Dlančnik (PDA)

Poglejte polno različico : Za Doxi


Strani : [1] 2

solsikke
09.01.2004, 20:43
Za trenutke, ko si boš zaželela...

Bina Štampe - Žmavc
Daljava

Odsanjala sem jo nocoj v daljavo -
ne takšno, klavstrofobično veliko,
doma, pretesno uokvirjen v sliko -
star blizu, razprostranjen v širjavo...

Ki ne tesni na oknih z vsepogledom,
kot stumpan nos pritisnjenim ob šipo,
in z mikroskopsko slo odre obliko
zaslinju sanj in vekam zvezdogledov.

Daljavo torej, ki se v dalje viha,
ne lega kot udav okrog vratu
in brez oznake soda ali liha

je daljni tam in tu in včasih tiha
zrahlja mi vzglavnik, ko se denem spat -
daljava pač... še neuzrtih nad...


http://p.vtourist.com/707222.jpg


Se nadaljuje ;)

solsikke
10.01.2004, 08:39
Hehehehe... Ni za kaj Doxi :kisses:
Sej v bistvu sem si tole bolj zamislila kot temo, na katero bi folk lahko popal dela (delčke) mlajših slovenskih pesnikov/pisateljev; za tiste, ki recimo nimajo možnosti dnevnega dostopa do te literature.
Vem, da tebe zanima, mogoče bo pa še kakšnega, tako da vabim vse, da prispevate. :blush:
Zmeraj je fino spoznavat novo in širit znanje :)
Aja, pa jst bom kr z Bino nadaljevala, ker vidim, da ti je všeč :shy:

Fakaalofa lahi atu !

paradox
10.01.2004, 08:49
quote:Originalna objava solsikke

[blue]Hehehehe... Ni za kaj Doxi :kisses:
... temo, na katero bi folk lahko popal dela (delčke) mlajših slovenskih pesnikov/pisateljev;

Sol, dobra zamisel...:approve:

Abramelina
10.01.2004, 18:09
Samo ta samota

Med razbitinami tisočerih ogledal ...
niti neba ni ne sonca niti zemlje.
Samo ta samota, vse sama osama (omama),
samost med razkropljenimi jazi -
mali edini svet in hkrati vsa vesolja ...
a brez vsakršnih zvezd, kajti jaz sem utrinek,
ki samega sebe osvetljuje in bodri ...
roki smeha in joka sta sklenjeni
in vlečeta druga drugo ...
k sebi - k meni.

Vse, kar mi je tuje, poznam ...
a hitim v deželo Tam,
kjer se trije služabniki časa
nikoli ne srečajo ...
neizmerno so si tuji - daleč.
Izdalajci, nepokorniki, revolucionarji.
Metafizični krojači, ki krojijo Neizrekljivo,
ne da bi kdaj začeli ... niti končali -
A začel sem in končujem Jaz.

Arthur Dorfherr

Če ima kdo še kakšno pesem od njega, bi je bila zelo vesela...

solsikke
12.01.2004, 18:55
Franky, kaj nej rečem. Mogoče boš pa kdaj dojel.
Packaš mi pa lahko na OS, če si že lih volje take. ;)

Bina Štampe Žmavc

Antika

Razstavila sem svoje stare sanje
v vitrini za spreminjastim vitražem
in zdaj oprezam, skrita za opažem,
čeprav nihče še ni povprašal zanje.

Očitno jih razstavljam pač le zase -
figurice iz krhke steklovine,
posestnica relikvij in tišine
si tabernakljam lepe zlate čase:

božične urice iz antikvara
in sliko princa (še ko spi, me vara),
ki konja je prodal pred prvo ježo,

in pesnika, ki me je v vigred svežo
kot Beatrice rimal v popku stiha,
a zdaj, ko le pozdravi, se zadiha...



Fakaalofa lahi atu !

orchid
12.01.2004, 19:07
OKAMENELO SRCE

Magdalena Metelko


Imela sem čuteče srce, polno, prepolno ljubezni.
Imela sem občutljivo, širokosrčno srce.
Za žalost dojemljivo,
za veselje dojemljivo.

Pa so mi storili preveč krivic.
Storili so mi krivico prvič -
globoko se je zarezala v srce.
Storili so mi jo drugič -
razrezano srce se je skrčilo.
Tretja krivica
pa je dokončno uničila moje boleče srce.
Bolelo je neznosno,
bolelo je še in še, bolj in bolj.
Vse preveč krivic nakopičenih,
preveč nožev zapičenih.
Skoraj bi strlo to ubogo srce.
Skrčilo se je v zadnjem dihu.
Sklenilo je, da se bo skrilo. Toda kam?
Kam naj se skrije?
Kam naj ubeži »rabljem«?
Povsod ga najdejo,
zopet ranijo, nikjer ne dajo mu miru.

Tega ne prenesem več!
Kamen, prosim te, daj mu zavetje,
kamen zrasti okoli mojega srca.
Rasti! Rasti čim hitreje, rasti čim debelejše,
da ničesar več ne bo čutilo - ne veselja, ne gorja.
Da le več ne bo bolelo.

Živim. Živim naprej.
Živim brez srca.
Nisem le ozkosrčna, ker imam v kot stisnjeno, skrčeno srce, sem trdosrčna.
Kameni oklep ne pusti srcu, da bi živelo, se gibalo.
Ne pusti mu, da bi delovalo, da bi ljubilo.
Sem brezsrčna - saj srca pravzaprav ni več,
ker ne more komunicirati skozi kamen.

Živim z okamenelim srcem.
Živim!

Je to sploh življenje,
ko nisem niti vroča, niti hladna, ampak mlačna.
Sem mlačna mlakuža, trpko smrdeča po kislem blatnem mahu, izhlapevajoča v sivo mračno meglo.

Lahko mi rečeš,
da sem najlepša na svetu,
lahko mi rečeš,
da mi podariš milijon tolarjev,
pa se niti nasmehnila ne bom.
Lahko umreš pred mojimi nogami,
pa te ne bom pobrala.
Niti trznila ne bom.
Kamen okoli srca me ščiti pred vsemi udarci.
Pred udarci krivic, pred udarci gorja
in pred udarci veselja in sreče.

Saj sploh ne živim. Jaz životarim.
Tako ni vredno živeti.
Bolje je umreti, ali pa srce odpreti.
Tako živeti ne morem več.
Sklenem - nekaj je potrebno ukreniti.
Kličem na pomoč višje sile:
»Pomagajte mi, dajte mi idejo, kaj naj storim?«

Skrivnostno mi prišepnejo, naj razbijem oklep.
Nima smisla skrivati se pred življenjem
in ga ne živeti.


Pomembno je ljubiti vse.
Sebe.
Vse ljudi.
Celo vesolje.
Kadar imaš odprto srce, ki je sposobno ljubezni,
ti nihče in nič ničesar več ne more.
Celo krivice ti ne more več storiti.
Tudi če jo storijo, te ne bo prizadela,
ampak se bo od tebe odbila kot žogica.
Če daješ brezpogojno ljubezen,
ne moreš prejemati drugega kot ljubezen.

Po nasvetu VIŠJE SILE sem se odločila.
Odločila sem se,
da prevzamem odgovornost za svoje dejanje.
Imam voljo.
Imam moč.
Imam ljubezen.

Le organa za ljubezen nimam.
Zato je treba samo odpreti srce.
Streti oklep.
Osvoboditi ga.
Pa začnimo:

Vzamem šivanko,
srce, pomagaj mi!
Ti meni, jaz tebi.
Oba se morava osvoboditi.
Opogumi naju drobna luknjica v kamnu.
Skoznjo se zasveti prvi žarek
okamenele ljubezni iz srca.
Ničesar se ne boj!
Kmalu boš lahko spet dajalo ljubezen,
žarečo kot ogenj.
Nadoknadila bova vse,
kar sva zamudila.
Ljubila bova tako močno,
da bo z najino ljubeznijo
pregreto vse vesolje.
Da bo nastopila nova doba,
doba ljubezni.

Luknja v oklepu okamenelega srca se veča.
Vzamem šilo,
srce, pomagaj mi!
Napni se,
striva ta grozeči oklep!

Hočeš iti na svobodo?

Kamen je že vidno počil, že ima razpoko!
Vzamem izvijač. Povečajva razpokano razpoko!
Še kladivce vzamem, pa bo šlo. Srce pomagaj!
Razpoka se veča, veča in veča.
Zdaj pa s kladivom!
Veča se. Te že vidim!
Vidim te moje ubogo, živo zazidano srce.
Še malo, pa boš svobodno.
Spet boš čutilo.
Vzamem topo sekiro. Še malo.
Vzamem »macolo«.
BUUUUUUUM!

