Poems from your favorite poets
Comments
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West Wind, 2, by Mary Oliver
You are young. So you know everything. You leap
into the boat and begin rowing. But, listen to me.
Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without
any doubt, I talk directly to your soul. Listen to me.
Lift the oars from the water, let your arms rest, and
your heart, and heart’s little intelligence, and listen to
me. There is life without love. It is not worth a bent
penny, or a scuffed shoe. It is not worth the body of a
dead dog nine days unburied. When you hear, a mile
away and still out of sight, the churn of the water
as it begins to swirl and roil, fretting around the
sharp rocks—when you hear that unmistakable
pounding—when you feel the mist on your mouth
and sense ahead the embattlement, the long falls
plunging and steaming—then row, row for your life
toward it.There is no such thing as leftover pizza. There is now pizza and later pizza. - anonymous
The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird0 -
justam wrote:Byrnzie wrote:The Laughing Heart - Charles Bukowski
your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.
I like this one!
I second that.0 -
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
William Blake“ "Thank you Palestrina. It’s a wonderful evening, it’s great to be here and I wanna dedicate you a super sexy song." " (last words of Mark Sandman of Morphine)
Adelaide 1998
Adelaide 2003
Adelaide 2006 night 1
Adelaide 2006 night 2
Adelaide 2009
Melbourne 2009
Christchurch NZ 2009
Eddie Vedder, Adelaide 2011
PJ20 USA 2011 night 1
PJ20 USA 2011 night 2
Adelaide BIG DAY OUT 20140 -
Check this motherfucker out:
http://nowheremag.com/2011/04/the-prose ... e-cendrar/
Trans-Siberian Prose - Blaise Cendrars
Back then I was still young
I was barely sixteen but my childhood memories were gone
I was 48,000 miles away from where I was born
I was in Moscow, city of a thousand and three bell towers and seven
train stations
And the thousand and three towers and seven stations weren't enough
for me
Because I was such a hot and crazy teenager
That my heart was burning like the Temple of Ephesus or like Red
Square in Moscow
At sunset
And my eyes were shining down those old roads
And I was already such a bad poet
That I didn't know how to take it all the way.
The Kremlin was like an immense Tartar cake
Iced with gold
With big blanched-almond cathedrals
And the honey gold of the bells . . .
An old monk was reading me the legend of Novgorod
I was thirsty
And I was deciphering cuneiform characters
Then all at once the pigeons of the Holy Ghost flew up over the square
And my hands flew up too, sounding like an albatross taking off
And, well, that's the last I remember of the last day
Of the very last trip
And of the sea.
Still, I was a really bad poet.
I didn't know how to take it all the way.
I was hungry
And all those days and all those women in all those cafes and all those glasses
I wanted to drink them down and break them
And all those windows and all those streets
And all those houses and all those lives
And all those carriage wheels raising swirls from the broken pavement
I would have liked to have rammed them into a roaring furnace
And I would have liked to have ground up all their bones
And ripped out all those tongues
And liquefied all those big bodies naked and strange under clothes that
drive me mad . . .
I foresaw the coming of the big red Christ of the Russian Revolution . . .
And the sun was an ugly sore
Splitting apart like a red-hot coal.
Back then I was still quite young
I was barely sixteen but I'd already forgotten about where I was born
I was in Moscow wanting to wolf down flames
And there weren't enough of those towers and stations sparkling in my eyes
In Siberia the artillery rumbled -- it was war
Hunger cold plague cholera
And the muddy waters of the Amur carrying along millions of corpses
In every station I watched the last trains leave
That's all: they weren't selling any more tickets
And the soldiers would far rather have stayed . . .
An old monk was singing me the legend of Novgorod.
Me, the bad poet who wanted to go nowhere, I could go anywhere
And of course the businessmen still had enough money
To go out and seek their fortunes.
Their train left every Friday morning.
It sounded like a lot of people were dying.
One guy took along a hundred cases of alarm clocks and cuckoo clocks
from the Black Forest
Another took hatboxes, stovepipes, and an assortment of Sheffield corkscrews
Another, coffins from Malmo filled with canned goods and sardines in oil
And there were a lot of women
Women with vacant thighs for hire
Who could also serve
Coffins
They were all licensed
It sounded like a lot of people were dying out there
The women traveled at a reduced fare
And they all had bank accounts.
Now, one Friday morning it was my turn to go
It was in December
And I left too, with a traveling jewel merchant on his way to Harbin
We had two compartments on the express and 34 boxes of jewelry from Pforzheim
German junk "Made in Germany"
He had bought me some new clothes and I had lost a button getting on the train
-- I remember, I remember, I've often thought about it since --
I slept on the jewels and felt great playing with the nickel-plated Browning he had given me
I was very happy and careless
It was like Cops and Robbers
We had stolen the treasure of Golconda
And we were taking it on the Trans-Siberian to hide it on the other side of the world
I had to guard it from the thieves in the Urals who had attacked the circus caravan in Jules Verne
From the Khunkhuz, the Boxers of China
And the angry little Mongols of the Great Lama
Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves
And the followers of the terrible Old Man of the Mountain
And worst of all, the most modern
The cat burglars
And the specialists of the international express.
And still, and still
I was as sad as a little boy
The rhythms of the train
What American psychiatrists call "railroad nerves"
The noise of doors voices axles screeching along frozen rails
The golden thread of my future
My Browning the piano the swearing of the card players in the next compartment
The terrific presence of Jeanne
The man in blue glasses nervously pacing up and down the corridor and glancing in at me
Swishing of women
And the whistle blowing
And the eternal sound of the wheels wildly rolling along ruts in the sky
The windows frosted over
No nature!
And out there the Siberian plains the low sky the big shadows of the Taciturns rising and falling
I'm asleep in a tartan
Plaid
Like my life
With my life keeping me no warmer than this Scotch
Shawl
And all of Europe seen through the wind-cutter of an express at top speed
No richer than my life
My poor life
This shawl
Frayed on strongboxes full of gold
I roll along with
Dream
And smoke
And the only flame in the universe
Is a poor thought . . .
Tears rise from the bottom of my heart
If I think, O Love, of my mistress;
She is but a child, whom I found, so pale
And pure, in the back of a bordel.
She is but a fair child who laughs,
Is sad, doesn't smile, and never cries;
But the poet's flower, the silver lily, trembles
When she lets you see it in the depths of her eyes.
She is sweet, says nothing you can hear,
With a long, slow trembling when you draw near;
But when I come to her, from here, from there,
She takes a step and shuts her eyes -- and takes a step.
For she is my love and other women
Are but big bodies of flame sheathed in gold,
My poor friend is so alone
She is stark naked, has no body -- she's too poor.
She is but an innocent flower, all thin and delicate,
The poet's flower, a pathetic silver lily,
So cold, so alone, and so wilted now
That tears rise if I think of her heart.
And this night is like a hundred thousand others when a train slips through the night
-- Comets fall --
And a man and a woman, no matter how young, enjoy making love.
The sky is like the torn tent of a rundown circus in a little fishing village
In Flanders
The sun like a smoking lamp
And way up on the trapeze a woman does a crescent moon
The clarinet the trumpet a shrill flute a beat-up drum
And here is my cradle
My cradle
It was always near the piano when my mother, like Madame Bovary,
played Beethoven's sonatas
I spent my childhood in the hanging gardens of Babylon
Playing hooky, following the trains as they pulled out of the stations
Now I've made the trains follow me
Basel-Timbuktu
I've played the horses at tracks like Auteuil and Longchamps
Paris-New York
Now the trains run alongside me
Madrid-Stockholm
Lost it all at the gay pari-mutuel
Patagonia is what's left, Patagonia, which befits my immense sadness,
Patagonia and a trip to the South Seas
I'm on the road
I've always been on the road
I'm on the road with little Jeanne of France
The train does a somersault and lands on all fours
The train lands on its wheels
The train always lands on all its wheels
"Blaise, say, are we really a long way from Montmartre?"
A long way, Jeanne, you've been rolling along for seven days
You're a long way from Montmartre, from the Butte that brought you up, from the Sacré-Coeur you snuggled up to Paris has disappeared with its enormous blaze
Everything gone except cinders flying back
The rain falling
The peat bogs swelling
Siberia turning
Heavy sheets of snow piling up
And the bell of madness that jingles like a final desire in the bluish air
The train throbs at the heart of the leaden horizon
And your desolation snickers . . .
"Say, Blaise, are we really a long way from Montmartre?"
Troubles
Forget your troubles
All the cracked and leaning stations along the way
The telegraph lines they hang from
The grimacing poles that reach out to strangle them
The world stretches out elongates and snaps back like an accordion in the hands of a raging sadist
Wild locomotives fly through rips in the sky
And in the holes
The dizzying wheels the mouths the voices
And the dogs of misery that bark at our heels
The demons are unleashed
Scrap iron
Everything clanks
Slightly off
The clickety-clack of the wheels
Lurches
Jerks
We are a storm in the skull of a deaf man . . .
"Say, Blaise, are we really a long way from Montmartre?"
Of course we are, stop bothering me, you know we are, a long way
An overheated madness bellows in the locomotive
Plague and cholera rise like burning embers around us
We disappear right into a tunnel of war
Hunger, that whore, clutches the clouds scattered across the sky and craps on the battlefield piles of stinking corpses
Do what it does, do your job . . .
"Say, Blaise, are we really a long way from Montmartre?"
