
  and market-night in the haymarket.
  our learned london children know,
  poor jenny, all your mirth and woe;
  have seen your lifted silken skirt
  advertize dainties through the dirt;
  have seen your coach-wheels splash rebuke
  on virtue; and have learned your look
  when, wealth and health slipped past, you stare
  along the streets alone, and there,
  round the long park, across the bridge,
  the cold lamps at the pavement's edge
  wind on together and apart,
  a fiery serpent for your heart.
  
  let the thoughts pass, an empty cloud!
  suppose i were to think aloud,--
  what if to her all this were said?
  why, as a volume seldom read
  being opened halfway shuts again,
  so might the pages of her brain
  be parted at such words, and thence
  close back upon the dusty sense.
  for is there hue or shape defin'd
  in jenny's desecrated mind,
  where all contagious currents meet,
  a lethe of the middle street?
  nay, it reflects not any face,
  nor sound is in its sluggish pace,
  but as they coil those eddies clot,
  and night and day remember not.
  
  why, jenny, you're asleep at last!--
  asleep, poor jenny, hard and fast,--
  so young and soft and tired; so fair,
  with chin thus nestled in your hair,
  mouth quiet, eyelids almost blue
  as if some sky of dreams shone through!
  
  just as another woman sleeps!
  enough to throw one's thoughts in heaps
  of doubt and horror,--what to say
  or think,--this awful secret sway,
  the potter's power over the clay!
  of the same lump (it has been said)
  for honour and dishonour made,
  two sister vessels. here is one.
  
  my cousin nell is fond of fun,
  and fond of dress, and change, and praise,
  so mere a woman in her ways:
  and if her sweet eyes rich in youth
  are like her lips that tell the truth,
  my cousin nell is fond of love.
  and she's the girl i'm proudest of.
  who does not prize her, guard her well?
  the love of change, in cousin nell,
  shall find the best and hold it dear:
  the unconquered mirth turn quieter
  not through her own, through others' woe
  the conscious pride of beauty glow
  beside another's pride in her,
  one little part of all they share.
  for love himself shall ripen these
  in a kind soil to just increase
  through years of fertilizing peace.
  
  of the same lump (as it is said)
  for honour and dishonour made,
  two sister vessels. here is one.
  
  it makes a goblin of the sun.
  
  so pure,--so fall'n! how dare to think
  of the first common kindred link?
  yet, jenny, till the world shall burn
  it seems that all things take their turn;
  and who shall say but this fair tree
  may need, in changes that may be,
  your children's children's charity?
  scorned then, no doubt, as you are scorn'd!
  shall no man hold his pride forewarn'd
  till in the end, the day of days,
  at judgment, one of his own race,
  as frail and lost as you, shall rise,--
  his daughter, with his mother's eyes?
  
  how jenny's clock ticks on the shelf!
  might not the dial scorn itself
  that has such hours to register?
  yet as to me, even so to her
  are golden sun and silver moon,
  in daily largesse of earth's boon,
  counted for life-coins to one tune.
  and if, as blindfold fates are toss'd,
  through some one man this life be lost,
  shall soul not somehow pay for soul?
  
  fair shines the gilded aureole
  in which our highest painters place
  some living woman's simple face.
  and the stilled features thus descried
  as jenny's long throat droops aside,--
  the shadows where the cheeks are thin,
  and pure wide curve from ear to chin,--
  with raffael's or da vinci's hand
  to show them to men's souls, might stand,
  whole ages long, the whole world through,
  for preachings of what god can do.
  what has man done here? how atone,
  great god, for this which man has done?
  and for the body and soul which by
  man's pitiless doom must now comply
  with lifelong hell, what lullaby
  of sweet forgetful second birth
  remains? all dark. no sign on earth
  what measure of god's rest endows
  the many mansions of his house.
  
  if but a woman's heart might see
  such erring heart unerringly
  for once! but that can never be.
  
  like a rose shut in a book
  in which pure women may not look,
  for its base pages claim control
  to crush the flower within the soul;
  where through each dead rose-leaf that clings,
  pale as transparent psyche-wings,
  to the vile text, are traced such things
  as might make lady's cheek indeed
  more than a living rose to read;
  so nought save foolish foulness may
  watch with hard eyes the sure decay;
  and so the life-blood of this rose,
  puddled with shameful knowledge, flows
  through leaves no chaste hand may unclose:
  yet still it keeps such faded show
  of when 'twas gathered long ago,
  that the crushed petals' lovely grain,
  the sweetness of the sanguine stain,
  seen of a woman's eyes, must make
  her pitiful heart, so prone to ache,
  love roses better for its sake:--
  only that this can never be:--
  even so unto her sex is she.
  
  yet, jenny, looking long at you,
  the woman almost fades from view.
  a cipher of man's changeless sum
  of lust, past, present, and to come,
  is left. a riddle that one shrinks
  to challenge from the scornful sphinx.
  