Srce, no vidiš, je že mimo!
Končno si spet svobodno, dokončno svobodno.
Nikoli več te ne bom dala v kamniti oklep.
Oba sva svobodna.
Zdaj vsaj veva, kaj je najina naloga.
Ljubiti, ljubiti vse.
Še posebno takšne,
ki tudi sami trpijo v kamnitem oklepu.
Takšne, ki imajo kot midva še pred nekaj trenutki okamenelo srce.
Pokaživa jim pot do osvoboditve.
Čaka naju ogromno dela.

Posodiva jim vse orodje: od šivanke do »macole«!
Midva ga ne potrebujeva več.

Kaj pa je tole?
Na tleh negibno leži kup sesutega kamenja in peska.
Mar imamo nov kamnolom?
Od kje neki se je vzelo toliko peska?
Pisani kamenčki, bleščeči kamenčki
in skale v vseh mogočih barvah.

Skrbno jih poberem, natančno jih presejem.
Veličastno jih natrosim na platno, da oživijo.
Naj bodo za večno prilepljeni na stoletno platno
za spomin na premagan kamniti oklep
okoli mojega srca.
Dolgo so se tesno prilegali na ljubeče srce.
Od njega so se naučili ljubezni.
Naj viseči na stenah kot dragocen okrasek
sevajo ljubezen.

TISOČLETNI KAMNI
NA STOLETNEM PLATNU
SEVAJO LJUBEZEN
VSEM LJUDEM, Z VEČNO DUŠO.

Na težkih kamnih pa je nežno pripeto
drobno kurje pero, moj zaščitni znak.
Zatrepeta ob vsakem rahlem dihu.
Dihu življenja, pravega življenja.
Naj bo znamenje ljubečega,
čutečega in občutljivega srca,
ki tudi tenkočutno zatrepeta ob vsakem dihu.

Spet se smejem, zopet sem sposobna sočutja.
Celo jokati znam, kadar mi je hudo.
Jokam lahko tudi zate, smejem se lahko tudi zate.
Srce mi zaigra ob pogledu na žametni mah,
na katerem raste drobna gobica.
Pokrijem jo z vlažnim listjem, da bo laže zrasla.
Pogovarjam se z mogočnimi drevesi,
ki skozi svoje šumeče krošnje spuščajo name
zadnje žarke zahajajočega sonca.
Uživam, ko mi veter suši mokre lase.
Sedem na kamen in nabiram kamenčke.
Občudujem pajka,
ki se bliskovito spusti mimo mojega nosu
po svoji svileni nitki do šelestečega listja na tla.
Med pranjem solate rešim ubogo strigalico,
ki bi skoraj utonila v koritu.
Pobožam otroke po svilenih glavicah.
TV gledam v objemu dragega.
Srečna sem.

Srce ni več mlačno.
Je vroče kot razžarjeno oglje
in ledeno kot sneženi kristal.

Ljubim močna nasprotja.
Ljubim grozeče nasprotno.
Ljubim črno in belo skupaj.
Ljubim celoto in v celoti.

Vesolju hvala:
za moč.
za idejo.
za življenje.

HVALJENO VESOLJE!
VESOLJU HVALA!



________________________
Potopila bi se v mavrico....
http://www.orchidworks.com/orchids/mayphals/smallgif/carol026.gif

paradox
13.01.2004, 06:58
Solsikke...ANTIKA:approve:

solsikke
13.01.2004, 10:16
Vidim, da ti je Bina všeč. :approve:
Itak je tle dovolj prostora, s časom ti lahko celo njeno zbirko napišem ;)

Brezpot

Brezpot bila je pot, med hrastjem žila,
in hrast, ki ga več ni, čil sredi gajev
je šumotljal od želodnih smehljajev,
ko sem pod njim dekletce se vozila:

s kolesom, plavim kot nebo jeseni,
se strahoma peljala skozi gozd
in zgodnji mrak kot nepovabljen gozd
je na pedalih stal tesno ob meni

za gozdnim robom shranjena prostost –
miže, da ne bi česa opazila,
ko dobra luna, stara baterija,

razširi v mraku svoj rešilni snop
in ljubi oče stopa mi naproti…
in padla noč, in varno je ob poti…

http://www.usefilm.com/photos/users/13987/gallery/267265.jpg
Dirck DuFlon

solsikke
13.01.2004, 22:14
Bina

Samo-var

Varim samoto v tihem dolu sanje:
tihotno, sama s sabo obložena
odmikam satje svojega imena,
si spnem samotnost z lasnico vestalke.

Neslišno, s pronicljivim mirom bralke,
si nitkam dolgo, nemerljivo samost
in volčji molk, metuljno samovdanost
gosenice v krilatem snu plesalke...

(Nezmotene navznot, ko se odšteva:
tako med prst izginjajo kosti
golobov, močeradov in ljudi,

tja, v neprisotne, blede oddaljine,
kjer bel in večen traja in kipi
v medzvezdju časov samovar tišine...)

http://www.usefilm.com/photos/users/17795/gallery/234976.jpg
Vitor Dias

paradox
14.01.2004, 04:58
Sol, ne samo lepi verzi...tudi kombinacije slik...in vse ostale barvne malenkosti:approve:

(ps:...dajes mi obcutek, da imas podoben okus:))

--------------------------------
Pancho, hvala za kratek stih:kisses:;)

solsikke
14.01.2004, 21:43
Bina

Kot zmeraj

Pod slapom pena dne - čez rob večera
prav kmalu zdrsnil bo golob teme -
kot zmeraj, kar je svet, se noč začne
s prhutom senc in zarjo, ki zamira...

Dir veveric, tihotno ščepec žira
kot majhen ptič ščebetnil je na pot,
iz hiš večerno rukanje posod
v tišino zriše živ polmer nemira...

Še zlat zavzdih - in noč širokozvezdna
opaše tam za slapom skrita brezdna
v nesnoven temnovišnjevi obroč.

In zjutraj se bo, noči kljubujoč,
zdanila zarja, zdajle nedosežna,
kakor bo jutri tale zvezdna noč...

http://www.usefilm.com/photos/users/13937/gallery/124348.jpg

Fakaalofa lahi atu !

franky
15.01.2004, 07:28
več kot le pesem
nemirnega srca
se budi
ob melodiji
tvojih ustnic
spetih z nasladnim
občutkom
ko sežeš v moje
skrivnostne kotičke

________________________
predno sem postal odrešenik, sem bil taksist
http://central.sancarlos.k12.ca.us/britt/poetry/pen.gif

paradox
16.01.2004, 05:10
Franky, a je ta tud zame:tongue:

-----------------
Sol, le tako dalje:approve::)

solsikke
19.01.2004, 22:18
Bina

Sneg

Vso noč je sneg vatiral veje smrek -
še zmeraj gosto, kakor sipa, pada -
in zima, nedotaknjena in mlada,
radira gaz tihoti na poteh.

Pozabljeno nebo, nizko pri tleh,
in v vatasto tihnino veter brije
etude sipke iz filharmonije
sveta daljav onkraj srebrnih vek.

(Tihljavi neon..., ko roje svetilke
ozvezdja k tlom zamaknjenih snežink
in stihoma na šp.ičkah fantazije

se muzajo v sneg muze četrtink...!)
Cel vrt kot raztopljen oblak tišine
in grem čez nedotaknjen biser zime.

http://smith.usefilm.com/photos/users/28359/gallery/276619.jpg

Fakaalofa lahi atu !

paradox
20.01.2004, 02:26
:kisses: Sol :kisses:, prav vsaka ima svoj car ...
Thanks :approve:

franky
21.01.2004, 12:32
zaspi in
sanjaj svoje ptice
na obzorju
kuj pesem
svojega srca
v namišljene zvezde
in verjemi zgodbam
ki rojevajo in lijejo
se iz srca

________________________
predno sem postal odrešenik, sem bil taksist
http://central.sancarlos.k12.ca.us/britt/poetry/pen.gif

paradox
21.01.2004, 17:42
uf, :tongue::tongue::clown:

solsikke
28.01.2004, 19:25
Bina

INTERMEZZO

September razpršen... Sonce večerno
oblakom nepovabljena monštranca -
je po dežju, koprenasta distanca
spotega v dalji hribe kakor sliko...

Bel angel je pustil nad zelenico
perut megle, prislonjeno ob brezo,
in mimo, v tihem, sipkem intermezzu
hiti samotni sprehajalec s psico.

Oklevajoč, in lic le polovico
svetilkam žlahtni razsvetlijo plini -
še bledi sprva, prahkasti spomini

nekdanji, se izluščijo iz dalje,
da spotoma vse bolj se razžarijo,
in noč spusti rolo na okna zarje.

http://smith.usefilm.com/photos/users/24147/gallery/293556.jpg

Fakaalofa lahi atu !

paradox
28.01.2004, 19:36
:approve:...Solsikki:kisses:

solsikke
28.01.2004, 19:48
K je ravno svež snegec pri nas.
:kisses:

Bina

SNEŽSTIŠJE

Snežstišje dolgih vzdihov, zime bele,
ko volk nadzira sneg neslišnih šap...
in dih zamira od premrlih sap,
dvomeč, da bodo kdaj še ptice pele.