Yes, we are, we are
All the scapegoats have swollen up and collapsed in this desert
Listen to the cowbells of this mangy troop
Tomsk Chelyabinsk Kansk Ob' Tayshet Verkne-Udinsk Kurgan Samara Penza-Tulun
Death in Manchuria
Is where we get off is our last stop
This trip is terrible
Yesterday morning
Ivan Ulitch's hair turned white
And Kolia Nikolai Ivanovitch has been biting his fingers for two weeks . . .
Do what Death and Famine do, do your job
It costs one hundred sous -- in Trans-Siberian that's one hundred rubles
Fire up the seats and blush under the table
The devil is at the keyboard
His knotty fingers thrill all the women
Instinct
OK gals
Do your job
Until we get to Harbin . . .
"Say, Blaise, are we really a long way from Montmartre?"
No, hey . . . Stop bothering me . . . Leave me alone
Your pelvis sticks out
Your belly's sour and you have the clap
The only thing Paris laid in your lap
And there's a little soul . . . because you're unhappy
I feel sorry for you come here to my heart
The wheels are windmills in the land of Cockaigne
And the windmills are crutches a beggar whirls over his head
We are the amputees of space
We move on our four wounds
Our wings have been clipped
The wings of our seven sins
And the trains are all the devil's toys
Chicken coop
The modern world
Speed is of no use
The modern world
The distances are too far away
And at the end of a trip it's horrible to be a man with a woman . . .
"Blaise, say, are we really a long way from Montmartre?"
I feel so sorry for you come here I'm going to tell you a story
Come get in my bed
Put your head on my shoulder
I'm going to tell you a story . . .
Oh come on!
It's always spring in the Fijis
You lay around
The lovers swoon in the high grass and hot syphilis drifts among the banana trees
Come to the lost islands of the Pacific!
Names like Phoenix, the Marquesas
Borneo and Java
And Celebes shaped like a cat
We can't go to Japan
Come to Mexico!
Tulip trees flourish on the high plateaus
Clinging vines hang down like hair from the sun
It's as if the brushes and palette of a painter
Had used colors stunning as gongs--
Rousseau was there
It dazzled him forever
It's a great bird country
The bird of paradise the lyre bird
The toucan the mockingbird
And the hummingbird nests in the heart of the black lily
Come!
We'll love each other in the majestic ruins of an Aztec temple
You'll be my idol
Splashed with color childish slightly ugly and really weird
Oh come!
If you want we'll take a plane and fly over the land of the thousand lakes
The nights there are outrageously long
The sound of the engine will scare our prehistoric ancestors
I'll land
And build a hangar out of mammoth fossils
The primitive fire will rekindle our poor love
Samovar
And we'll settle down like ordinary folks near the pole
Oh come!
Jeanne Jeannette my pet my pot my poot
My me mama poopoo Peru
Peepee cuckoo
Ding ding my dong
Sweet pea sweet flea sweet bumblebee
Chickadee beddy-bye
Little dove my love
Little cookie-nookie
Asleep.
She's asleep
And she hasn't taken in a thing the whole way
All those faces glimpsed in the stations
All the clocks
Paris time Berlin time Saint Petersburg time all those stations' times
And at Ufa the bloody face of the cannoneer
And the absurdly luminous dial at Grodno
And the train moving forward endlessly
Every morning you set your watch ahead
The train moves forward and the sun loses time It's no use! I hear the bells
The big bell at Notre-Dame
The sharp bell at the Louvre that rang on Saint Bartholomew's Day
The rusty carillons of Bruges-the-Dead
The electric bells of the New York Public Library
The campaniles of Venice
And the bells of Moscow ringing, the clock at Red Gate that kept time
for me when I was working in an office
And my memories
The train thunders into the roundhouse
The train rolls along
A gramophone blurts out a tinny Bohemian march
And the world, like the hands of the clock in the Jewish section of Prague, turns wildly backwards.
Cast caution to the winds
Now the storm is raging
And the trains storm over tangled tracks
Infernal toys
There are trains that never meet
Others just get lost
The stationmasters play chess
Backgammon
Shoot pool
Carom shots
Parabolas
The railway system is a new geometry
Syracuse
Archimedes
And the soldiers who butchered him
And the galleys
And the warships
And the astounding engines he invented
And all that killing
Ancient history
Modern history
Vortex
Shipwreck
Even that of the Titanic I read about in the paper
So many associations images I can't get into my poem
Because I'm still such a really bad poet
Because the universe rushes over me
And I didn't bother to insure myself against train wreck
Because I don't know how to take it all the way
And I'm scared.
I'm scared
I don't know how to take it all the way.
Like my friend Chagall I could do a series of irrational paintings
But I didn't take notes
"Forgive my ignorance
Pardon my forgetting how to play the ancient game of Verse"
As Guillaume Apollinaire says
If you want to know anything about the war read Kuropotkin's Memoirs
Or the Japanese newspapers with their ghastly illustrations
But why compile a bibliography
I give up
Bounce back into my leaping memory . . .
At Irkutsk the trip suddenly slows down
Really drags
We were the first train to wind around Lake Baikal
The locomotive was decked out with flags and lanterns
And we had left the station to the sad sound of "God Save the Czar."
If I were a painter I would splash lots of red and yellow over the end of this trip
Because I think we were all slightly crazy
And that an overwhelming delirium brought blood to the exhausted faces of my traveling companions
As we came closer to Mongolia
Which roared like a forest fire.
The train had slowed down
And in the perpetual screeching of wheels I heard
The insane sobbing and screaming
Of an eternal liturgy
I saw
I saw the silent trains the black trains returning from the Far East and going by like phantoms
And my eyes, like taillights, are still trailing along behind those trains
At Talga 100,000 wounded were dying with no help coming
I went to the hospitals in Krasnoyarsk
And at Khilok we met a long convoy of soldiers gone insane
I saw in quarantine gaping sores and wounds with blood gushing out
And the amputated limbs danced around or flew up in the raw air
Fire was in their faces and in their hearts
Idiot fingers drumming on all the windowpanes
And under the pressure of fear an expression would burst like an abcess
In all the stations they had set fire to all the cars
And I saw
I saw trains with 60 locomotives streaking away chased by hot horizons and desperate crows
Disappearing
In the direction of Port Arthur.
At Chita we had a few days' rest
A five-day stop while they cleared the tracks
We stayed with Mr. Iankelevitch who wanted me to marry his only daughter
Then it was time to go.
Now I was the one playing the piano and I had a toothache
And when I want I can see it all again those quiet rooms the store and the eyes of the daughter who slept with me every night
Mussorgsky
And the lieder of Hugo Wolf
And the sands of the Gobi Desert
And at Khailar a caravan of white camels
I'd swear I was drunk for over 300 miles
But I was playing the piano -- it's all I saw
You should close your eyes on a trip
And sleep
I was dying to sleep
With my eyes closed I can smell what country I'm in
And I can hear what kind of train is going by
European trains are in 4/4 while the Asian ones are 5/4 or 7/4
Others go humming along are like lullabies
And there are some whose wheels' monotone reminds me of the heavy prose of Maeterlinck
I deciphered all the garbled texts of the wheels and united the scattered
elements of a violent beauty
Which I possess
And which drives me
Tsitsihar and Harbin
That's as far as I go
The last station
I stepped off the train at Harbin a minute after they had set fire to the Red Cross office.
O Paris
Great warm hearth with the intersecting embers of your streets and your
old houses leaning over them for warmth
Like grandmothers
And here are posters in red in green all colors like my past in a word
yellow
Yellow the proud color of the novels of France
In big cities I like to rub elbows with the buses as they go by
Those of the Saint-Germain-Montmartre line that carry me to the assault of the Butte
The motors bellow like golden bulls
The cows of dusk graze on Sacré-Coeur
O Paris
Main station where desires arrive at the crossroads of restlessness
Now only the paint store has a little light on its door
The International Pullman and Great European Express Company has sent me its brochure
It's the most beautiful church in the world
I have friends who surround me like guardrails
They're afraid that when I leave I'll never come back
All the women I've ever known appear around me on the horizon
Holding out their arms and looking like sad lighthouses in the rain
Bella, Agnes, Catherine, and the mother of my son in Italy
And she who is the mother of my love in America
Sometimes the cry of a whistle tears me apart
Over in Manchuria a belly is still heaving, as if giving birth
I wish
I wish I'd never started traveling
Tonight a great love is driving me out of my mind
And I can't help thinking about little Jeanne of France.
It's through a sad night that I've written this poem in her honor
Jeanne
The little prostitute
I'm sad so sad
I'm going to the Lapin Agile to remember my lost youth again
Have a few drinks
And come back home alone
Paris
City of the incomparable Tower the great Gibbet and the Wheel
Paris, 1913
‘What a writer learns from Cendrars is to follow his nose, to obey life’s commands, to worship no other god but life.’ – Henry Miller0 -
Little kids shoot marbles
Where the branches break the sun
Into graceful shafts of light...
I just want to be pure
By Jim Carroll0 -
A Quite Tear
a tear trickles down the side of a face
haphazardly
not knowing why it was shed
skirting across the cheek
it hangs on the lip for one last precarious moment
watery fingers clinging to beloved flesh
till strength gives way
a precipitate falling to the floor
quietly
without notice or distinction
disappearing into the dark warmth of the wood
no vestige of joy or pain
to mark its passing....
Laurence Overmire*********************************************************************************************
0 -
Alaskan Farewell
The mountains stand there still.
Towering giants in rocky armor
Royal sentinels of the Alaskan Guard.
Thick green their tunics of birch and pine
Sheer white their helmets of sun-beaming snow
And icy sabers in crystal scabbards
Hang from earthen belts of blackened sod.
