John Cooper Clarke – TWAT

TWAT

Like a Night Club in the morning, you’re the bitter end
Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you’re clean round the bend.
You give me the horrors
too bad to be true
All of my tomorrow’s
are lousy coz of you.

You put the Shat in Shatter
Put the Pain in Spain
Your germs are splattered about
Your face is just a stain

You’re certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag.
Do us all a favour, here… wear this polythene bag.

You’re like a dose of scabies,
I’ve got you under my skin.
You make life a fairy tale… Grimm!
People mention murder, the moment you arrive.
I’d consider killing you if I thought you were alive.
You’ve got this slippery quality,
it makes me think of phlegm,
and a dual personality
I hate both of them.

Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay.
Please, please, please, please, take yourself away.
Like a death in a birthday party,
you ruin all the fun.
Like a sucked and spat our Smartie,
you’re no use to anyone.
like the shadow of the guillotine
on a dead consumptive’s face.
Speaking as an outsider,
what do you think of the human race

You went to a progressive psychiatrist.
He recommended suicide…
before scratching your bad name off his list,
and pointing the way outside.

You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart.
You’re heading for a breakdown,
better pull yourself apart.
Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss.
Your attitudes are platitudes,
just make me wanna piss.

What kind of creature bore you
Was is some kind of bat
They can’t find a good word for you,
but I can…
TWAT

Birago Diop – Diptych

The Sun hung by a thread
In the depths of the Calabash dyed indigo
Boils the great Pot of Day.
Fearful of the approach of the Daughters of fire
The Shadow squats at the feet of the faithful.
The savannah is bright and harsh
All is sharp, forms and colours.
But in the anguished Silences made by Rumours
Of tiny sounds, neither hollow nor shrill,
Rises a ponderous Mystery,
A Mystery muffled and formless
Which surrounds and terrifies us.
The dark Loincloth pierced with nails of fire
Spread out on the Earth covers the bed of Night.
Fearful at the approach of the Daughters of Shadow
The dog howls, the horse neighs,
The Man crouches deep in his house.
The savannah is dark,
All is black, forms and colours
And in the anguished Silences made by Rumours
Of tiny sounds infinite or hollow or sharp
The tangled Paths of the Mystery
Slowly reveal themselves
For those who set out
And for those who return.

Birago Diop – Breaths

Listen more often to things rather than beings.
Hear the fire’s voice,
Hear the voice of water.
In the wind hear the sobbing of the trees,
It is our forefathers breathing.

The dead are not gone forever.
They are in the paling shadows,
And in the darkening shadows.
The dead are not beneath the ground,
They are in the rustling tree,
In the murmuring wood,
In the flowing water,
In the still water,
In the lonely place, in the crowd:
The dead are not dead.

Listen more often to things rather than beings.
Hear the fire’s voice,
Hear the voice of water.
In the wind hear the sobbing of the trees.
It is the breathing of our forefathers,
Who are not gone, not beneath the ground,
Not dead.

The dead are not gone for ever.
They are in a woman’s breast,
A child’s crying, a glowing ember.
The dead are not beneath the earth,
They are in the flickering fire,
In the weeping plant, the groaning rock,
The wooded place, the home.
The dead are not dead.

Listen more often to things rather than beings.
Hear the fire’s voice,
Hear the voice of water.
In the wind hear the sobbing of the trees.
It is the breathing of our forefathers.

long night after flesh (world poetry day)

fog
a thick rope about my neck
tethered me to harbor wall
goat to oceans sacrifice,
behind obscured
lights and windows of those
who do not feel this way,
having taken the bus
found myself here,
bagged empty bottle
at my feet,
if any cigarette’s remained
i would of lit one
tasted toasted tobacco
tongue on teeth
chin to chest,
dark swirl foam
nymphs invite embrace
no fear in my heart
not the the fear i had felt
before she touched
fingertips before stepping
out of the door
with him,
closed my eyes wished to fall
forward and accept that
deep fate,
yet i flew
leaving behind the wall
and those if they had looked
would of observed
me leaving