Ker belo v čezneskončno steza veje,
neslišno pada s snegom noč srebrna
ob dolge hrbte smrek, kjer bela srna
prešteva nebes gole zvezdne preje...

Premrlost sanj, ki spodaj nima meje,
tam zgoraj se kristalov sna dotika,
pronica vame in se z mano tika:

še tišam dih in duh tišino šteje,
vsak hip bolj nepojavna je oblika -
snežstišje..., tihostih pod skorjo krika.

http://smith.usefilm.com/photos/users/22307/gallery/293530.jpg

Fakaalofa lahi atu !

paradox
20.03.2004, 20:10
...da obudim tole sob'co slovenske poezije:)

...na netu ni kaj prida najti...bo kdo se prilimal kaksen prispevek, al nic ne berete?:D:clown:

Pikado
21.03.2004, 16:22
Janez Ramoveš[u]
Na sunčn dan sm se z beciklam pelu </u>


Tist cajt sma taršlikuna majl,
lubje se j dobar predal,
takat sm kupu becikl,
pa še sa mi sovdi ostal.

Hlače na zvonc sm jest nosu,
spodi sm s šlisa jih spejnu,
da jih ni vlikl v kitna,
da jih nism s šmiram nasvejnu.

Blešal sa se m lakasti šulni,
podplati sa bel okovani,
s šnwodlnam sa se zapejnal,
nisa bel neč potomplani.

Na klobuku tri značke parpjete,
na neh je Triglav pisal,
lasje pa dol čez wošjesa,
h moštacam sa dobar pasal.

V varžetu jemu sm špigu,
zravn pa kampl košjen,
tistih knofu ta zlatih za srajca,
marskjer mi biv je fovšjen.

Dekline sa me ogledvale,
sa svetile se nem špange v lasih,
dnjevi sa bel takat sunčni,
taršlikuna j rasla po brig

http://foto.volja.net/user_galleries/jocker/avatar/norm_sun_2t.gif
_______________________________________
Sonce se smeje mrličem.....

paradox
21.03.2004, 18:15
:D:D:cool:...Pikado, kaj pa šnwodlnam pomeni?

Pikado
21.03.2004, 20:16
quote:Originalna objava paradox

:D:D:cool:...Pikado, kaj pa šnwodlnam pomeni?
Ne bi točno vedel, mogoče kakšne klipsne...

http://foto.volja.net/user_galleries/jocker/avatar/norm_sun_2t.gif
_______________________________________
Sonce se smeje mrličem.....

Pikado
27.03.2004, 13:28
Poezija Kiksov...


NAŠLA SI SI PRAVEGA

bodi most mi je rekla,
pa sem skočil v reko
za menoj še sto ljudi,
delaj dobro, je rekla,
pa zažgal sem gostilno,
klientela naj gori.
obrni se k veri,
je reklja ljubeče,
me prijela za roko
pogledal sem gor,
pogledal sem njo,
z žebljem staknil si oko

in rekel, ja,
našla si si pravega
večnega romantika,
nežnega, ljubečega,
zvestega in srečnega,
ki te pita s krvjo bojevnikov
in čakajočih žena
našla si si pravega

VSAK OD NAS

Mi verjameš ko citiram
starega kitajca,
mi verjameš,
da učil sem že mnoge pred njim
mi verjameš,
da sem ganges obrnil proti morju
verjameš, da z očmi
splavim tisoče ladij
če ne verjameš,
da skozi tvoje oči vidim ta svet
verjemi,
noben človek ni svet.

vsak od nas se enkrat pokvari

KAJN, TVOJ BRAT

Naj ti vratna žila zmeraj nabija,
naj srce ti pumpa v glavo kri,
tvoja cesta naj bo dolga, široka in bogata

in pihnil bom veter
dal ti bom smer,
ritem pod peto,
dam ti vse,

samo, ne mi sledit
jaz ne rabim brata
ker jaz se plazim sam
in jaz ubijat znam

JURIŠ LAHKE KONJENICE

Pljunite me ,pljunite me,
zvežite me pa me bičajte
pljunite me,
nohte s prstov mi potegnite

in naj moja kri v kanal se scedi
da podgane bodo imele hrano,
mislim da si zaslužijo to
kriv sem za vse , kar sem naredil
plačal bom
kriv sem in vse vam priznam

trgajte, trgajte,
kožo s telesa mi spraskajte
trgajte
s štirimi konji me raztrgajte


ubijte me, ubijte me
jezik mi izpulite, pa me kronajte
ubijte me,
kot mladega mizarja me križajte

http://foto.volja.net/user_galleries/jocker/avatar/norm_sun_2t.gif
_______________________________________
Sonce se smeje mrličem.....

Pikado
03.04.2004, 20:58
[u]Stane Klančnik</u>

Pesem za ples (pianissimo possibile)
dacindabacin
kaite peria pen
cin dan cingulih cin ci
dacindabacin
vukupar sapsaš pa zika
dacindabacin daba...

[u]Stane Klančnik</u>

Začetek je zaradi konca
ostalo je v pesmi
trobente so zaradi trobil in fazanov
ker psi ne znajo niti več lajati
jezik imamo zaradi cen
pomlad zaradi poletja
mati zemlja so zaradi zemljepisa
kabaret
studenčnica je zaradi pitne vode
plavalci so zaradi utopljencev
ki sem vsem v sramoto
pepel je zaradi pepelke
kadar si kakšen ribič sam napravi ribo
je voda izključno zaradi rek
kabaret
krizanteme so zaradi vencev
ure so zaradi izganjanja dneva
obraz je zaradi ogledal
smrt in umiranje sta zaradi povork
pogreb je lahko odgovoren tudi za snažilko
kabaret
ogenj je zaradi elektrike
mankajo samo še dobri električarji
krpa je zaradi blaga
lev je zaradi kralja živali
sonce je zaradi sončnega mrka
to pa ne vem kako ta mrk diši
kabaret
rane ure so zaradi delavcev
sanjam zaradi predolgih noči...
to je treba ponoviti
sanjam zaradi predolgih noči...


[u]Vlado Skala</u>

JAV BAV POEZIJA
MIJAV HAV OSLARIJA

DOGAJA SE DOGAJA
VSE VSE SE DOGAJA

[u]Stane Klančnik</u>

do konca svojih dni gnijem
ker sem se tako oglasil
korak za korakom
v pravo pesem s pravim stikom
v pravo žalost
da ne bo nikomur žal ***ati

grem nazaj v sebe
kot nož rine
v svojo rano proti resnici
močnejši od prostora
milosti
življenepisa
razvoja lepote
in blodenj

z eno od nog
z eno od nog
z eno od nog
pa si prekrijem srcenebožep

grem nazaj v sebe
s praznim prestopom za sabo
spodvijam žalost
plavam od srca co pet
zbiram glasove zank
ne samo stopinj
zato si razbijam prsi
razpadam na kup pesmi
v ta prostor
ki se imenuje zbirka

razmikam se v umiranju
razmikam se v umiranju
razmikam se v umiranju
razpotegnil sem se v prve znake življenja...


[u]Borut Hlapič</u>

PARIZ IN ČLOVEK

A je A
C je C
A ni C
kot ni C, A

http://foto.volja.net/user_galleries/jocker/avatar/norm_sun_2t.gif
_______________________________________
Sonce se smeje mrličem.....

Rodrigo
03.04.2004, 21:09
quote:Originalna objava solsikke
http://p.vtourist.com/707222.jpg

Solsi, za tole sliko pa kapo dol....

paradox
21.04.2004, 16:20
This poem uses the many meanings
of the word "line" to talk about love.


LinesMartha Collins

Draw a line. Write a line. There.
Stay in line, hold the line, a glance
between the lines is fine but don't
turn corners, cross, cut in, go over
or out, between two points of no
return's a line of flight, between
two points of view's a line of vision.
But a line of thought is rarely
straight, an open line's no party
line, however fine your point.
A line of fire communicates, but drop
your weapons and drop your line,
consider the shortest distance from x
to y, let x be me, let y be you.

paradox
21.04.2004, 16:26
This poem was published in the October 21/28, 1996 "election" double issue of THE NEW YORKER magazine. Everything published in this issue - reviews, cartoons, etc. - pertains in some way to American electoral politics, election rhetoric, etc. Ginsberg's poem, "Is About," is no exception.