There in the dusk of violet shadow
The piercing eye can see
The deepening crevices of countless centuries
Etched in those imperious faces
Of glacier-hewn stone.
But my time is gone
Turned to dust in the arctic wind
And no more
My eyes behold imperial splendor
No more my heart sing in the stinging cold
Free from the smoke of city steel.
Yes I did sing
Once.
My winged spirit sailed o’er those rocky crags
And flew unbounded toward the low-lying sun.
Full in the face of the golden moon
My heart cried exultantly in the blue-diamond night
To hear the silence of a time-stopped river
Frozen in starlight on the ground below.
Yet a memory lives
When reality dies
And there in the darkness of a Brooklyn street
I will remember
And sing again
For the mountains stand there still....
Laurence Overmire*********************************************************************************************0 -
Warning -Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.Sometimes I speak of nothing at all.0 -
Love the fact he was born here in Ohio...
Another Cup of Tea?
There are poets
In comfortable houses
Clean beds
Who write of grass and trees and
Flowers
They sing melodies that concord
On tuneful ears
Sing babies to sleep
And say
All the world is well.
‘Twould be nice to be
Such a poet
To not know and not care
Not really
Not seeing, not dreaming
Not alive, not dead
Just falling
Like a green leaf on a
Summer’s day....
Laurence Overmire*********************************************************************************************0 -
"Who You Are"
come to send, not condescend
transcendental consequence
is to transcend where we are
who are we? who we are
trampled moss on your souls
changes all you're a part
seen it all, not at all
can't defend fucked up man
take me a for a ride before we leave...
circumstance, clapping hands
driving winds, happenstance
off the track, in the mud
that's the moss in the aforementioned verse
just a little time, before we leave...
stop light plays its part
so i would say you've got a part
what's your part? who you are
you are who, who you are&&&&&&&&&&&&&&0 -
justam wrote:"Who You Are"
come to send, not condescend
transcendental consequence
is to transcend where we are
who are we? who we are
trampled moss on your souls
changes all you're a part
seen it all, not at all
can't defend fucked up man
take me a for a ride before we leave...
circumstance, clapping hands
driving winds, happenstance
off the track, in the mud
that's the moss in the aforementioned verse
just a little time, before we leave...
stop light plays its part
so i would say you've got a part
what's your part? who you are
you are who, who you are
LOVE IT0 -
These pools that, though in forests, still reflect
The total sky almost without defect,
And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,
Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,
And yet not out by any brook or river,
But up by roots to bring dark foliage on....
The trees that have it in their pent-up buds
To darken nature and be summer woods --
Let them think twice before they use their powers
To blot out and drink up and sweep away
These flowery waters and these watery flowers
From snow that melted only yesterday.....*********************************************************************************************0 -
Higher far,
Upward, into the pure realm,
Over sun or star,
Over the flickering Dæmon film,
Thou must mount for love,—
Into vision which all form
In one only form dissolves;
In a region where the wheel,
On which all beings ride,
Visibly revolves;
Where the starred eternal worm
Girds the world with bound and term;
Where unlike things are like,
When good and ill,
And joy and moan,
Melt into one.
There Past, Present, Future, shoot
Triple blossoms from one root
Substances at base divided
In their summits are united,
There the holy Essence rolls,
One through separated souls,
And the sunny Æon sleeps
Folding nature in its deeps,
And every fair and every good
Known in part or known impure
To men below,
In their archetypes endure.
The race of gods,
Or those we erring own,
Are shadows flitting up and down
In the still abodes.
The circles of that sea are laws,
Which publish and which hide the Cause.
Pray for a beam
Out of that sphere
Thee to guide and to redeem.
O what a load
Of care and toil
By lying Use bestowed,
From his shoulders falls, who sees
The true astronomy,
The period of peace!
Counsel which the ages kept,
Shall the well-born soul accept.
As the overhanging trees
Fill the lake with images,
As garment draws the garment's hem
Men their fortunes bring with them;
By right or wrong,
Lands and goods go to the strong;
Property will brutely draw
Still to the proprietor,
Silver to silver creep and wind,
And kind to kind,
Nor less the eternal poles
Of tendency distribute souls.
There need no vows to bind
Whom not each other seek but find.
They give and take no pledge or oath,
Nature is the bond of both.
No prayer persuades, no flattery fawns,
Their noble meanings are their pawns.
Plain and cold is their address,
Power have they for tenderness,
And so thoroughly is known
Each others' purpose by his own,
They can parley without meeting,
Need is none of forms of greeting,
They can well communicate
In their innermost estate;
When each the other shall avoid,
Shall each by each be most enjoyed.
Not with scarfs or perfumed gloves
Do these celebrate their loves,
Not by jewels, feasts, and savors,
Not by ribbons or by favors,
But by the sun-spark on the sea,
And the cloud-shadow on the lea,
The soothing lapse of morn to mirk,
And the cheerful round of work.
Their cords of love so public are,
They intertwine the farthest star.
The throbbing sea, the quaking earth,
Yield sympathy and signs of mirth;
Is none so high, so mean is none,
But feels and seals this union.
Even the tell Furies are appeased,
The good applaud, the lost are eased.
Love's hearts are faithful, but not fond,
Bound for the just, but not beyond;
Not glad, as the low-loving herd,
Of self in others still preferred,
But they have heartily designed
The benefit of broad mankind.
And they serve men austerely,
After their own genius, clearly,
Without a false humility;
For this is love's nobility,
Not to scatter bread and gold,
Goods and raiment bought and sold,
But to hold fast his simple sense,
And speak the speech of innocence,
And with hand, and body, and blood,
To make his bosom-counsel good:
For he that feeds men, serveth few,
He serves all, who dares be true.
Celestial Love
Ralph Waldo Emerson0 -
Broken Love
MY Spectre around me night and day
Like a wild beast guards my way;
My Emanation far within
Weeps incessantly for my sin.
‘A fathomless and boundless deep,
There we wander, there we weep;
On the hungry craving wind
My Spectre follows thee behind.
‘He scents thy footsteps in the snow
Wheresoever thou dost go,
Thro’ the wintry hail and rain.
When wilt thou return again?
’Dost thou not in pride and scorn
Fill with tempests all my morn,
And with jealousies and fears
Fill my pleasant nights with tears?
‘Seven of my sweet loves thy knife
Has bereavèd of their life.
Their marble tombs I built with tears,
And with cold and shuddering fears.
‘Seven more loves weep night and day
Round the tombs where my loves lay,
And seven more loves attend each night
Around my couch with torches bright.
‘And seven more loves in my bed
Crown with wine my mournful head,
Pitying and forgiving all
Thy transgressions great and small.
‘When wilt thou return and view
My loves, and them to life renew?
When wilt thou return and live?
When wilt thou pity as I forgive?’
‘O’er my sins thou sit and moan:
Hast thou no sins of thy own?
O’er my sins thou sit and weep,
And lull thy own sins fast asleep.
‘What transgressions I commit
Are for thy transgressions fit.
They thy harlots, thou their slave;
And my bed becomes their grave.
‘Never, never, I return:
Still for victory I burn.
Living, thee alone I’ll have;
And when dead I’ll be thy grave.
‘Thro’ the Heaven and Earth and Hell
Thou shalt never, quell:
I will fly and thou pursue:
Night and morn the flight renew.’
‘Poor, pale, pitiable form
That I follow in a storm;
Iron tears and groans of lead
Bind around my aching head.
‘Till I turn from Female love
And root up the Infernal Grove,
I shall never worthy be
To step into Eternity.
‘And, to end thy cruel mocks,
Annihilate thee on the rocks,
And another form create
To be subservient to my fate.
‘Let us agree to give up love,
And root up the Infernal Grove;
Then shall we return and see
The worlds of happy Eternity.
‘And throughout all Eternity
I forgive you, you forgive me.
As our dear Redeemer said:
“This the Wine, and this the Bread.”’*********************************************************************************************0 -
The worlds longest poem...
*****************************************************************************************
Only in Life
Nikhil Parekh
Every star in the wonderfully resplendent cosmos; may
or may not enthrallingly shine,
And every thing on this Universe that flamboyantly
shines; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
STAR..
Every flower sprouting from fathomless kilometers of
land; may or may not diffuse rhapsodic fragrance,
And every thing on this Universe that is seductively
fragrant; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
FLOWER...
Every cloud in the voluptuously crimson sky; may or
may not pelt tantalizing droplets of golden rain,
And every thing on this Universe that is enigmatically
misty; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
CLOUD...
Every tree on bountifully fertile soil; may or may not
blossom into an astounding flurry of succulent fruit,
And every thing on this Universe that spawns into
countless of its kind; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a TREE...
Every battlefield on vindictively belligerent mud; may
or may not metamorphose into the ultimate victory of
mankind,
And every thing on this Universe that massacres and
indiscriminately sucks blood; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a BATTLEFIELD...
Every clock that incessantly functions for centuries
immemorial; may or may not transit you into
incredulously ravishing waves of untamed nostalgia,
And every thing on this Universe that monotonously
ticks; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
CLOCK...
Every lion philandering rampantly through the
profusely robust jungles; may or may not be a
man-eater,
And every thing on this Universe; that was
vociferously ferocious; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as LION...
Every hive sandwiched amidst the magnificently royal
foliage; may or may not be boisterously buzzing,
And every thing on this Universe; that was melodiously
chattering and sweet; could not be irrefutably termed
as; only a HIVE...