  like a toad within a stone
  seated while time crumbles on;
  which sits there since the earth was curs'd
  for man's transgression at the first;
  which, living through all centuries,
  not once has seen the sun arise;
  whose life, to its cold circle charmed,
  the earth's whole summers have not warmed;
  which always--whitherso the stone
  be flung--sits there, deaf, blind, alone;--
  aye, and shall not be driven out
  till that which shuts him round about
  break at the very master's stroke,
  and the dust thereof vanish as smoke,
  and the seed of man vanish as dust:--
  even so within this world is lust.
  
  come, come, what use in thoughts like this?
  poor little jenny, good to kiss,--
  you'd not believe by what strange roads
  thought travels, when your beauty goads
  a man to-night to think of toads!
  jenny, wake up. . . . why, there's the dawn!
  
  and there's an early waggon drawn
  to market, and some sheep that jog
  bleating before a barking dog;
  and the old streets come peering through
  another night that london knew;
  and all as ghostlike as the lamps.
  
  so on the wings of day decamps
  my last night's frolic. glooms begin
  to shiver off as lights creep in
  past the gauze curtains half drawn-to,
  and the lamp's doubled shade grows blue,--
  your lamp, my jenny, kept alight,
  like a wise virgin's, all one night!
  and in the alcove coolly spread
  glimmers with dawn your empty bed;
  and yonder your fair face i see
  reflected lying on my knee,
  where teems with first foreshadowings
  your pier-glass scrawled with diamond rings.
  
  and now without, as if some word
  had called upon them that they heard,
  the london sparrows far and nigh
  clamour together suddenly;
  and jenny's cage-bird grown awake
  here in their song his part must take,
  because here too the day doth break
  
  and somehow in myself the dawn
  among stirred clouds and veils withdrawn
  strikes greyly on her. let her sleep.
  but will it wake her if i heap
  these cushions thus beneath her head
  where my knee was? no,--there's your bed,
  my jenny, while you dream. and there
  i lay among your golden hair
  perhaps the subject of your dreams,
  these golden coins. for still one deems
  that jenny's flattering sleep confers
  new magic on the magic purse,--
  grim web, how clogged with shrivelled flies!
  between the threads fine fumes arise
  and shape their pictures in the brain.
  there roll no streets in glare and rain,
  nor flagrant man-swine whets his tusk;
  but delicately sighs in musk
  the homage of the dim boudoir;
  or like a palpitating star
  thrilled into song, the opera-night
  breathes faint in the quick pulse of light;
  or at the carriage-window shine
  rich wares for choice; or, free to dine,
  whirls through its hour of health (divine
  for her) the concourse of the park.
  and though in the discounted dark
  her functions there and here are one,
  beneath the lamps and in the sun
  there reigns at least the acknowledged belle
  apparelled beyond parallel.
  ah jenny, yes, we know your dreams.
  
  for even the paphian venus seems
  a goddess o'er the realms of love,
  when silver-shrined in shadowy grove:
  aye, or let offerings nicely placed
  but hide priapus to the waist,
  and whoso looks on him shall see
  an eligible deity.
  
  why, jenny, waking here alone
  may help you to remember one,
  though all the memory's long outworn
  of many a double-pillowed morn.
  i think i see you when you wake,
  and rub your eyes for me, and shake
  my gold, in rising, from your hair,
  a danae for a moment there.
  
  jenny, my love rang true! for still
  love at first sight is vague, until
  that tinkling makes him audible.
  
  and must i mock you to the last,
  ashamed of my own shame,--aghast
  because some thoughts not born amiss
  rose at a poor fair face like this?
  well, of such thoughts so much i know:
  in my life, as in hers, they show,
  by a far gleam which i may near,
  a dark path i can strive to clear.
  
  only one kiss. goodbye, my dear.
• jimmy nin yavuklusu.. (bkz: brighton rock)
• (bkz: jenny was a friend of mine)
• nickelodeon daki süper mızmız robot kızımız için : xj9
• son yıllarda izlediğim en harika çizgifilmin olağanüstü şirin süper kahramanı.
  
  (bkz: my life as a teenage robot)
• harika bir stellastarr sarkisi diyor ve ekliyoruz...sozlerini de yazayim tam olsun
  
  jenny was sitting in the lounge
  she was talking to herself
  well maybe things like that turn you on
  maybe you felt that for yourself
  
  well i'm a believer ya ya ya oh oh oh [x8]
  
  so, tell me the dreams that you might have
  tell me the stories in your life
  there's a girl who wouldn't stop now
  and she'll never be your wife
  
  well i'm a believer ya ya ya oh oh oh [x8]
  
  jenny's coming after you oh oh oh oh oh
  jenny's coming after you oh oh oh oh oh
  you keep shining on, shining on
  but you'll never know where your place will be
  and i guess it's true that your not me oh oh oh oh oh
  
  mandy: oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
  
  and i guess it true that we ignore our mother
  and we change our color, change our friends
  it's a soul searching motherfucker
  
  hey we never meant, hey we never say, hey they will never say
  to say the way we feel, the pain has never ever gone out
  never should have, never should have
  it's below the soul
  
  and as though i know a million people could be loved
  i'll never see you again, i'll never see you again
  come on, come on baby
  
  oh my god she'll be coming after you in the summertime hey! hey! hey!
  oh my god she'll be coming after you in the summertime hey! hey! hey! hey!
  