Is About
Dylan is about the Individual against the whole creation
Beethoven is about one man's fist in the lightning clouds
The Pope is about abortion & the spirits of the dead...
Television is about people sitting in their living room looking at their things
America is about being a big Country full of Cowboys Indians Jews Negroes & Americans
Orientals Chicanos Factories skyscrapers Niagara Falls Steel Mills radios homeless Conservatives, don't forget
Russia is about Czars Stalin Poetry Secret Police Communism barefoot in the snow
But that's not really Russia it's a concept
A concept is about how to look at the earth from the moon without ever getting there. The moon is about love & Werewolves, also Poe
Poe is about looking at the moon from the sun
or else the graveyard
Everything is about something if you're a thin movie producer chain-smoking muggles
The world is about overpopulation, Imperial invasions, Biocide Genocide, Fratricidal Wars, Starvation, Holocaust, mass injury & murder, high technology
Super science, atom Nuclear Neutron Hydrogen detritus, Radiation Compassion Buddha, Alchemy
Communication is about monopoly telivision radio movie newspaper spin on Earth, i.e. planetary censorship.
Universe is about Universe.
Allen Ginsberg is about confused mind writing down newspaper headlines from Mars--
The audience is about salvation, the listeners are aBOUT SEX, Spiritual gymnastics, nostalgia for the Steam Engine & Pony Express
Hitler Stalin Roosevelt & Churchill are about arithmetic & Quadrilateral equations, above all chemistry physics & chaos theory--
Who cares what it's all about?
I do! Edgar Allen Poe cares! Shelly cares! Beethoven & Dylan care.
Do you care?
What are you about
or are you a human being with 10 fingers and two eyes?

paradox
21.04.2004, 16:31
...

In the same way that the mindless diamond keeps
one spark of the planet's early fires
trapped forever in its net of ice,
it's not love's later heat that poetry holds,
but the atom of the love that drew it forth
from the silence: so if the bright coal of his love
begins to smoulder, the poet hears his voice
suddenly forced, like a bar-room singer's -- boastful
with his own huge feeling, or drowned by violins;
but if it yields a steadier light, he knows
the pure verse, when it finally comes, will sound
like a mountain spring, anonymous and serene.

Beneath the blue oblivious sky, the water
sings of nothing, not your name, not mine.

Don Paterson

Vladimir Gajšek
22.04.2004, 12:08
VLADIMIR GAJŠEK:

Iz malhe popotne in dolgih let:

Up




Upal sem, upal

in nisem obupal

ob zdrsu in padcu neznanokam.



Sledili so v blato

z meščansko copato

na razprodaji mrakobnih dram.



Se vtisni stopinje

v zarje ugreznjeno sinje,

da te ne bo sram, ker si živ

in nepričakovan,

ko z mano ne veš, kam.



Tiho se ulega

mrakoba v praznino –

jaz pa pojdem ne –

kam drugam:



nekam drugam,

kjer so mirni občutki

in lepi slepi trenutki

in sem v izginotju sam:



čez ostre odseve,

čez božje reve,

ko so izžrte poti

in me več ni

niti med brezni in zidjem

ne med robidjem

ali v oblakih, nekje tam,



nekje tam,

kjer zre neslišnost

nepreštevno neznanokam.







Vladimir Gajšek, slovenski književnik, urednik spletne postaje resnice INTELY WAY

paradox
22.04.2004, 12:19
:)...Vlado, daj se mal po malhi pobrski;)

(ps:...priporocam, da ne delas tako velikih presledkov med vrsticami/verzi...se tezje cita)

paradox
24.04.2004, 21:54
:clown:
Just Because...by Natalie Dorsch

I walked up the door,
shut the stairs,
said my shoes,
took off my prayers,
turned off my bed,
got into the light,
all because
you kissed me goodnight.

paradox
25.04.2004, 07:35
Slap

Teče i teče, teče jedan slap;
Što u njem znači moja mala kap?

Gle, jedna duga u vodi se stvara,
I sja i dršće u hiljadu šara.

Taj san u slapu da bi mogo sjati,
I moja kaplja pomaže ga tkati.

--Dobrisa Cesaric

paradox
25.04.2004, 07:46
Zagonetka

Pogodi kako se raste.
Pogodi kako se lako
stigne do krova,
do laste,
oblaka punog kise,
do neke zvezde daleke
i vise
i jos vise
u cudne neke plave.

Pogodi da li kroz kragnu,
kroz nogavice,
rukave,
dok neka snaga u tebi
i neka lepota u tebi
pravo do sunda vodi?

Zazmuri pa pogodi.

A moda nije ni vazno
da se unapred setis.

Mozda se najlepse raste
kad nista ne primetis.
Mozda se najlepse biva
veci,
jos veci,
najveci,
- cuteci
sasvim citeci,
kroz neki tihi nemir
sto se u tebi stvori,
pa gori,
beskrajno gori
i nikako da izgori.

I niko ne zna sta je.

A on traje i traje.

--Miroslav Antic

paradox
13.05.2004, 19:57
...za ljubitelje kave:clown:

Coffee Love

This emotion is strong
like black coffee.
No sugar.
No cream.
Black.
Strong.

This emotion is love.
Pure.
Rich.
Addicting.

Every sip of you warms
my soul.
Your aroma awakens
my senses.

I am addicted to you.
To your taste.
Your smell.
Your touch.

One cup of you
will never be enough.

timal
19.05.2004, 08:33
Pol leta po rojstvu:D,....že takrat nastala ob tvojem sodelovanju;),...dovoli torej prosim, da ti jo tokrat uradno podarim:clown:.
Od mene tebi:D:kisses:

Sem, si, je?Kdo ve?
Spet in spet sanjam.
Pa vendar niso sanje,
Kaj je?
Iskanje,pogled, nasmeh,
črka, nota, črta, točka,
glas, misel, kretnja,dotik,
vse in nič,
več kot vse in manj od niča,
paradoks v enigmi,
zmeda v glavi, v žilah kri in ritem srca.

Have a nice day;)

paradox
19.05.2004, 20:42
quote:
Pol leta po rojstvu:D,....že takrat nastala ob tvojem sodelovanju;)...

...ah, moja aktivnost ne pozna ne casa ne prostora:cool::clown::approve::D
quote:
Od mene tebi:D:kisses:

hvala (timal/jstmal):approve::kisses:
...pa oglasi se se s kasnim prispevkom tudi ce se ne pocutis paradoksalno:clown:;)

Vladimir Gajšek
28.05.2004, 13:36
O, ti moj ljubi rajnki prijatelj Miroslav Antić, zdaj si se znašel preko Novega Sada še tukaj, v izvirniku in Sloveniji...
Kako sva nastopala na Reki - kjer si služil vojaški rok, pa si mi pravil o... (kar naj bodo radovedni bralci spletnega foruma, o čem vse si mi pravil!)
Prav vesel sem, prijatelj Miroslav, da najdem celo tukaj tvojo Uganko:


quote:Originalna objava paradox

Zagonetka

Pogodi kako se raste.
Pogodi kako se lako
stigne do krova,
do laste,
oblaka punog kise,
do neke zvezde daleke
i vise
i jos vise
u cudne neke plave.

Pogodi da li kroz kragnu,
kroz nogavice,
rukave,
dok neka snaga u tebi
i neka lepota u tebi
pravo do sunda vodi?

Zazmuri pa pogodi.

A moda nije ni vazno
da se unapred setis.

Mozda se najlepse raste
kad nista ne primetis.
Mozda se najlepse biva
veci,
jos veci,
najveci,
- cuteci
sasvim citeci,
kroz neki tihi nemir
sto se u tebi stvori,
pa gori,
beskrajno gori
i nikako da izgori.

I niko ne zna sta je.

A on traje i traje.

--Miroslav Antic


Vladimir Gajšek, slovenski književnik, urednik spletne postaje resnice INTELY WAY

paradox
03.06.2004, 05:41
They are not long, the weeping and the laughter,
Love and desire and hate:
I think they have no portion in us after
We pass the gate.
They are not long, the days of wine and roses;
Out of a misty dream
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream.

Ernest Dowson

paradox
01.07.2004, 05:36
Kenneth Burke's "Definition of Human"

Being bodies that learn language
thereby becoming wordlings
humans are
the symbol-making, symbol-using, symbol-misusing animal
inventor of the negative
separated from our natural condition
by instruments of our own making
goaded by the spirit of hierarchy
acquiring foreknowledge of death
and rotten with perfection

(qtd. in Coe 332-333).


-----------

ear

to touch it with my teeth
taste it with my tongue
moisten it with my breath
and whisper softly
gently
slowly
I love you

paradox
09.07.2004, 15:56
...naslednja dva poems paseta skupaj ...obadva od Berton Braley


-------------------

"Success"

If you want a thing bad enough
To go out and fight for it,
Work day and night for it,
Give up your time and your peace and your sleep for it


If only desire of it
Makes you quite mad enough
Never to tire of it,
Makes you hold all other things tawdry and cheap for it


If life seems all empty and useless without it
And all that you scheme and you dream is about it,


If gladly you'll sweat for it,
Fret for it,
Plan for it,
Lose all your terror of God or man for it,


If you'll simply go after that thing that you want.
With all your capacity,
Strength and sagacity,
Faith, hope and confidence, stern pertinacity,


If neither cold poverty, famished and gaunt,
Nor sickness nor pain
Of body or brain
Can turn you away from the thing that you want,

If dogged and grim you besiege and beset it,
You'll get it!