Every eye majestically embossed in the sockets of the
charismatically alluring face; may or may not be
emphatic,
And every thing on this Universe with poignantly
gushing tears; could not be irrefutably termed; only
as an EYE...
Every salubrious coconut suspended from the branches;
may or may not harbor ingratiatingly sweet water in
its belly,
And every thing on this Universe that was obdurately
hard; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
COCONUT..
Every dungeon countless kilometers beneath soil; may
or may not harbor an unfathomable conglomerate of
snakes,
And every thing on this Universe as dark as the
ghastly night; could not be irrefutably termed; only
as a DUNGEON...
Every stream voluptuously cascading through the
mountains; may or may not be culminating into ecstatic
froth,
And every bit of water wandering freely on this
Universe; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
STREAM...
Every song captivatingly floating through the
surreally mesmerizing atmosphere; may or may not
convey the message profoundly imbibed within,
And every voice that emanated on this Universe; could
not be irrefutably termed; only as a SONG...
Every thorn surreptitiously creeping from nimble
covers of soil; may or may not acrimoniously
infiltrate into innocuous skin,
And every thing on this Universe that was piquantly
sharp; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
THORN...
Every wind exuberantly blowing across the gorgeous
valley; may or may not strike the rocks,
And every draught of euphoric air on this Universe;
could not be irrefutably termed; only as WIND...
Every chili tangily extruding from immaculate layers
of soil; may or may not turbulently sting the tongue,
And every thing on this Universe that was thunderously
spicy; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
CHILI...
Every spider fabulously slithering through its sticky
web; may or may not inhabit the same for a fathomless
lifetimes,
And every thing on this Universe that was intractably
sticky and entangled; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a SPIDER...
Every hill rising splendidly above mundane soil; may
or may not have its summit kissing the absolute zenith
of the rosy clouds,
And every thing on this Universe that was the top most
storied; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
HILL...
Every egg left completely solitary by itself; may or
may not hatch into an immaculately divine fledgling,
And every thing on this Universe that was oval and
pearly white; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
an EGG...
Every milestone enthusiastically stretching beyond
realms of imagination; may or may not evoke
inscrutable pleasure,
And every thing on this Universe that was delightfully
delirious; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
MILESTONE...
Every mark ardently embossed since birth on the body;
may or may not prove to be astonishingly auspicious,
And every thing on this Universe that was holy and
holistic; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
MARK....
Every peacock dancing under zealously thundering rain;
may or may not make you entirely oblivious to all
other activities on earth,
And every thing on this Universe that was iridescently
feathered; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
PEACOCK...
Every shadow shimmering uncontrollably like a new born
prince; may or may not cast a spell upon your drearily
sagging countenance,
And every thing on this Universe that was tranquilly
enchanting; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
SHADOW...
Every wine bubbling furtively in marvelously crystal
glass; may or may not intoxicate you beyond sagacious
control; as you guzzled it down with wild frenzy,
And every thing on this Universe that was viciously
inebriating; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
WINE...
Every snake charismatically slithering through the
jungles; may or may not incarcerate you in an
enclosure of unending mysticism,
And every thing on this Universe that was ominously
hissing; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
SNAKE...
Every nail agglutinated to the gigantic wall; may or
may not disdainfully rust as time unfurls,
And every thing on this Universe that was piquantly
pointed; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
NAIL...
Every slave heinously lambasted by its dictatorial
master; may or may not yield wholesomely to his
commands,
And every thing on this Universe that was
painstakingly persevering under the Sun; could not be
irrefutably termed; only as a SLAVE...
Every joke ridiculously bizarre and funny; may or may
not invoke pools of unlimited laughter,
And every thing on this Universe that made you smile;
could not be irrefutably termed; only as a JOKE....
Every destiny enigmatically encompassed within the
palms; may or may not lead to the unequivocal gates of
prosperity,
And every thing on this Universe that vacillatingly
truant; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
DESTINY...
Every hair that was unsurpassably old; may or may not
be grizzly white in color,
And everything on this Universe that was insipidly
tender follicle; could not be irrefutably termed; only
as a HAIR...
Every precariously poised knife; may or may not
barbarically deprive a person of vibrant life,
And everything on this Universe that was menacingly
gleaming; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
KNIFE....
Every blade of alluringly enchanting grass; may or may
not buckle capriciously under the violently
overwhelming storm,
And everything on this Universe that was spawning
bountifully from soil; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as GRASS....
Every garland blooming into a festoon of unparalleled
chivalry; may or may not impart fathomless
grandiloquence,
And every thing on this Universe that was profusely
decorated; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
GARLAND...
Every crocodile hideously writhing in the marshes; may
or may not pulverize its prey eloping rapidly through
the dense bushes,
And every thing on this Universe that was rustically
serrated skinned; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a CROCODILE...
Every telephone celestially ringing; may or may not
bring to you the message you forever desired,
And every thing on this Universe that was vibrantly
humming; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
TELEPHONE...
Every toy frolicking gregariously in the playful
showroom; may or may not transit you back to realms of
innocuous childhood,
And every thing on this Universe that was innocently
bouncing; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
CHILD...
Every bell gloriously ringing in the holy temple; may
or may not bequeath upon you the entire richness of
this globe,
And every thing on this Universe that rapped with an
enchanting sound; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a BELL.
Every roof compactly stitched with brazen straw and
rubicund brick; may or may not sequester you
perpetually from the satanically speeding storm,
And every thing on this Universe that imparted
transient shelter; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a ROOF....
Every dewdrop emphatically radiating as the first rays
of dawn kissed blue sky; may or may not be pacify the
scorching trauma in your throat,
And every thing on this Universe that was fabulously
slippery; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
DEW DROP...
Every rope fantastically knotted into boundless folds;
may or may not catapult you to the ultimate summits of
your life,
And every thing on this Universe that was tenaciously
curled; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
ROPE....
Every pilot exuberantly whistling past the scenery;
may or may not crash against the sinister faade of
acrid rocks,
And every thing on this Universe that was flying like
a rocket; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
PILOT....
Every crab cunningly crawling on the placidly nestling
shores; may or may inject its vindictive sting into
immaculate flesh,
And every thing on this Universe that was
surreptitiously sauntering; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a CRAB...
Every rivulet of crimson blood circulating through
countless humans; may or may not be philanthropic,
And every thing on this Universe that was ardently
red; could not be irrefutably termed; only as BLOOD...
Every embellished king seated on the scintillating
throne; may or may not be a dispenser of celestial
justice,
And every thing on this Universe which was
unequivocally princely; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as KING...
Every earthquake devastating to the most horrifically
abominable core; may or may not swipe civilizations in
its uncouthly treacherous swirl,
And every thing on this Universe which was resonating
cataclysmically; could not be irrefutably termed; only
as an EARTHQUAKE...
Every ocean ebulliently undulating under milky beams
of moonlight; may or may not drown ships in its savage
bottom,
And every thing on this Universe that was
mischievously salty; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as OCEAN...
Every opulently inspiring piano when delectably
strung; may or may not strike an intimate chord with
hearts obliviously strewn around,
And every thing on this Universe that rhythmically
rose and fell in a titillating cadence; could not be
irrefutably termed; only as PIANO...
Every ingenious idea blossoming in the brain; may or
may not lead to the pinnacle of astronomically
irrevocable success,
And every thing on this Universe that intransigently
dreamt; could not be irrefutably termed; only as an
IDEA...
Every philanthropist incorporating the mission to save
humanity in his soul; may or may not reach the most
despicably shivering quarters of this colossal planet,
And every thing on this Universe that was supremely
chivalrous; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
PHILANTHROPIST...
Every story deluged with overwhelming romance and
enigma; may or may not evoke the intrinsic catharsis
of the persona,
And every thing on this Universe that was an
incredulous adventure; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a STORY....
Every wink flirtatiously executed; may or may not lead
lovers to the bridge of clandestine absconding,
And every thing on this Universe which was even the
slightest closure of the eye; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a WINK...
Every woman vividly enamoring; may or may not trigger
inferno's of raw desire through lackadaisical
ingredients of insipid blood,
And every thing on this Universe that was unbelievably
beautiful; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
WOMAN...
Every castle embedded with exotically evoking royalty;
may or may not give you the ultimate gratification of
your diminutive life,
And every thing on this Universe that was
aristocratically splendid; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a CASTLE...
Every chunk of wood floating nonchalantly through
water; may or may not decay towards corridors of
obsolete extinction,
And every thing on this Universe that was
opprobriously rotting; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as WOOD...
Every cow reigning supremely in an entrenchment of
divinity; may or may not alleviate the lives of
neglected urchins,
And every thing on this Universe that was gloriously
shining milk; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
a COW...
Every prejudice stinkingly pulverizing its enemies to
infinitesimal ash; may or may not swipe civilization
from its very roots,
And every thing on this Universe that was turbulently
angry; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
PREJUDICE...
Every dog satanically galloping through the
insidiously empty streets; may or may not find its
robustly juicy bone,
And every thing on this Universe that was diabolically
barking; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
DOG...
Every terrorist pledging to finish blissful human race
like a horde of inconsequential flies; may or may not
manifest his cowardly mission into a veritable truth,
And every thing on this Universe that was abhorrent
malice; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
TERRORIST....
Every whisper magnetically caressing the placid winds;
may or may not weave a tale of sensuously inexplicable
compassion,
And every thing on this Universe that was gently
diffusing; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
WHISPER...
Every insect irascibly hovering around celestial
beings; may or may not accomplish its task of
fomenting irritation,
And every thing on this Universe that pertinently
pinches you; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
an INSECT....
