|
As the last day does not return
You’ll never be that high voice
Tundía under the breath of infinite almonds
A lullaby to his chest
You will not have to be that
That shade of a poplar
Rent the air with scattered notes
The subtle scent of an afternoon on the river
There will be no day you return to your expense
Filled with memories of the dark obsequious
Solar excessive idleness
Cerns perfect
As the last day does not return
You never on your own steps
A walking path open for you
In the garden that keeps your memory
Not even in deserted Frond you will have to tread
To you because transit between fig fruit
Pomegranates, flowers at your feet
You’re just now that you did not want
You’re the one who did not know what he wanted to say
Greedy mouth no fruit chews
That spoiled, bitch, feast and festival
You’re the insaciado looking with envy
The overwhelming joy of others
Whoever hurts to the bone for the innocent laughter
It will cloud your eyes with anger
It will swell cruel hands remorse
It poisons your blood
What fire, what abandonment
How miserable are the shores of life
As the last day does not return
No back in you will concoct bells
Holidays in flowered fields
Neither your hands browned wheat of eras
Nor whiten your snow on your mill
As if you had closed universe
In a thick fog that prevents you
Learn what the rock crevice
That must be the source where you drink
As if the universe against you
Injected into the air that poison
Bending your knees
So as the day turns
A spin on its hinges hours and passes
And overhead the sun will go down
Lost to
So you lose
So as you lose you lose
The scent in the air that always blows hard
You’ll miss so terribly
That to your eyes can recognize your own skin
Neither your ears hear your voice
As if talking on another that you
Not even your blood
It will respond pálpito
And the tongue utter
A language that is unknown to you today.
Do not grieve Hurt to lose.
You call Bitter, in your gums
It will bloom a garden of tree-scale
And in your head start seborrhea high tufts
Niagara mist in your eyes
You call without reproach wounded
The living skin ulcer land where you step
Without faith you call
And there will be another you
Built in penalty
That round will infect
Leprosy is righteous
It must distinguish in the market
The mob cried
He will announce you arrive
The stench of your acids
The clear bell is anticipated
And you wondered why back
Why and what
And what return
If the return would smell bouquets awaiting your step
If yes minor fronds fruit curds, cheerful blooms, light concrete and acid,
And back with an army of sources nymphs dancing for you
If I go back in the water, ductile, light, fluent, if in the air
If you awaken in the back you are, if you come back spin, spinning, start from yourself
If you become, if you founded back, come back without hesitation
Although recent days should not happen again
|
Tag Archives: Literatur
Jean-Claude Pirotte – Poème (2006)
Leon de Grieff – Song of Dinarzada / Canción De Dinarzada
You were mine, burning Dinarzada:
your whole being handed my supplication
your whole being is important to me Nothing!
everything your fire melted into my fire!
You were mine, burning Dinarzada!
Because I care what the grim blind course!
fire for me is desolate
barren plain! Lightened sailed
under the disheveled storm!
All your fire melted into my fire!
Your big heart, your ecstatic soul,
your fine spirit, I beg
surrendered: Nothing donáronse my!
Overnight: give me your arms only,
Dinarzada subtle, dream night …
You were mine, burning Dinarzada!
Everything your fire melted into my fire!
and in original Spanish
Tú fuiste mía, ardiente Dinarzada:
todo tu ser se le entregó a mi ruego!
todo tu ser se le rindió a mi Nada!
todo tu fuego se fundió en mi fuego!
Tú fuiste mía, ardiente Dinarzada!
Ya qué me importa el torvo rumbo ciego!
Es lumbre para mí la desolada
llanura yerma! Alígero navego
bajo la tempestad desmelenada!
Todo tu fuego se fundió en mi fuego!
Tu grande corazón, tu alma extasiada,
tu espíritu finísimo, a mi ruego
se rindieron: donáronse a mi Nada!
Noche: en tus brazos únicos me entrego,
Dinarzada sutil, noche soñada…
Tú fuiste mía, ardiente Dinarzada!
Todo tu fuego se fundió en mi fuego!
17 , 17 syllable American Sentences
Following a dVerse incentive i try the American Sentence a flourish of lines at 4am this morning hope they go down ok
1: his nose punched flat lips split pouted looking for a fight every night
2: a can of schlitz sunset and low slung impala remedy for loss
3: obstinate kisses infect toothache jaw ache headache neurology needed
4: motel marinade coated and baked off counted dollars and returned to the street
5: diamond finger tug gold band reminder these kisses where illicit
6: sat hunched on the toilet hand working the memory that he had betrayed
7: winters pale counterpane gave no shelter for the rabbit from predatory air
8: reasons could be found on the diminishing length of yesterdays words
9: dial the number wait for tone he would not answer he is long gone
10: jazz piano raw as her voice began to crack it was no longer 1954
11: seek the stars and they will not shine anticipating the moment to surprise
12: guitar strings strangle all chances of finding reconciliation
13: two finger pressure shudder she releases a sigh he was erased
14: bellboy at end of marble hall hear titans whisper demise of poor
15: grandpa’s hand once so steady gone leaves remember tobacco smell
16: over ocean swathe she watches vessel under pirates color sail
17 : amity beach july bathers swim children play mayor falters shark prowls
99% fractured glass
letterman taught liberal arts
bukowski master of the open portal
that caught flies and dirty blondes ,
there where no country estates
or manicured ladies in crinolene,
too much hubbub
and relentless spiral of those
who live in such an octopus town,
that solar flares light the street
and guide those whose frail stories
stumble over awkward words
and metaphor,
master of bliss
with shimmering teeth
and boiling stench caught on
warmer breeze
vigilant for kisses and erotic
composure,
severed happiness from tears
and kept each separate,
behind the doors of our octopus
town the withered languish
robbed of enchanted loins
and their tears now crystallized
as rings for deaths fingers,
clotted souls clogged
as choked diaphragms coughed and
hacked sluices of phlegm,
the doors opened for a moment each day
quick enough for a shadow to be
flung out,
madness was a bomb on every street corner,
diffused as she appeared,
her deceit to entice
and enchant,
womb of silken flotsam
carried nothing hopeful,
yet her heart once orphaned
brought a rising sun
that closed the portal
to bukowski’s dismay
letterman fell aside victim
to iron skies and sanities rent,
heal deep she called
finding it broken
and lambs put together the pieces
with a well chewed glue
Charles Bukowski – Last Straw
Charles Bukowski one of his last readings in 1980
Without Stirring
bleached sunlight
from outside
highlighted the red
of the table,
two cups of coffee
white sturdy porcelain
between them,
they had kissed
a brief paperclip kiss
not interlocking
only sliding,
moments had passed
distinct from the years
before,
opposite he took her
into his eyes,
memory replaced with
all that was now,
they would go and it
would evolve,
she placed her hand
upon the ocean swell
of her body,
a smile transferred
between them
it was settled.
velvetmedia 