(Published in: Things as they are, 1916)

---------------------------------------
The thinker

Back of the beating hammer
By which the steel is wrought,
Back of the workshop's clamor
The seeker may find the Thought,
The Thought that is ever master
Of iron and steam and steel,
That rises above disaster
And tramples it under heel!


The drudge may fret and tinker
Or labor with lusty blows,
But back of him stands the Thinker,
The clear-eyed man who knows;
For into each plow or saber,
Each piece and part and whole,
Must go the Brains of Labor,
Which gives the work a soul!


Back of the motors humming
Back of the belts that sing,
Back of the hammers drumming.
Back of the cranes that swing,
There is the eye which scans them
Watching through stress and strain
There is the Mind which plans them-
Back of the brawn, the Brain!

Might of the roaring boiler,
Force of the engine's thrust,
Strength of the sweating toiler-
Greatly in these we trust.
But back of them stands the Schemer,
The Thinker who drives things through;
Back of the Job-the Dreamer
Who's making the dream come true!

NejkoSmejko
04.08.2004, 01:56
Vsega je enkrat konec!

Še ptice umirajo pojoč,
veter upeha se prek planjav,
in tebi zagotovo nekoč,
korak potihem bo zastal.

Vsega je enkrat konec!

Vem nehala boš ljubiti,
ko ves zguban in star,
pred tabo se želel skriti,
položen na žrtveni oltar.

Vsega je enkrat konec!

Odhajam preden sonce izgine,
škrlatni mrak prelije spomine,
naj še zadnja kapljica krvi,
v najlepši cvet se spremeni.

Vsega je enkrat konec!

In tako znova čas zavrti,
Kar lepote ujamejo oči,
Vrti in vse spet obrača,
A srca nikdar ne vrača!

Vsega je enkrat konec!

paradox
06.08.2004, 18:45
The universe is as close as the veins in your neck.
-- Russian axiom

The angle seemed askew,
an enigmatic grin hanging
at the end of the highway,
a last orange gasp.

Beethoven on the radio,
his silence tangible
between the sounds.

We pull a history in unmatched words
from two hemispheres
over empty space.

I remember
at least one ancient cell
in the body comes from stardust.

We follow the black syntax
of the moon's thoughts
out to drifting stars.

A universe expanding into nothing,
we are the space we travel to.

Rosemary Sullivan (1947-)

timal
06.08.2004, 18:56
nekoč nekje
na drugi strani
skrivnostnega nasmeha....

paradox
06.08.2004, 19:07
Two Bodies

Two bodies, balanced in mass and power,
move in a bed through the dark,
under the earliest human hour.
A night rocks, like an ark.

They reach through the ceilings of the night,
tall as animals.
Through their valleys bends the light
of their fertile hills.

Two bodies breathe their close hellos
through interlocking pores,
while that hush of beating slows,
held, with many oars,

heart over heart, leg over leg,
trading still breath, until,
heart over heart, and seed into egg,
night holds two bodies still.

Annie Finch (1956-)

paradox
06.08.2004, 19:11
Everything Is Free

Wipe away tears,
Set free your fears:
Everything is free.
Only the lonely
Need much money:
Everything is free.

Don't try to bind
The love you find:
Everyone is free.
Your lover's yours -
Surrender force:
Everyone is free.

The sun melts down,
Spreads gold around:
Everything is free.
The rain is spent
Lending flowers scent:
Everything is free.

The love you live,
The life you give:
Everything is free.

George Elliott Clarke (1960-)

freya
07.08.2004, 01:08
doxi, prilagam samo nežno sapico v vihar poezije mladih slovenskih poetov
BLUES
To je blues, ki prihaja z nočjo.
To je žalostni blues, najčudovitejša pesem.
Pomirjujoče valovi po zraku, staplja se vame, me polni.

Napisan je z barvo večerne zarje na travnike tvojih oči.
Šelestenje tvojih las mu je glasba,
gib tvojih rok je nežni ples nanjo.

To je blues, ki prihaja z nočjo in traja na veke.
Blues, ki ne pozna juter.
Umirajoči blues, moja najljubša pesem.

Posvečam jo tebi, ki te najbolj ljubim.
Pišem to jo z vsakih pogledom, z vsako besedo in dihom,
pišem jo na šarenico tvojega očesa,
na srčiko tvojega srca.

To je blues, ki prihaja s teboj.
Najčudovitejša pesem.

Marko Pavček

paradox
11.08.2004, 07:41
Freya, upam, da zapiha se kaksna prijetna sapica v tej zatohli sobici;):approve:...tudi kaksen poeticen (slovenski) vihar bi znal biti zanimiv :tongue::)

freya
11.08.2004, 07:55
prepričana sem, da bi Pavček ml. naredil velik prepih, če ne bi bilo njegovo življenje tako kratko

prijeten dan ti želim
:)

paradox
11.08.2004, 08:20
...no pol pa sploh upam, da se kaksno njegovo 'prlimas';)

...hvala, in enako tebi:)

paradox
18.08.2004, 21:53
...dandanes je kar nekaj moske populacije (vsaj na nasem kontinentu) 'zmedene' glede na to kako 'biti' moski...morda tudi kaksen med bralci tele teme :clown:...well, ta poem je kot nalasc za njih...

Male Rage Poem

Feminism, baby, feminism.
This is the anti-feminist poem.
It will get called the anti-
feminist poem. Like it or not.
Dedicated to all my friends who
can't get it up in the night,
accused of having male rage during the
day. This is for the poor buggers.
This is for me and the incredible boredom
of arguing about feminism, the right
arguments, the wrong arguments, the
circular argument, the arguments that stem
from one bad affair, from one
bad job, no job -- whatever; fill in the
blanks _____ _____, fill in the ways
in which you have been hurt. Then I'll
fill in the blanks, and we'll send rosters
of hurt to each other, mail them, stock
them for the record to say: Giorgio Di Cicco
has been hurt this way x many times.
We will stock closets of Sarah's hurt,
Barbara's hurt, my hurt, Bobby's hurt.
This is where the poem peters out ... oops! -- that's
penis mentality, that's patriarchal bull****,
exist diction and These line lengths are
male oriented.

Where did he get so much male rage?
From standing out like a man for a bunch of
years, and being called the dirty word.
"When you are 21 you will become a Man."
Christ! Doomed to enslave women ipso
facto, without even the right training.
Shouldn't have wasted ten years playing
baseball; should have practised
whipping, should have practised tying up the
girl next door, giving her cigarette burns ...
oops! Male rage again! MALE RAGE -- the words ring out --
worse than RING AROUND THE COLLAR, worse than KISSED
THE GIRLS AND MADE THEM CRY, jeezus, male rage
in kindergarten. MALE RAGE. You've got
male rage; I look inside myself and scrounge
for all this male rage. Must be there
somewhere. Must be repressing it. I write poems
faster and faster, therapeutically, to make sure
get all the rage out. But someone's
always there to say, Male Rage -- more Male Rage.
don't leave the house, workin' on my male rage.

Things may lighten up. My friends may meet
fine women at a party someday and know
what to say to them, like "I'm not a Man and
you're not a Woman, but let's have dinner
anyway, let's f*** with our eyes closed and
swap roles for an hour."

I'm tired of being a man.
Of having better opportunities,
better job offers,
too much money.
I'm tired of going to the YMCA and
talking jock in the locker room.
I'm tired of all those poems where
I inadvertently used the word "whore."
I'm tired of having little blonde secretaries type out
all my poems for me.
I'm tired of being a man.
I'm tired of being a sexist.
I'm afraid of male rage.
I'm afraid of my male rage,
this growing thing, this buddy, this
shadow, this new self, this stranger.
It's there. It's there! How could it have
happened? I ate the right things, said
yes to my mother, thought the good
thoughts.

Doc -- give it to me straight.
How long before this male rage
takes over completely?
The rest of your life.
Take it like a man.

Pier Giorgio Di Cicco (1949-)
-----------------------------------------
Notes :

RING AROUND THE COLLAR: umazanija okrog ovratnika srajce… supposedly a sign of male personal neglect.

"Georgy Porgy puddin' pie / Kissed the girls and made them cry" remains a popular nursery rhyme.

YMCA: Young Men's Christian Association.
jock: sports.

paradox
18.08.2004, 22:11
...se ena od istega pesnika...

I Want You to See

I want you to see the hole in my shirt where your
heart went through like a Colt 45, and opened
a dream at the back of the neck.
Here, let me unbutton it for you.