Every game evoking rhapsodic sensations of
unprecedented exhilaration; may or may not linger in
memory for eternal times,
And every thing on this Universe that was joyously
interacting; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
a GAME...
Every cat fretting in frustrating starvation; may or
may not get a chance to smack its spout with heavenly
milk,
And every thing on this Universe that was cleverly
awaiting its chance; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a CAT....
Every beggar wailing on the tyrannical streets; may or
may not appease his gluttony to the epitome of his
appeasing contentment,
And every thing on this Universe that was spreading
its palms; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
BEGGAR....
Every kite soaring handsomely in fathomless bits of
sky; may or may not escalate above the euphoric
clouds,
And every thing on this Universe that was ecstatically
flying; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
KITE...
Every bird flapping ravishingly through the boundless
skies; may or may not be a harbinger of unparalleled
peace and divinely brotherhood,
And every thing on this Universe that was
wholeheartedly free; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as BIRD...
Every robot fantastically evolved for meticulous
perfection; may or may not someday; substitute its
counterparts of the human kind,
And every thing on this Universe that was mechanically
monotonous; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
ROBOT...
Every color vivaciously trespassing dazzling space;
may or may not seduce you into a cavern of everlasting
yearning,
And every thing on this Universe that was vividly
contrasting; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
COLOR...
Every Herculean muscle enveloping tenacious shoulders;
may or may not surge forward to uplift despondently
bereaved humanity,
And every thing on this Universe that was formidably
strong; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
MUSCLE..
Every parrot squawking animatedly in its cage; may or
may not replicate its master word for word; alike,
And every thing on this Universe that was relentlessly
chattering; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
PARROT...
Every mother compassionately hugging her child all
throughout the day; may or may not be able to instill
in him the benign ideals of existence,
And every thing on this Universe that was protecting
you from disaster; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as MOTHER...
Every gigantically inflated balloon lingering in air;
may or may not burst; when vigorously pecked by the
woodpeckers,
And every thing on this Universe that fulminated with
a prolific bang; could not be irrefutably termed; only
as a BALLOON...
Every cloth marvelously woven of exquisite Persian
wool; may or may not sequester you from the hideously
blowing winds of torrential winter,
And every thing on this Universe which was worn all
night and day; could not be irrefutably termed; only
as CLOTH...
Every gladiator adorned patriotically; may or may not
snatch triumph for his sacrosanct motherland,
And every thing on this Universe that was blazingly
brave; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
GLADIATOR...
Every picture woven with thrill and melodramatic
excitement; may or may not penetrate emphatically
through common masses,
And every thing on this Universe that was stupendously
entertaining; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
a PICTURE...
Every pen inundated with gallons of overwhelmingly
volatile ink; may or may not spin countless lines of
fascinatingly sparkling calligraphy,
And every thing on this Universe that was spotlessly
written; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
PEN..
Every fortress invincibly impregnated with a festoon
of scarlet bricks; may or may not defend the most
mightiest of attacks,
And every thing on this Universe that was towering in
unbelievable charisma; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as FORTRESS....
Every spring magnificently coiled into intricately
glistening folds; may or may not bounce back beyond
the realms of infinite infinity,
And every thing on this Universe that was
insurmountably spongy; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a SPRING...
Every mirror embedded in oligarchic chicory rosewood;
may or may not candidly reflect; the inner most voice
entrapped intensely in the soul,
And every thing on this Universe that explicitly
divulges; could not be irrefutably termed; as only a
MIRROR...
Every line drawn exotically on seductively simmering
soil; may or may not reach its ultimate goal,
And every thing that was pragmatically straight; could
not be irrefutably termed; as only a LINE....
Every amicable lip blending uninhibitedly with all
benevolent alike; may or may not blossom into an
astoundingly tantalizing smile,
And every thing on this Universe that was chortling
into wildly desirous guffaws; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a LIP...
Every desert sizzling ruthlessly under the invidiously
flaming Sun; may or may not witness the most
inconspicuous trace of green in its entire life,
And every thing on this Universe which was just
specks of dust; could not be irrefutably termed; only
as a DESERT....
Every loudspeaker blaring ferociously through the
atmosphere; may or may not spread its voice to the
most remotest corner of this Universe,
And every thing on this Universe that was vociferously
squealing; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
LOUDSPEAKER...
Every swimming pool shimmering under pearly moonlight;
may or may not entice boisterously bubbling youth in
its serenely glistening lap,
And every thing on this Universe that was tepidly blue
water; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
SWIMMING POOL....
Every skin glowing in perennial flavor of robust
health; may or may not wrinkle profusely with
inevitably advancing age,
And every thing on this Universe that was blushing
complexion; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
SKIN...
Every curtain majestically sprawled across the window;
may or may not sequester the mansion from each ray of
incorrigibly filtering sunlight,
And every thing on this Universe that was lanky
bedspread of cotton wool; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a CURTAIN....
Every trophy irrevocably radiating in the sparkle of
fascinating success; may or may not highlight the
epitome of unparalleled success,
And every thing on this Universe that was beautiful
triumph; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
TROPHY...
Every afternoon blazing in scorchingly tenacious
light; may or may not make you abhorrently perspire,
And every thing on this Universe that was swelteringly
hot; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
AFTERNOON....
Every blink playfully swiping the territory of the dry
eye; may or may not grant it with the blanket of
poignant moisture it badly desired,
And every thing on this Universe that was flickering
violently; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
BLINK....
Every fossil mysteriously engraved in the chain of
century old rocks; may or may not reveal the explicit
portrait of its possessor,
And every thing on this Universe that was
overwhelmingly scribbled glass; could not be
irrefutably termed; only as a FOSSIL...
Every splurge relentlessly lavishing in glorious
ostentation; may or may not end in getting you all the
virtues of life that you desired,
And every thing on this Universe that was overtly
spendthrift; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
SPLURGE...
Every cross stringently inscribed on the walls; may or
may not succeed in delivering in its message of
restricting insidious activity,
And every thing on this Universe that was strictly
inclement; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
CROSS...
Every holiday enchantingly basking in the glory of
opulent paradise; may or may not rejuvenate your
traumatically brutalized senses,
And every thing on this Universe that was even a
trifle free; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
a HOLIDAY...
Every headache pertinently pulsating in every cranny
of the mind; may or may not devastate you entirely to
collapse pathetically on cold ground,
And every thing on this Universe that was irritatingly
paining; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
HEADACHE...
Every stomach ravenously thundering in pangs of
uncontrollable hunger; may or may not consume the
unfathomably colossal mountain of food,
And every thing on this Universe that was provokingly
hungry; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
STOMACH...
Every country unbelievably sprawling; may or may not
harbor the vivaciously salty sea shores,
And every thing on this Universe that was a prolific
gathering of individuals; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a COUNTRY...
Every mushroom dingily leaping up from dilapidated
soil; may or may not savor a place in the menu cards
of each grandiloquently flourishing restaurant,
And every thing on this Universe that was button
shaped and fleshy; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a MUSHROOM....
Every thought enigmatically wandering through realms
of the discovering mind; may or may not culminate into
a celestially blooming fantasy,
And every thing on this Universe that was intriguingly
baffling; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
THOUGHT...
Every helmet adorned courageously on the head; may or
may not succeed in protecting the skull; as the
mountains crashed down viciously upon it,
And every thing on this Universe that was shielded the
scalp; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
HELMET....
Every tear that emphatically descended down from the
eye; may or may not reflect an island of shivering
sadness,
And every thing on this Universe that was effusively
tangy; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
TEAR...
Every rabbit philandering through the verdant meadows;
may or may not escape from the diabolical alligators
in the slushy marshes,
And every thing on this Universe that was inimitably
docile; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
RABBIT....
Every minute that mechanically sped past the body of
the clock; may or may not portray the rapidly
unfurling essence of time,
And every thing on this Universe that was
spectacularly time; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a MINUTE...
Every word compassionately embossed in the gigantic
dictionary; may or may not trigger chords of ever
augmenting empathy,
And every thing on this Universe that was scribbled by
a pen; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
WORD....
Every boxer prancing perilously in the ring; may or
may not inflict a total knockout of his unsuspecting
opponent,
And every thing on this Universe that was puffed
glove; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
BOXER...
Every folly committed unwittingly by a human; may or
may not lead to severely crippling disaster,
And every thing on this Universe that was
incongruously muddled; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a FOLLY....
Every finger ejecting in marvelous unison from the
hands; may or may not be able to grip the
indispensable threads of existence,
And every thing on this Universe that was an
amalgamation of lanky bones; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a FINGER....
Every team bonded in the spirit of unbelievable
harmony; may or may not kiss the crescendo of victory
as it unflinchingly progressed,
And every thing on this Universe that was united
together; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
TEAM....
Every pencil extravagantly lead tipped; may or may not
sketch each intricately fabulous contour of the
scarlet landscape,
And every thing on this Universe that was with a tip;
could not be irrefutably termed; only as a PENCIL...
Every slang spoken in passionately Oriental fashion;
may or may not perpetuate thunderbolts of inevitable
attraction,
And every thing on this Universe that was supremely
stylish; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
SLANG...
Every night dissipating a spell of unmatched desire;
may or may not incinerate seductive currents down your
spine,
And every thing on this Universe that was
enthrallingly dark; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as NIGHT....
Every spectacle embedded with meticulously perfect
glass; may or may not bestow upon you the crystalline
vision of your overpowering choice,
And every thing on this Universe that was
transparently scintillating; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a SPECTACLE....