  jenny! jenny!
  jenny i'd bet you'd make your mom so proud
  i need my cell!
• (bkz: dzeni)
• bir flight of the conchords parçası : http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=mlykijvgucu
  
  sözlerini de yazayım tam olsun :
  
  bret: hello.
  
  jemaine: hi.
  
  bret: hello man sitting in the park.
  
  jemaine: i just said hi, woman in the park.
  
  bret: how you doin'?
  
  jemaine: mmm'good thanks.
  
  bret: your looking good.
  
  jemaine: pardon?
  
  bret: i said you're looking good.
  
  jemaine: fair enough.
  
  bret: 'jenny
  
  jemaine: pardon?
  
  bret: jenny
  
  jemaine: no i am sorry i think you've mistaken me for somebody else
  
  bret: no it's me, i'm jenny, my name is jenny
  
  jemaine: oh you're'oh' ha ha ha ha' i thought' oh' what a hilarious misunderstanding.
  nice to meet you jenny
  
  bret: we've met before - quite a few times actually.
  
  jemaine: yes of course we have. i meant it was nice to meet you that time that i met you. where was it that we met that time that i met you when i met you?
  
  bret: at a party.
  
  jemaine: that's right! wasn't it one of those boring work parties?
  
  bret: no.
  
  jemaine: that's why i said wasn't it. it was the party of a mutual friend. - was it? - wasn't it? - was it? - wasn't it?
  
  bret: yes it was.
  
  jemaine: yeah, i thought so. oh'bobby's.
  
  bret: no
  
  jemaine: doug's?
  
  bret: no
  
  jemaine: d-dog's?
  
  bret: no
  
  jemaine: maxwell's?
  
  bret: no
  
  jemaine: andy's?
  
  bret: yes andy's
  
  jemaine: yeah andy's party, ooh that's right. ooh, andy knows how to throw a party, doesn't he jenny?
  
  bret: yeah, i love andy's parties!
  
  jemaine: i love andy's parties. what crazy parties. how is that guy anyway?
  
  bret: she's good
  
  jemaine: ooh that's right, andy hates it when i forget that.
  
  bret: we watched a movie.
  
  jemaine: yeah'it was something like but not necessarily schindler's list. we watched it and we wept
  
  bret: it was police academy 4. we went for a walk
  
  jemaine: on our feet if i remember correctly.
  
  bret: we walked to the top of the hill and we ate sandwiches.
  
  jemaine: oh, we'd just grab a sandwich and put it in our mouths. oh, that's the only way to have sandwiches. oh jenny, tell me do you still walk? do you still get into sandwiches in a big way?
  
  bret: still walk a lot but i am not eating as many sandwiches as back then
  
  jemaine: uh'
  
  bret: do you remember what we did up there at the top of the hill?
  
  jemaine: kind of'
  
  bret: we were standing at the look out
  
  jemaine: oh, i remember exactly what we did at the look out. we just looked out' across the city from our little spot on the hilltop. oh, it is so pretty from way up there. we talked about how the lights from the buildings and cars seemed like reflections of the stars that shined out so pretty and bright, that night.
  
  bret: it was daytime.
  
  jemaine: the daytime of the night.
  
  bret: do you remember what you said to me?
  
  jemaine: not word for word actually jenny, but i remember there was some verbs.
  
  bret: well you said meet me here in one year. you just needed some time to clear your head, and you seem to have done that.
  
  jemaine: la la la la la la la la la la la la la.
  
  bret: we have a child.
  
  jemaine: pardon?
  
  bret: we have a child.
  
  jemaine: why didn't you tell me, jenny? why didn't you tell me that day when we went to the top of the hill and we made sweet, oh how we made such sweet, sweet sandwiches. does it have my eyes, my way with words? does it look like me at all?
  
  bret: no, not at all 'cause we adopted him. i can't believe you don't remember, it was a very difficult process!
  
  jemaine: oh'uh, oh'are you sure that was me jenny?
  
  bret: yes i am pretty sure that it was you, john.
  
  jemaine: i'm brian
  
  bret: oh my god! i'm so sorry!
  
  jemaine: don't worry.
  
  bret: now that's terrible.
  
  jemaine: oh, don't worry.
  
  bret: oh, how embarrassing!
  
  jemaine: don't worry jenny, i'm actually quite relieved. that kind of thing just happens all the time, i just got one of those faces i suppose
  
  bret: so does john, ha, he's got one of those faces as well'
  
  bret and jemaine: *awkward laugher*