Notice the ribs, those sweet things you loved, notice the insides,
the parchment lampshades, the books, the furniture. Notice yourself
sitting, holding my hand on a winter night, notice the look in
my eyes, now close it all up and walk away.

Stumble, pretend you're dead. Just for me, pretend you can be
hurt by something so simple as a failed emotion. Pretend you have seen
loss.
For god's sake what was I holding when you said good morning.

Notes
Colt 45: a World War I pistol.

paradox
21.08.2004, 06:05
...mimogrede - pesem ni o hrani...

Feast

I drank at every vine.
The last was like the first.
I came upon no wine
So wonderful as thirst.

I gnawed at every root.
I ate of every plant.
I came upon no fruit
So wonderful as want.

Feed the grape and bean
To the vintner and monger;
I will lie down lean
With my thirst and my hunger.

Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)

Vintner= vinski trgovec, krcmar
Monger=branjevec, trgovec


-----------------------------
se en poznan od Edne…


My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends --
It gives a lovely light!

paradox
27.08.2004, 17:41
LOST MIRAGE

Night is here
Near bright as day
Through sheltering sky
Ancient light cascades
Sand and wind whisper
Etching their say
Dunes roll on
Like endless waves

Where is the caravan
Wherein I am one
I seek an oasis
Where one bathes in love
If I drown out here
It's by my own cause
Facedown in the desert
In some lost mirage

Deep fever dream
I am nothing but dust
Floating above her
Longing to touch
She sighs in her sleep
The air starts to swirl
Riding a moonbeam
I tumble and twirl

Caught in her breath's
Unintended kiss
A luminous mote
Falls towards her lips


Eugene King

:)

paradox
02.09.2004, 04:50
Dreams

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

Langston Hughes

paradox
02.09.2004, 04:53
A Dream Within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow:
You are not wrong who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand--
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep--while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Edgar Allen Poe

imported_n/a
06.09.2004, 01:46
Sreča

Po črnem asfaltu šibak je korak,
v mraku odmeva... bedak je bedak.

Pod zvezdami noč v hlad me zavija,
cesta je suha in smrad me odbija.
Iz odtočnih kanalov se dviga koprena,
bolečina me nosi in nima imena...

Po črnem asfaltu šibak je korak,
v mraku odmeva... bedak je bedak.

Korak za korakom cesta se vije,
v prsih srce nemirno mi bije.
Le tebe si sreča neskončno želim,
kje naj te najdem, kje te dobim?

Po črnem asfaltu šibak je korak,
v mraku odmeva... bedak je bedak.

Dolga noč mi spomine prebuja,
v mislih le ti, postajaš mi tuja.
Pogled po mrtvih hišah mi tava,
v kateri si ti, katera je prava?

Po črnem asfaltu šibak je korak,
v mraku odmeva... bedak je bedak.

Tavam in hodim, vsak up je zaman,
tavam in hodim, iskat grem drugam.
Tavam in hodim, se jutro prebuja,
nov dan mi nove upe ponuja.

:shy:







http://staregate.com/images/sg.gif (http://staregate.com)

paradox
14.09.2004, 07:40
Give Me A World of Art

Two bad plaids, side by side.
Functional gestures.
Gray cinder block.
No sound.
No singing.
No metaphors.
No rhymes.
No stories.
No once upon a times.
No forever afters.

No, give me something with snap,
something to wake me up,
something to make me take notice.
Plaids side by side?
No. Give me a look at the deeper you,
put it together shade by shade.
Cinder block?
Never! I want graceful spaces where my wings can unfold,
where I can fly.
Functional gesture?
No.
Show me the language of fingers and shoulders,
make this place sacred with swirling bodies.
No sound?
No singing?
Stop it!!
Give me tones drunk with flavor,
rhythms rooted to the seasons,
songs saturated and stinging with meaning.
No metaphors, no rhymes,
No stories, no once upon a time,
No forever afters?
No. I would die.
Teach me from the torch-lit stories,
so that I can see into me,
and into you,
and into the future.
Teach me with the wine of poetry,
how time is swept away and love remains.
Give me a world of style,
of substance,
of sensuous spirit.
Give me a world of art.

--David Gonzales

paradox
16.09.2004, 14:42
Oblici u nebnoj peni

tri noći moji dlanovi gore.
osmesima mi daješ pouke
talasima odnosiš daleko -
do ostrva sedme svesti.

ušnom školjkom prilepljen
o dno dana brojim sazvežđa
viđena u dubokoj vatri -
daleko od svog zenita
stopala zakopanih u pesak.

grudno korito u podivljalom moru
gubi dragocene tovare iskustva.
da li sam našao svoje tri tačke?
ovo je pravi pravac do sreće?

ljudi su tihi. možda pripremaju
nove i poslednje ratove. koga
da pitam - koji put vodi do tebe?
oslanjam se o prvobitnu stvar:
nadam se. ne usuđujem se na
prekoračenje. učiteljeva grobna
vrata pritiska početni kamen.

zakoračio bih u život drugi. ali
sam bez znanja. ne razaznajem
oblike u nebnoj peni. pod mladim
bademom zuje pčele. vetar vrti
mrtve putokaze - razotkrivam ...

--aslan mahmuti: mirne stvari

paradox
27.09.2004, 01:15
Koren noći

leči te desna ruka.
slova kapaju iz pera.
u plavoj noći jedem
korenje reči i misli.

i neka misao nema
reči. nema slika. to
je večno prisustvo.

možda se lomim danima.
a na usnama mi osmeh.
i raduje se ko me vidi.
a ne zna.

nema do prisustva
leka za moje rane.
nema do vas mene.

desna ruka u korenu noći
spoznaje vreme večno.

- - -

Aslan Mahmuti, Mirne Stvari

Kate
01.10.2004, 05:19
Stopinje

Stopinje se odpirajo pred menoj, ženska, stopinje, ki jim

ne vidim ne konca ne kraja, stopinje, ki me nosijo kot reka,

v katero tonem tiho in počasi, stopinje, ki me vržejo kot

veter v neizsanjane čase, ki jih ni, stopinje, ki so

prevelike zame in premajhne zate, stopinje so moj privid,

ženska, tvoj privid, obljubljajo nama dežele, v katerih ni

krivic, kjer se vse vrti hitro in nepredvidljivo, z neverjetno

naglico, in vse se vedno srečno izteče, dežele, kjer ljubezen

obvladuje vsako misel, usmerja vsak gib, vsak dotik. Stopinje

se odpirajo pred menoj, ženska, me vabijo in mamijo, stopinje,

ki jim zaupam, tako kot čarovnik zaupa kristalni krogli, zvezdam,

stopinje, ki jim sledim kot bojevnik, ki celo življenje lovi

enega samega mogočnega jelena in se ob srečanju z njim povsem

spremeni, kot da bi se ponovno rodil, stopinje so, ki jim sledim,

v neznano jim sledim, ženska, in čakam, ali me bodo privedle do

nekih drugih stopinj, tistih stopinj, ki jim mogoče ti slediš.


Novica Novaković




__________________________________________
Avoid becoming totally absorbed in immediate realities-
always remember your ultimate dreams.

paradox
02.10.2004, 02:26
:)

paradox
04.10.2004, 01:25
...se ena zlo znana kanadska balada iz casov 'zlate-mrzlice' na mrzlem severu (Yukon)...
...btw, Sam McGee was a real person...
------------------------------------------

Cremation of Sam McGee

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam ‘round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he’d often say in his homely way that “he’d sooner live in hell.”

On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka’s fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we’d close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn’t see;
It wasn’t much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o’erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and “Cap,” says he, “I’ll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I’m asking that you won’t refuse my last request.”

Well, he seemed so low that I couldn’t say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold till I’m chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet ‘taint being dead--it’s my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”

A pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn’t a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn’t get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: “You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it’s up to you to cremate those last remains.”

Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.

And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I’d often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the “Alice May.”
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then “Here,” said I, with a sudden cry, “is my cre-ma-tor-eum.”

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn’t like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don’t know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: “I’ll just take a peep inside.
I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked;” . . . then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: “Please close that door.
It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”


--Robert W. Service

paradox
06.10.2004, 03:55
"HOPE" is the thing with feathers--
That perches in the soul--
And sings the tune without the words--
And never stops--at all--
And sweetest--in the Gale--is heard--
And sore must be the storm--
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm--
I've heard it in the chillest land--
And on the strangest Sea--
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb--Of Me.

--Emily Dickinson (1861)

paradox
06.10.2004, 16:40
...

Anaximander's Count-Down

Five senses for a single heart.
Four directions of the sky for a single earth.
Three dimensions for a single space.
Two creatures for a single child.
A single life for a single death.

No word for the infinity which links
the heart, the earth, space, the child, and death.