Every dragon cataclysmically trespassing through the
forest; may or may not succeed in charring the entire
wilderness; into bedraggled fragments of chowder,
And every thing on this Universe that was breathing
fire from its mouth; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a DRAGON....
Every mouth lavishly set amidst the captivating
contours of the face; may or may not utter the tunes
of ultimate reality,
And every thing on this Universe that was foolishly
chattering; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
MOUTH...
Every Sun beam wonderfully sizzling upon mud; may or
may not fumigate its deathly decay; with the austere
ardor in its flaming demeanor,
And every thing on this Universe that was golden rays;
could not be irrefutably termed; only as a SUN...
Every noodle dangling pleasantly from the ceiling; may
or may not be able to incarcerate profuse aliens; in
its gregarious swishes,
And every thing on this Universe that was voluptuously
pudgy; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
NOODLE...
Every festival religiously followed by countless on
the planet; may or may not bond all those murderously
sucking blood; in bonds of eternal love,
And every thing on this Universe that was holistically
ritualistic; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
a FESTIVAL...
Every cactus lingering pompously in the royally
shimmering deserts; may or may not penetrate its
hostile nettles into innocent beings caressing it,
And every thing on this Universe that was growing from
sand; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
CACTUS....
Every key articulately molded into an intriguing
shape; may or may not pilfer through the code of the
dogged lock,
And every thing on this Universe that was intricately
slender; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
LOCK...
Every paper when fanatically crushed by the fist; may
or may not transform its fragile caricature into a
flexible ball,
And every thing on this Universe that was printed by
your side; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
PAPER...
Every worm worthlessly slithering through murderous
darkness; may or may not radiate; emphatically
brilliant rays of light,
And every thing on this Universe that was diminutively
curvaceous; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
WORM...
Every iceberg lecherously hood-winking under the
nocturnal blanket of stars; may or may not emerge
triumphant in decimating the colossal ship,
And every thing on this Universe that was immutably
solidified water; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as an ICEBERG...
Every firecracker raring to thunderously burst; may or
may not bedazzle every single arena of the cosmos with
flaming light,
And every thing on this Universe that was incoherently
rambunctious; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
a FIRECRACKER...
Every discotheque sleazily swarming with sanctimonious
youngsters; may or may not ignite the night with
cloudbursts of untamed desire,
And every thing on this Universe that was
bombastically cheap; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a DISCOTHEQUE...
Every panther rebelliously sprinting under pearly rays
of Moon; may or may not capsize the incredulously
succulent prey of its choice,
And every thing on this Universe that was flamingly
bellicose; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
PANTHER...
Every missile shooting violently through innocent
carpets of air; may or may not strike its desirous
range of fixed targets,
And every thing on this Universe that was ricocheting
like a lunatic boomerang; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a MISSILE...
Every automobile speeding like a celestial angel
through the romantically panoramic landscapes; may or
may not catapult you to the realms above eternally
enchanting eternity,
And every thing on this Universe that was racing
beyond its limits; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as an AUTOMOBILE...
Every blind man trespassing across the discordantly
bustling street; may or may not transcend past it
without a single scratch,
And every thing on this Universe that was boundlessly
dark; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a BLIND
MAN...
Every butterfly fluttering gloriously in blistering
sunshine; may or may not hoist the gaudy caterpillars
of its inherent choice,
And every thing on this Universe that was serenely
flapping; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
BUTTERFLY...
Every damsel young and seductively charming; may or
may not be able to entrap the perfect man of her
choice,
And every thing on this Universe that was pristinely
bubbling; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
DAMSEL....
Every wall constructed of Herculean strength steel;
may or may not stagger like a pack of mosquitoes as
the uncouth disaster struck,
And every thing on this Universe that was compactly
solid; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
WALL...
Every spice wavering appetizingly in the atmosphere
around; may or may not tingle the taste buds beyond
unprecedented capacity,
And every thing on this Universe that was deliciously
poignant; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
SPICE...
Every guarantee spoken intractably; may or may not
manifest itself into a perennially secure reality,
And every thing on this Universe that was an
everlasting promise; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a PROMISE...
Every banana skin teasingly huddled on the floor; may
or may not engender you to dramatically slip,
And every thing on this Universe that made you trip;
could not be irrefutably termed; only as a BANANA...
Every talent unbelievably lingering in a timid visage;
may or may not flower into eclectically supernatural
success,
And every thing on this Universe that was inherently
gifted; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
TALENT....
Every zip meticulously riveted to the garment; may or
may not snugly hold it in position on the flabby
waist,
And every thing on this Universe that was a precise
juggernaut of steely teeth; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a ZIP....
Every bubble rising euphorically in limp air; may or
may not erupt into a fountain of ecstatic froth,
And every thing on this Universe that was perfectly
soapy; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
BUBBLE...
Every boomerang carved melodiously out of roasted
wood; may or may not hurl back towards infinity; after
releasing its loop,
And every thing on this Universe speedily retreating
back; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
BOOMERANG...
Every root deeply embedded in corridors of chocolate
brown soil; may or may not withstand the onslaught of
the mercilessly whipping storm,
And every thing on this Universe that was coated with
grizzly mud; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
a ROOT....
Every screw fantastically engineered to unprecedented
degrees of perfection; may or may not be able to hold
the tumbledown scaffolding,
And every thing on this Universe that was enveloped
with revolving threads; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a SCREW....
Every crayon superbly blossoming into a myriad of
gorgeously garish color; may or may not be able to
sketch playfully upon the barren demeanor of
boundlessly barren canvas,
And every thing on this Universe that was invariably
wax like; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
CRAYON....
Every teacher sagaciously imparting the indispensable
values of life; may or may not form a perpetual
rapport with his students,
And every thing on this Universe that was
distinguishably bespectacled; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a TEACHER...
Every circus flooded with an incredulous township of
acrobatics; may or may not bring laughter to the faces
of those horrifically deprived,
And every thing on this Universe that was musically
entertaining; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
a CIRCUS...
Every prison savagely torturing the blood stained
criminal for his plethora of misdeeds; may or may not
be able to keep him for countless more of his
lifetimes,
And every thing on this Universe that was morbidly
dark; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
PRISON...
Every traveler nomadically wandering since the time he
was born; may or may not be able to tread foot on each
cranny of this fathomlessly intriguing planet,
And every thing on this Universe that was walking
barefoot; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
TRAVELER...
Every barber resting like a king in his gloriously
plush saloon; may or may not scrap the last bit of
dirt from his clients hair,
And every thing on this Universe that was
clip-clopping scissors; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a BARBER...
Every government romping to power after the
manipulative elections; may or may not succeed in
wholesomely protecting the sacred solidarity of its
people,
And every thing on this Universe that was the nerve
center of power; could not be irrefutably termed; only
as GOVERNMENT....
Every scientist incessantly engulfed in chambers of
bubbling test tubes and space crafts; may or may not
discover the gene that could assassinate devil
forever,
And every thing on this Universe that was clad in
apron and gloves; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a SCIENTIST...
Every train whistling royally through the wilderness
of the jungles; may or may not impart inexorable
exhilaration to its passengers seated despondently
inside,
And every thing on this Universe that was shrieking
and on rails; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
a TRAIN...
Every mask fabulously woven in different dimensions;
may or may not completely conceal the true identity of
its dastardly beholder,
And every thing on this Universe that was clandestine
cloistering; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
a MASK...
Every arrow chiseled more lethally sharp than the
knife; may or may not puncture its obsessively
focussed target,
And every thing on this Universe that was dedicatedly
mission oriented; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as an ARROW...
Every article laden with eloquently vibrant imagery;
may or may not reflect the supremely volatile spirit
of harmonious survival,
And every thing on this Universe that was a jugglery
of rhapsodic words; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as an ARTICLE..
Every maze severely entangled in complications and
enigmatic riddles; may or may not lead wholeheartedly
to a victorious outlet,
And every thing on this Universe that was profoundly
criss-crossed; could not be irrefutably termed; only
as a MAZE...
Every couple bonded in threads of holy matrimony; may
or may not immortalize the never dying spirit of love;
for decades immemorial,
And every thing on this Universe that was intimate
togetherness; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
a COUPLE...
Every pig disdainfully snoring in the aisles of
lackadaisical laziness; may or may not lavish gulping
down the pile of ragged rubbish,
And every thing on this Universe that was fetidly
dirty; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
PIG...
Every crown zealously jeweled at all quarters; may or
may not fit the scalp of the timidly feverish prince,
And every thing on this Universe that was stupendously
majestic; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
CROWN...
Every scar pruriently creeping up on innocent skin;
may or may not reveal the invidiously hostile disaster
that had devilishly engendered it,
And every thing on this Universe that was distortedly
ugly; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
SCAR...
Every adage perennially existing since this earth was
created; may or may not change the tottering
complexion of every impoverished life,
And every thing on this Universe that was an impactful
philosophy; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
PHILOSOPHY...
Every garage splendidly harboring a battalion of
trendy cars; may or may not incorporate stealthy
cobwebs in its Aztec interiors,
And every thing on this Universe that was collapsible
shutters; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
GARAGE...
Every battery prolifically charged all throughout the
night; may or may not diffuse into light which killed
even the most tiniest iota of disgusting darkness,
And every thing on this Universe that was animatedly
charged up; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
BATTERY....
Every fork bifurcated into countless blades; may or
may not be able to hoist the crooked piece of
sturgeon; sizzling tantalizingly in the chicory plate,
And every thing on this Universe that was bent
needles; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
FORK....