 

World Poetry Day 2014

according to the extent of damage

cotton incarceration
warm passive silence
flaccid dysfunction
waiting for something
that will never happen,
the only viability
a son and daughter,
born before the
scent of burning gasoline

freeway interchange
radio an unordered state
of a music republic

traffuic chaos
with thrashing horns

when metal connects
notation raw
screacming crunch
thrown off latitude
subtle tones become blank
face connects with side window
glass can write and deface
what was naturally placed
as can a steering column

concrete scrape added
to symphony
eighteen wheels raised and flipped

soft cushion supports buttocks
with sores that ache
chair propelled by hands gnarled
by whatever connected with them
my hands
unseen yet rolled me forward
as i sketched in mind
floorplan outlay

yet the anger of memories lost
her face one of them,
she would push
and not complain,
butter toast
roast coffee granules
hear her yet so much is gone

that morning
making love
i think or was that last year
subtle flow interrupted
resistance is dead
we talk
lie in comfort
love that abstract definition
has shown it’s truth
worth more than what
i cannot see

Birago Diop -Viaticum

In none of the three jugs
The three jugs where on certain evenings return
the tranquil souls,
the breaths of the ancestors,
the ancestors who were men,
the ancestors who were sages,
Mother has dipped three fingers
three fingers of her left hand:
thumb, forefinger and middle finger

lawnchair before sunrise

ants led the way to the old boathouse
planks softened and warped
shingle roof dipped,
door scraped rough to touch
inside musty scent of the past decaying,
memories inserted of another life,
stacked next to tins forgotten and paint,
four lawnchairs
metal mottled chrome flaked
still cold to the touch,
infused with a past when
there where echoes of a young
family that once been
part of me,
lifting one out
stiff opening action,
outside in the air
it could of turned to dust,
instead it bore my weight
now i had passed an elegant age
lighter not so heavy,
eyes dimmed slowly in slumber,
this chair was symbolic in it’s structure
bending straps
rubber perished
one snapped,
i did not want to move
with wild turkey
and some cigars,
would i see the sunrise
that would have to wait till morning

image from recyclart.org

Letras Canarias 2014 Agustin Millares Sall

Not Worth It

You say it is not worth
putting the blue I sleep under the sheets,
pass by, knowing nothing,
turning a blind eye to what happens,
keep the thirst of stars locked.

You say it’s not worth
losing the love speech,
that reason street,
that joy breaks his words,
that passion confess: there’s no blood.

I tell you not worth
the gray always get away with it,
the black rescind an
and say “cross and Stripes” to Glee air.
‘ll be back to the load and I say here will not be
hiding his head under the wing,
say “did not know”, “I’m outside”,
“living in my tower, and only I know nothing.”
you say, and I repeat it is not worth.

No Vale

Te digo que no vale
meter el sueño azul bajo las sábanas,
pasar de largo, no saber nada,
hacer la vista gorda a lo que pasa,
guardar la sed de estrellas bajo llave.

Te digo que no vale
que el amor pierda el habla,
que la razón se calle,
que la alegría rompa sus palabras,
que la pasión confiese: aquí no hay sangre.

Te digo que no vale
que el gris siempre se salga con la suya,
que el negro se desmande
y diga “cruz y raya” al júbilo del aire.
Vuelvo a la carga y te digo: aquí no cabe
esconder la cabeza bajo el ala,
decir “no sabía”, “estoy al margen”,
”vivo en mi torre, sólo y no sé nada”.
Te digo y te repito que no vale.

Salute

I salute you and greet friend chant
as if I had always known.
can not be wrong after you’ve heard.
Thou art of the sun I’ve waited so long.

Hail friend hug you excited
through the fog through which the day.
With a wealth of poetry and light
the darkest corner had been lit.