--Milan Decleva (v originalu) ...translated in English by Boris A. Novak and Richard Jackson

paradox
10.10.2004, 02:06
Catch a Little Rhyme

Once upon a time
I caught a little rhyme

I set it on the floor
but it ran right out the door

I chased it on my bicycle
but it melted to an icicle

I scooped it up in my hat
but it turned into a cat

I caught it by the tail
but it stretched into a whale

I followed it in a boat
but it changed into a goat

When I fed it tin and paper
it became a tall skyscraper

Then it grew into a kite
and flew far out of sight...:)

--Eve Merriam

paradox
10.10.2004, 04:00
SEA FEVER

I must go down to the seas again,
to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship
and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song
and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face
and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,
for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call
that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day
with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again
to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way
where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn
from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream
when the long trick's over.

--John Masefield

paradox
11.10.2004, 18:28
:clown::approve:
Value Judgement

From my fifth floor window
I see two people walking a dog
In the rain.
The people have umbrellas
But the dog doesn’t.

Just before they move
Out of my sight,
I see the dog’s tail wagging,
But the people are not noticing
Being so busy talking.

Here, I said, is an example
Of tongues wagging,
And of a tail wagging;
And I dare say
The tail says more.

--Joseph Francis Murphy

paradox
11.10.2004, 18:30
Tree

I hope that I will always see
Among the trees the separate tree;
The tree whose branches do not spread
Symetrically above my head;
The tree whose ordinary leaves
Are less than flames, or gems, or waves;
The tree that looks a bit run down
One that will, in time, fall down;
A living thing not unlike me
That, before death, has time to be.

--Anonymous

Kate
16.10.2004, 02:37
stolp

ne dohajam te, ne morem slediti tvojemu ritmu, tvojim odhajanjem
in prihajanjem, tvojim spremembam, ne morem slediti tebi, ki si
kot kraljica, ki se zapira v svoj stolp, okoli katerega so
prepadi, globoki in temačni prepadi, v katere padam, se dvigam
in ponovno padam, in tako v neskončnost, in v stolpu je labirint,
ki ga nikoli ne prehodim do konca, blodnjak, ki me vedno
pogoltne, in pred tvojimi vrati je uganka, na katero ne znam
odgovoriti, uganka, ki me vrže daleč stran od stolpa, daleč
stran od tebe, tebe, ki me z enim samim gibom razstaviš in me
z eno samo besedo ponovno sestaviš, in ne vem več, ali sem še
ali me ni več.

novica novaković

__________________________________________
Avoid becoming totally absorbed in immediate realities-
always remember your ultimate dreams.

paradox
16.10.2004, 15:08
Sorcery

there are some people i know
whose beauty
is a crime.
who make you so crazy
you don't know
whether to throw yourself
at them
or kill them.
which makes
for permanent madness.
which could be
bad for you.
you better be on the lookout
for such circumstances.

stay away
from the night.
they most likely lurk
in the corners of the room
where they think
they being inconspicuous
but they so beautiful
an aura
gives them away.

stay away
from the day.
they most likely
be walking
down the street
when you least
expect it
trying to look
ordinary
but they so fine
they break your heart
by making you dream
of other possibilities.

stay away
from crazy music.
they most likely
be creating it
cuz
when you're that beautiful
you can't help
putting it out there.
everyone knows
how dangerous
that can get.

stay away
from magic shows.
especially those
involving words
words are very
tricky things.
everyone knows
words
the most common
instruments of
illusion.

they most likey
be saying them.
breathing poems
so rhythmic
you can't help
but dance.

and once
you start dancing
to words
you might never
stop.

--Jessica Hagedorn

klepetava
16.10.2004, 16:59
Tole je zate

Tole je zate
celo moje srce je
in knjiga ki sem ti jo hotel brati
ko bi se postarala
Zdaj sem senca
Nemiren kot imperij
Ti si ženska
ki me je osvobodila
Videl sem te ko si gledala luno
in brez pomisleka
si ljubila mene in njo
Videl sem te ko si častila vetrnice
ujete med skalami
in ljubila si mene in njih
Na gladkem pesku
med prodniki in obalo
si me sprejela v krog
in bil sem več kot gost
Vse to se je zgodilo
v resnici časa
v resnici kože
Videl sem te z otrokom
in pokazala si mi njegove dišave
in videnja
in za vse to nisi zahtevala krvi
Na premnogih lesenih mizah
okrašenih s hrano in svečami
je bilo tisoč zakramentov
iz tvoje košare
Obiskal sem tvoje telo
Obiskal sem tvoje rojstvo
dokler nisem postal dovolj majhen
in prestrašen
da sem se lahko znova rodil
Želel sem tvojo lepoto
a dala si mi več kot sebe
z menoj si delila svojo lepoto
To sem spoznal šele nocoj
ko se spominjam zrcal
izpred katerih si odšla
ko si jim dala
karkoli so zahtevala
za moj sprejem
Zdaj sem senca
Hrepenim po mejah
svojih pohajanj
in premikam se
z močjo tvoje molitve
ker klečiš
kot šopek
v jami kosti
za mojim čelom
in premikam se v smeri ljubezni
ki si jo sanjala zame

(Leonard Cohen)

Neli

paradox
18.10.2004, 03:07
They say that Hope is happiness

They say that Hope is happiness -
But genuine Love must prize the past;
And mem'ry wakes the thoughts that bless
They rose the first -- they set the last.
And all that mem'ry loves the most
Was once our only hope to be:
And all that hope adored and lost
Hath melted into memory.

Alas! it is delusion all--
The future cheats us from afar,
Nor can we be what we recall,
Nor dare we think on what we are.

--Byron

paradox
19.10.2004, 15:46
...for :(...(:D;))

Schrödinger’s Cat: The Straight Dope

By Cecil ADAMS

Dear Cecil: you’re my final hope
Of finding out the true Straight Dope,
For I’ve been reading of Schrödinger’s cat,
But none of my cats are at all like that.
This unusual animal (so it is said)
Is simultaneously alive and dead!

What I don’t understand is just why he
Can’t be one or the other, unquestionably.
My future now hangs in between eigenstates.
In one I’m enlightened. In the other I ain’t.
If you understand, Cecil, then show me the way
And rescue my psyche from quantum decay.
But if this queer thing has perplexed even you,
Then I will and won’t see you in Schrödinger’s zoo.

signed, Randy F., Chicago

Schrödinger, Erwin! Professor of physics!
Wrote daring equations! Confounded his critics!
(Not bad, eh? Don’t worry. This part of the verse
Starts off pretty good, but it gets a lot worse.)
He saw that the theory that Newton’d invented
By Einstein’s discov’ries had been badly dented.
“What now?” wailed his colleagues. Said Erwin, “Don’t panic,
No grease monkey I, but a Quantum mechanic.
Consider electrons. Now these teeny articles
Are sometimes like waves, and sometimes like particles.

“If that’s not confusing, the nuclear dance
Of electrons and suchlike is governed by chance!
No sweat though - my theory permits us to judge
Where some of ’em is and the rest of them was.”
Not everyone bought this; it threatened to wreck
The comforting linkage of cause and effect.
E’en Einstein had doubts, and so Schrödinger tried
To tell him what quantum mechanics implied.
Said Win to Al, “Brother, suppose we’ve a cat,
And inside a tube we have put that cat at,

“Along with a solitare deck and some Fritos,
A bottle of Night Train, a couple mosquitoes
(Or something else rhyming) and, oh, if you got ’em,
One vial prussic acid, one decaying ottom
Or attom - whatever - but when it emits,
A trigger device blasts the vial into bits
Which snuffs our poor kitty. The odds of this crime
Are 50 to 50 per hour each time.
The cylinder’s sealed. The hour’s passed away. Is
Our p.u.s.s.y still purring - or pushing up daisies?

“Now, you’d say the cat either lives or it don’t,
But quantum mechanics is stubborn and won’t.
Statistically speaking, the cat (goes the joke),
Is half a cat breathing and half a cat croaked.
To some this may seem a ridiculous split,
But quantum mechanics must answer to wit:
We may not know much, but one thing’s fo’ sho’:
There’s things in the cosmos that we cannot know.
Shine light on electrons - You’ll cause them to swerve.
The act of observing disturbs the observed -

Which ruins your test! But if there’s no testing
To see if a particle’s moving or resting,
Why try to conjecture? Pure useless endeavor!
We know probability - certainty, never.
The effect of this notion? I very much fear
’Twill make doubtful all things that were formerly clear.
Till soon the cat doctors will say in reports,
’We’ve just flipped a coin and we’ve learned he’s a corpse.’”