Every bull doggedly adorned in robes of satanic red;
may or may not succeed in uncouthly goring its
unsuspecting opponent,
And every thing on this Universe that was
intransigently stubborn; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a BULL....
Every coin iridescently clattering in the insatiable
aura of its opulence; may or may not bring
astonishingly good luck to its cherished beholder,
And every thing on this Universe that was marvelously
glimmering; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
COIN...
Every geyser mechanically controlled with an
unbelievable flurry of contemporary contraptions; may
or may not generate water warm enough to withstand the
chilling cold,
And every thing on this Universe that was
compassionately warm; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a GEYSER...
Every drink glowing a fiery crimson; may or may not
inebriate its consumer beyond the realms of pragmatic
control,
And every thing on this Universe that was ardently
beautiful elixir; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a DRINK....
Every cheek radiantly basking in robustly spell
binding health; may or may not blush to a profuse
crimson; when thoroughly embarrassed,
And every thing on this Universe that was emphatically
changing color; could not be irrefutably termed; only
as a CHEEK....
Every ear dangling in razor sharp precision from the
head; may or may not be able to catch the most
inconspicuously minuscule sound loitering around,
And every thing on this Universe that was somberly
flapping; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
EAR...
Every hero galloping in incredible cynosure and
popularity; may or may not rap the chord of humanity
in impoverished hearts alike,
And every thing on this Universe that was
resplendently starry; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as a STAR...
Every string resiliently suspended in open space; may
or may not balance the weight of the monster trying
nonchalantly to tread on its slim periphery,
And every thing on this Universe that was wearily
extruding from lackadaisical rags of barbarically
ripped garment; could not be irrefutably termed; only
as a STRING..
Every organism evolved by Omnisciently Almighty lord;
may or may not become a harbinger of humanity in the
tenure of its life,
And every thing on this Universe that the eye
witnessed; could not be irrefutably termed; only as an
ORGANISM...
Every moustache sprouting into a splendidly masculine
bush; may or may not be able to captivate the heart of
the seductively wandering lady,
And every thing on this Universe that was a coalition
of hair; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
MOUSTACHE...
Every personality having a distinctive aura of its
own; may or may not achieve the wings of heaven; after
it emancipated breath and died,
And every thing on this Universe that was
charismatically graceful; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as a PERSONALITY...
Every denim jaded stupendously to a stonewash finish;
may or may not appease the dynamically plodding youth,
And every thing on this Universe that was
substantially faded; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as DENIM....
Every scale astutely incorporating all nuances of
measurement; may or may not be able to measure the
absolute pinnacles of the sky,
And every thing on this Universe that was fervently
calibrated; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
SCALE...
Every obsession fanatically inhabiting each ingredient
of the blood; may or may not thrive amidst the hostile
pack of wolves,
And every thing on this Universe that was insanely
lunatic; could not be irrefutably termed; only as an
OBSSESSION....
Every smell nostalgically hovering in free space; may
or may not incinerate adorably fond memories of
existence,
And every thing on this Universe that inadvertently
reached the nostrils; could not be irrefutably termed;
only as SMELL....
Every longing as ardent as the roar of a lion; may or
may not imprison the organism of its choice,
And every thing on this Universe that you immortally
dreamt of; could not be irrefutably termed; only as
LONGING...
Every treasury unimaginably glittering beyond infinite
infinity; may or may not be able to purchase the
happiness it so desired in life,
And every thing on this Universe that was
scintillatingly gorgeous luxury; could not be
irrefutably termed; only as a TREASURY....
Every cockroach loitering aimlessly around the
lavatory seat; may or may not choose to frighten
innocent beings,
And every thing on this Universe that was pathetically
filthy; could not irrefutably be termed; only as a
COCKROACH...
Every aircraft possessing an Oligarchic pair of wings;
may or may not transport its passengers safely; in
face of torrentially death storms,
And every thing on this Universe that was frenziedly
flying; could not be irrefutably termed; only as an
AIRCRAFT...
Every athlete fervently dashing towards the finishing
line; may or may not wholeheartedly embrace the
finishing line,
And every thing on this Universe that was
unflinchingly running; could not be irrefutably
termed; only as an ATHLETE...
Every season Omnisciently descending upon harmonious
civilization; may or may not heal the wounds of
uncouthly tyrannizing destiny,
And every thing on this Universe that most
synergistically metamorphosed its complexion; could
not irrefutably be termed; only as SEASON...
Every prodigy catapulting to the summit of
unconquerable success; may or may not be a benevolent
human being,
And every thing on this Universe that was astoundingly
proliferating; could not be irrefutably termed; only
as a PRODIGY...
Every novel propelled with an armory of fascinating
tales; may or may not hold the attention of its reader
till the very last page,
And every thing on this Universe that was vibrantly
worded; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
NOVEL....
Every angel that descended from the Omnipotent
heavens; may or may not grant you; your unrelenting
repertoire of boundless wishes,
And every thing on this Universe with silken grace and
charm; could not be irrefutably termed; only as an
ANGEL...
Every heart that throbbed an infinite times in
passionate chests all across the planet; may or may
not find the most supreme love of its life,
And every thing on this Universe that fervently beats;
could not be irrefutably termed; only as a HEART...
Every soul that wanders frantically across the
inexplicably mysterious realms of this gigantic
planet; may or may not find the peace which it
ardently desired,
And every thing on this Universe that is holistically
immortal; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
SOUL...
Every corpse morbidly rotting towards extinction; may
or may not contain the impoverished caricature of
those dead,
And every thing on this Universe which impoverishedly
clatters; could not be irrefutably termed; only as a
CORPSE...
Every conscience which formed the nerve center of a
persons existence; may or may not be perpetually
righteous,
And every thing on this Universe that is honest and
the inner most; could not be irrefutably termed; only
as CONSCIENCE..
Every life that transgresses through sweltering
cocoons of shimmering sand; may or may not be
blissfully happy,
And every thing on this Universe that is blooming with
unprecedented joy; could not be irrefutably termed
Only in LIFE !!!!!.....*********************************************************************************************0 -
Ox shoulder, heavy
loader, systematic
thick book:
As a young man
I didn't know you, I was dressed up
to sufficiency
and I believed myself full up,
and puffed up like a
melancholy toad
I declared "I receive
the words
directly
from a roaring Mount Sinai.
I will reduce
their forms by alchemy.
I'm a wizard."
The great wizard was silent.
The Dictionary,
old and heavy, with its binding
of worn leather,
remained silent
without showing its testing.
But one day
after having used
and disused it,
after declaring it
a useless and anachronistic camel,
when for long months without protest,
it served me as an armchair
and as a pillow,
it rebelled and planting itself
in my door
it grew, it moved its leaves
and its nests,
it moved the elevation of its foliage
the tree
was,
a natural,
generous
apple tree, apple grove or apple-like
and the words
shone in its bottomless cup
dull or sonorous
fertile in the fronds of language,
loaded with truth and sound.
I select only
one of
its
pages:
Caporal (foreman)
capuchón (monk's hood)
what a marvel
to pronounce these syllables
with air,
and further down
Cápsula (capsule)
hollow, waiting for olive oil or nectar
and next to them
Captura, Capucete, Capuchino
Caprario, Captatorio
words
which flake off like smooth birds
or which explode in the light
like blind germs which waited
in the storerooms of vocabulary
and live again and give life:
once more the heart sets them afire.
Dictionary, you're not
a tomb, sepulcher, casket,
burial mound, mausoleum,
but a preserver,
hidden fire,
the planting of rubies,
living perpetuity
of the essence,
granary of the language.
And it is beautiful
to pluck in your columns
the word
in its lineage,
the severe
and forgotten
sentence,
daughter of Spain,
enduring
like the blade of a plow,
fixed in its limit
of antiquated iron-work,
preserved
with its exact beauty
and its metallic hardness.
Or the other word
which we saw lost there
out in dialect regions
and which quickly
became tasty and smooth in our mouth.
Dictionary, one hand
of your thousand hands, one
of your thousand emeralds,
one
single
drop
of your virginal elements
one grain
from
your
generous granaries
on the tip of my pen,
in my inkwell.
From your thick, sonorous
depth of your forest,
give me,
when I need it,
one single trill, the luxury
of a bee,
a fallen fragment
from your ancient wood
perfumed by an eternity of jasmine beds,
one
syllable
all earthquake, a sound:
from the earth I am and with words I sing.
Ode to the Dictionary
by Pablo Neruda0 -
Da "La Beltà"
Sì, ancora la neve
"Ti piace essere venuto a questo mondo?"
Bamb.: Sì, perché c'è la STANDA".
Che sarà della neve
che sarà di noi?
Una curva sul ghiaccio
e poi e poi... ma i pini, i pini
tutti uscenti alla neve, e fin l'ultima età
circondata da pini. Sic et simpliciter?
E perché si è - il mondo pinoso il mondo nevoso -
perché si è fatto bambucci-ucci, odore di cristianucci,
perché si è fatto noi, roba per noi?
E questo valere in persona ed ex-persona
un solo possibile ed ex-possibile?
Hölderlin: "siamo un segno senza significato":
ma dove le due serie entrano in contatto?
Ma è vero? E che sarà di noi?
E tu perché, perché tu?
E perché e che fanno i grandi oggetti
e tutte le cose-cause
e il radiante e il radioso?
Il nucleo stellare
là in fondo alla curva di ghiaccio,
versi inventive calligrammi ricchezze, sì,
ma che sarà della neve dei pini
di quello che non sta e sta là, in fondo?