The path you teach me I is not unknown.
‘ve gone for it without knowing calm.
before your words reach my soul
and your ideas had burnt my life.

It is true that these years have not lived
, but only the time spent beyond us
that there are higher star without even suspecting
that the great century forging many have passed.

You gave your freedom is like giving everything
for the joy in ringing the bell.
A piece of your life brindas every morning
for the whole world to get out of the mud.

I assure friend who had never been
so close to life at this time.
doubt where your breath comes not possible.
You go by the plain of a clear sky.

Poet I declare that your accent is deep
in the veins that carry the rivers of a planet.
poet I declare that you are a poet
and sing announce that tomorrow the world.

II

I declare that writing poetry poet
is the true state of man
is singing the truth is to call by name
the demon holding the evil day and night.

The poet is the cry that the earth releases
the first mountain currency aurora
bell song playing when
the first heart that hurts the war.

Posted in art without ever untie
his unity with the peoples of the whole vision
the poet is the man who is first to point
to gain impetus to the sea combat.

The poet is the town that refuses to die
in sudden night where everything is forgotten.
Where there is no freedom there is no poet alive.
No bird fly where the air does not exist.

I declare that the poet is a rage
when something goes against the sun to guide us.
poet languishes if the earth cools
when there is no heart, no justice.

Poet I declare that the hard way
of the poet is always found a brother.
poet I declare that the poet is human
but sometimes we do foresee the divine.

Saludo

Yo te saludo amigo te saludo y te canto
igual que si te hubiera de siempre conocido.
No puedo equivocarme después de haberte oído.
Tú eres parte del sol que yo he esperado tanto.

Yo te saludo amigo te abrazo emocionado
a través de la niebla por donde pasa el día.
Con tu enorme caudal de luz y poesía
el rincón más oscuro se hubiera iluminado.

La senda que me enseñas no me es desconocida.
He marchado por ella sin conocer la calma.
Antes que tus palabras me llegaran al alma
ya habían tus ideas incendiado mi vida.

Es verdad que estos años no los hemos vivido
sino sólo pasado que el tiempo nos supera
que hay estrellas más altas sin sospechar siquiera
que forjando el gran siglo muchos han transcurrido.

Diste tu libertad que es como darlo todo
para que la alegría repique en la campana.
Un trozo de tu vida brindas cada mañana
para que el mundo entero pueda salir del lodo.

Yo te aseguro amigo que nunca había estado
tan cerca de la vida como en este momento.
No es posible la duda donde llega tu aliento.
Tú vas por la llanura de un cielo despejado.

Yo poeta declaro que tu acento es profundo
que llevas en las venas los ríos de un planeta.
Yo poeta declaro que tú eres poeta
porque anuncias y cantas el mañana del mundo.

II

Yo poeta declaro que escribir poesía
es decir el estado verdadero del hombre
es cantar la verdad es llamar por su nombre
al demonio que ejerce la maldad noche y día.

El poeta es el grito que libera la tierra
la primera montaña que divisa la aurora
la campana que toca la canción de la hora
el primer corazón que lastima la guerra.

Colocado en vanguardia sin que nunca desate
su unidad con los pueblos su visión del conjunto
el poeta es el hombre que primero está a punto
para hacerse con bríos a la mar del combate.

El poeta es el pueblo que a morir se resiste
en la súbita noche donde todo se olvida.
Donde no hay libertad no hay poeta con vida.
Ningún pájaro vuela donde el aire no existe.

Yo poeta declaro que la cólera es una
cuando hay algo que atenta contra el sol que nos guía.
Languidece el poeta si la tierra se enfría
cuando no hay corazón ni justicia ninguna.

Yo poeta declaro que en el duro camino
del tiempo el poeta se halla siempre un hermano.
Yo poeta declaro que el poeta es humano
aunque a veces nos haga presentir lo divino.