Non c'è noi eppure la neve si affisa a noi
e quello che scotta
e l'immancabilmente evaso o morto
evasa o morta.
Buona neve, buone ombre, glissate glissate.
Ma c'è chi non si stanca di riavviticchiarsi
graffignare sgranocchiare solleticare,
di scoiattolizzare le scene che abbiamo pronte,
non si stanca di riassestarsi
- l'ho, sempre, molto, saputo -
al luogo al bello al bel modulo
a cieli arcaici aciduli come slambròt cimbrici
al seminato d'immagini
all'ingorgo di tenebrelle e stelle edelweiss
al tutto ch'è tutto bianco tutto nobile:
e la volpazza di gran coda e l'autobus
quello rosso sul campo nevato.
Biancaneve biancosole biancume del mio vecchio io.
Ma presto i bambucci-ucci
vanno al grande magazzino
- ai piedi della grande selva -
dove c'è pappa bonissima e a maraviglia
per voi bimbi bambi con diritto
e programma di pappa, per tutti
ferocemente tutti, voi (sniff sniff
gran gnam yum yum slurp slurp:
perché sempre si continui l'"umbra fuimus fumo e fumetto"):
ma qui
ahi colorini più o meno truffaldini
plasmon nipiol auxol lustrine e figurine
più o meno truffaldine:
meglio là, sottomano nevata sottofelce nevata...
O luna, ormai,
e perfino magnolia e perfino
cometa di neve in afflusso, la neve.
Ma che sarà di noi?
Che sarà della neve, del giardino,
che sarà del libero arbitrio e del destino
e di chi ha perso nella neve il cammino
(e la neve saliva saliva - e lei moriva)?
E che si dice là nella vita?
E che messaggi ha la fonte di messaggi?
Ed esiste la fonte, o non sono
che io-tu-questi-quaggiù
questi cloffete clocchete ch ch
più che incomunicante scomunicato tutti scomunicati?
Eppure negli alti livelli
sopra il coma e il semicoma e il limine
si brusisce e si ronza e si cicala-ciàcola
- ancora - per una minima e semiminima
biscroma semibiscroma nanobiscroma
cose e cosine
scienze lingue e profezie
cronaca bianca nera azzurra
di stimoli anime e dèi,
libido e cupìdo e la loro
prestidigitazione finissima;
è così, scoiattoli afrori e fiordineve in frescura
e "acqua che devia
si dispera si scioglie s'allontana"
oltre il grande magazzino ai piedi della selva
dove i bambucci piluccano zizzole...
E le falci e le mezzelune e i martelli
e le croci e i designs-disegni
e la nube filata di zucchero che alla psiche ne vie?
E la tradizione tramanda tramanda fa passamano?
E l'avanguardia ha trovato, ha trovato?
E dove il fru-fruire dei fruitori
nel truogolo nel buio bugliolo nel disincanto,
dove, invece, l'entusiasmo l'empireirsi l'incanto?
Che si dice lassù nella vita,
là da quelle parti là in parte;
che si cova si sbuccia si spampana
in quel poco in quel fioco
dentro la nocciolina dentro la mandorletta?
E i mille dentini che la minano?
E il pino. E i pini-ini-ini per profili
e profili mai scissi mai cuciti
ini-ini a fianco davanti
dietro l'eterno l'esterno l'interno (il paesaggio)
dietro davanti da tutti i lati,
i pini come stanno, stanno bene?
Detto alla neve: "Non mi abbandonerai mai, vero?"
E una pinzetta, ora, una graffetta....*********************************************************************************************0 -
mikalina wrote:Da "La Beltà"
Sì, ancora la neve
"Ti piace essere venuto a questo mondo?"
Bamb.: Sì, perché c'è la STANDA".
Che sarà della neve
che sarà di noi?
Una curva sul ghiaccio
e poi e poi... ma i pini, i pini
tutti uscenti alla neve, e fin l'ultima età
circondata da pini. Sic et simpliciter?
E perché si è - il mondo pinoso il mondo nevoso -
perché si è fatto bambucci-ucci, odore di cristianucci,
perché si è fatto noi, roba per noi?
E questo valere in persona ed ex-persona
un solo possibile ed ex-possibile?
Hölderlin: "siamo un segno senza significato":
ma dove le due serie entrano in contatto?
Ma è vero? E che sarà di noi?
E tu perché, perché tu?
E perché e che fanno i grandi oggetti
e tutte le cose-cause
e il radiante e il radioso?
Il nucleo stellare
là in fondo alla curva di ghiaccio,
versi inventive calligrammi ricchezze, sì,
ma che sarà della neve dei pini
di quello che non sta e sta là, in fondo?
Non c'è noi eppure la neve si affisa a noi
e quello che scotta
e l'immancabilmente evaso o morto
evasa o morta.
Buona neve, buone ombre, glissate glissate.
Ma c'è chi non si stanca di riavviticchiarsi
graffignare sgranocchiare solleticare,
di scoiattolizzare le scene che abbiamo pronte,
non si stanca di riassestarsi
- l'ho, sempre, molto, saputo -
al luogo al bello al bel modulo
a cieli arcaici aciduli come slambròt cimbrici
al seminato d'immagini
all'ingorgo di tenebrelle e stelle edelweiss
al tutto ch'è tutto bianco tutto nobile:
e la volpazza di gran coda e l'autobus
quello rosso sul campo nevato.
Biancaneve biancosole biancume del mio vecchio io.
Ma presto i bambucci-ucci
vanno al grande magazzino
- ai piedi della grande selva -
dove c'è pappa bonissima e a maraviglia
per voi bimbi bambi con diritto
e programma di pappa, per tutti
ferocemente tutti, voi (sniff sniff
gran gnam yum yum slurp slurp:
perché sempre si continui l'"umbra fuimus fumo e fumetto"):
ma qui
ahi colorini più o meno truffaldini
plasmon nipiol auxol lustrine e figurine
più o meno truffaldine:
meglio là, sottomano nevata sottofelce nevata...
O luna, ormai,
e perfino magnolia e perfino
cometa di neve in afflusso, la neve.
Ma che sarà di noi?
Che sarà della neve, del giardino,
che sarà del libero arbitrio e del destino
e di chi ha perso nella neve il cammino
(e la neve saliva saliva - e lei moriva)?
E che si dice là nella vita?
E che messaggi ha la fonte di messaggi?
Ed esiste la fonte, o non sono
che io-tu-questi-quaggiù
questi cloffete clocchete ch ch
più che incomunicante scomunicato tutti scomunicati?
Eppure negli alti livelli
sopra il coma e il semicoma e il limine
si brusisce e si ronza e si cicala-ciàcola
- ancora - per una minima e semiminima
biscroma semibiscroma nanobiscroma
cose e cosine
scienze lingue e profezie
cronaca bianca nera azzurra
di stimoli anime e dèi,
libido e cupìdo e la loro
prestidigitazione finissima;
è così, scoiattoli afrori e fiordineve in frescura
e "acqua che devia
si dispera si scioglie s'allontana"
oltre il grande magazzino ai piedi della selva
dove i bambucci piluccano zizzole...
E le falci e le mezzelune e i martelli
e le croci e i designs-disegni
e la nube filata di zucchero che alla psiche ne vie?
E la tradizione tramanda tramanda fa passamano?
E l'avanguardia ha trovato, ha trovato?
E dove il fru-fruire dei fruitori
nel truogolo nel buio bugliolo nel disincanto,
dove, invece, l'entusiasmo l'empireirsi l'incanto?
Che si dice lassù nella vita,
là da quelle parti là in parte;
che si cova si sbuccia si spampana
in quel poco in quel fioco
dentro la nocciolina dentro la mandorletta?
E i mille dentini che la minano?
E il pino. E i pini-ini-ini per profili
e profili mai scissi mai cuciti
ini-ini a fianco davanti
dietro l'eterno l'esterno l'interno (il paesaggio)
dietro davanti da tutti i lati,
i pini come stanno, stanno bene?
Detto alla neve: "Non mi abbandonerai mai, vero?"
E una pinzetta, ora, una graffetta....
Do what, John? :?0 -
I have come, alas, to the great circle of shadow,
to the short day and to the whitening hills,
when the colour is all lost from the grass,
though my desire will not lose its green,
so rooted is it in this hardest stone,
that speaks and feels as though it were a woman.
And likewise this heaven-born woman
stays frozen, like the snow in shadow,
and is unmoved, or moved like a stone,
by the sweet season that warms all the hills,
and makes them alter from pure white to green,
so as to clothe them with the flowers and grass.
When her head wears a crown of grass
she draws the mind from any other woman,
because she blends her gold hair with the green
so well that Amor lingers in their shadow,
he who fastens me in these low hills,
more certainly than lime fastens stone.
Her beauty has more virtue than rare stone.
The wound she gives cannot be healed with grass,
since I have travelled, through the plains and hills,
to find my release from such a woman,
yet from her light had never a shadow
thrown on me, by hill, wall, or leaves’ green.
I have seen her walk all dressed in green,
so formed she would have sparked love in a stone,
that love I bear for her very shadow,
so that I wished her, in those fields of grass,
as much in love as ever yet was woman,
closed around by all the highest hills.
The rivers will flow upwards to the hills
before this wood, that is so soft and green,
takes fire, as might ever lovely woman,
for me, who would choose to sleep on stone,
all my life, and go eating grass,
only to gaze at where her clothes cast shadow.
Whenever the hills cast blackest shadow,
with her sweet green, the lovely woman
hides it, as a man hides stone in grass...*********************************************************************************************0
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