So said Herr Erwin. Quoth Albert, “Your’re nuts.
God doesn’t play dice with the universe, clutz!
I’ll prove it!” he said, and the Lord knows he tried -
In vain - until fin’ly he more or less died.
Win spoke at the funeral: “Listen, dear friends,
Sweet Al was my buddy. I must make amends.
Though he doubted my theory, I’ll say this of the saint:
Ten-to-one he’s in heaven - but five bucks says he ain’t.”

paradox
20.10.2004, 01:28
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

that this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

...kdo drug kot --Pablo Neruda

paradox
22.10.2004, 04:35
SOLITARY MAN

A lighthouse in the distance,
Waves crashing on the sand;
The haunting song of the ocean,
Kissing the soft, dry land.
He stands in the shadow of moonlight,
Absorbing nature's song;
Quiet, deep, reflective,
He stands there and he longs.
He longs for something he can't touch,
For what will make him whole;
Gazing 'cross the storm tossed waves,
The wind becomes his soul.


At times the wind within his soul,
Is peaceful, calm and sure;
Tonight it thunders with the waves,
As he stands and thinks of her.
He knows she's out there somewhere,
For he hears her song within;
In the beauty of a storm tossed night,
In the whisper of the wind.
Turning, walking quietly,
Leaving footprints in the sand;
He walks in dreams into the night,
A solitary man.

--Allison Chambers

paradox
23.10.2004, 01:07
Brezdomni pesnik piše svoji ljubici

Zgradil nama bom hišo iz besed.
Samostalniki bodo opeke
in glagoli bodo polkna.

S pridevniki si bova okrasila
okenske police
kot z rožami.

Cisto tiha bova ležala pod baldahinom
najine ljubezni.
Cisto tiha.

Prelepa in prekrhka bo najina hiša,
da bi jo ogrozila
z inflacijo besed.

In ce bova spregovorila,
bova imenovala predmete,
vidne le najinim ocem.

Ker vsak glagol
bi lahko zamajal temelje
in jih razrušil.

Zato, pst, mon amour,
pst, pour le beau demain
#224; notre maison.

--Peter Semolic


...kako malo slovenskih pesmi je na mrezi
:blackeye:...



Ljudska

Vsak pravi pesnik je pošast.
Glas uničuje in ljudi.
Petje zgraditi tehniko, ki uničuje
zemljo, da nas ne bi jedli črvi.
Pijanček proda plašč.
Lopov proda mater.
Samo pesnik proda dušo, da jo
loči od telesa, ki ga ljubi.

--Tomaž Šalamun

paradox
23.10.2004, 01:11
MY SONG

You are every moment of the day
The land and the shore
A celestial reflection
Of my island-universe
That weaves these lines
The round caress
Between the sky and sea
A quick kiss you seem
A buried memory
Of my lost dream...

You are every word
True or false
The sign memory
Of a recurring sound
The unfurled voice
That always swells aloud
The echo of the crowd
The scent of Spring
Expressing our minds
When we meet again...

--Patrizia Gattaceca

Snif
23.10.2004, 01:19
Za Doxi: (evo še ena od mene)

Sanjam a ne spim
čakam in ne dočakam
hočem in nočem.

Želim in begam
dan in noč
minute sekunde


Trenutek brez časa

Zakaj čas če je lahko večnost!
Živel bom večno in ne le sekundo
lahko si predstavljam večnost.

Živel bom, ko vas ne bo več
, ko bo mrak padal na neznan prostor
takrat se vas bom spomnil.


Za trenutek le in že me ne bo več
, ker me bo zajel mrak in izginil bom
neznano kam, skrivnostno v noč
in zavpil: "še sem tukaj in vedno bom".

Ostal bom v pesku, po katerem hodiš
ostal bom na zaprašenem papirju in
ostal bom v zraku.

Ostal bom večen večen kot zvezda na nebu,
večen kot list na drevesu, večen kot ti.

Snif (nisem nobenmu ukradel, tko, da ne težit za copyright) ;)











http://www.radio-kozmos.com/avatars/divji.gif
|Net-radio Kozmos (www.radio-kozmos.com)|
http://www.radio-kozmos.com/avatars/bgkopf.gif
a member of net-radio kozmos:
http://www.radio-kozmos.com/radio/

paradox
23.10.2004, 01:24
ZENE

Zene su s Venere bica, sto zive kod nas.
Pretrazujemo ih prstima, zeleci ih prouciti.
Cini se, da one znaju nesto bolje od nas,
nesto, sto mi ne zelimo dokuciti.
Kad ih prstima izbodemo,
mi tvrdimo, da ih znamo i odemo.

One ostaju i nikad im ne mozemo sve otet.
To nas ljuti i mi kusamo opet.

Ali kroza sve dane one nam ostaju strane,
I – mozda ce se jednom natrag na Veneru popet.

--Ivan Slamnig

:clown:

paradox
23.10.2004, 01:30
quote:Originalna objava snif

Za Doxi: (evo še ena od mene)
...

Ostal bom večen večen kot zvezda na nebu,
večen kot list na drevesu, večen kot ti.

:approve::kisses:

Snif
23.10.2004, 01:33
Sem mogu neki napisat, ker smo se včasih kr dost pogovarjal. In je blo zmeri fajn. :kisses:;)




http://www.radio-kozmos.com/avatars/divji.gif
|Net-radio Kozmos (www.radio-kozmos.com)|
http://www.radio-kozmos.com/avatars/bgkopf.gif
a member of net-radio kozmos:
http://www.radio-kozmos.com/radio/

paradox
23.10.2004, 01:35
...Thanks ;)...mas prav:cool::approve:

paradox
23.10.2004, 01:37
...

Vse kar izgleda oprijemljivo
vse kar izgleda nedosegljivo
vse kar je shranjeno v spominih
vse kar prinasajo novi trenutki

vsi razstopljeni obcutki
so ustvarjalec novih oblik
ki se kreirajo iz prezivetih delcev,
da bi zaziveli za trenutek,
ki prihaja v praznini vesolja in cloveskega raja...
za mene
za tebe
za socloveka

za nase nasmehe
za nase solze
za nasa hrepenenja
za nasa dojemanja - za nasa zivljenja

--Doxi

Snif
23.10.2004, 02:00
Lepo. :);) Je tut zanimivo kej sam napisat, k hočeš enmu neki povedat. :approve:




http://www.radio-kozmos.com/avatars/divji.gif
|Net-radio Kozmos (www.radio-kozmos.com)|
http://www.radio-kozmos.com/avatars/bgkopf.gif
a member of net-radio kozmos:
http://www.radio-kozmos.com/radio/

paradox
28.10.2004, 17:19
Alive

I saw a landing gull
haul in his wings
from flight, and thought:

'There is a going out into the dark
and a coming in out of the dark
one finds oneself between.

As between the ringing
of the hammer in cold air,
and the actual hammer-blow, witnessed
at a distance.

Or between the object and the
extremity of its lengthened
evening shadow.

Or between the words that come
out of the mouth, and those
that were in the mind before.'

One hovers
between the whole egg
and its breaking.

--Robyn Sarah

paradox
28.10.2004, 17:31
LEAVING

We take one step at a time when we leave
a love, a job, a belief
after spending days, perhaps months, years
dismissing doubts
their presence, ripples in the air
that can be as soft as moths
wings we pretend are only
the ordinary in and out of our breath
clouds against windows
clear, and one day we see our world differently
feel our hands press against that glass
the cold of it flinging us back
one last time
into the heart of a home we have known
where each piece in its usual place
seems rearranged
as if we are already gone --

--Sandy Shreve

paradox
29.10.2004, 20:30
...kanadcan o Kubi ...

Havana All Night Long

A river of stars and planets floods the sky
yet you seldom see people look up that high

maybe because they are too busy trying not to
fall into one of the sudden pits you find everywhere
a pit the size of a coffin and depth of a grave
or a tree growing out of the sidewalk and you
always bump into it though you know it's there
it's so dark you need a torch a flashlight but even if
you could find one it would cost six months wages

Not heavy but very noisy motorized traffic in Havana
so when the traffic dies out around three in the morning
then in the silence the roosters start crying
calling to one another from block to block

There are no roosters who crow like Havana roosters
they are louder than any blast on any trumpet
and much more melancholy these roosters with duende
and so full of horrendous pent-up desire and fear

There is one rooster on every block
and many chickens for every rooster
the roosters their cries are full of blood
heart-stopping as the howl of an arctic wolf

Around five in the morning the streetsweepers
one to every block start sweeping the streets
volunteers on a rotation basis happy to be alive
pleased to be playing their part mopping sweeping
and making the dark streets shine in the early light
and listening to the roosters answering each other
some near some far some here some there some nowhere

Cooperative streetsweepers competitive roosters
and here and there a teenage guard with an old rifle
and a long bayonet they smile they want to talk
but no thank you I'll just move on

and the roosters keep it up until the traffic
starts roaring again around seven in the morning

and this is the time you can go anywhere in Havana
and nobody notices you nobody bothers you
and you don't have to be continually saying
yo deseo nada or yo prefiero estar a fondo solo
nobody grabs your arm and says mi amigo sarcastically
nobody sticks their face in yours and makes sucking sounds
nobody wants to gaze into your eyes or lead you to paradise
nobody wants you to give them ten bucks for a box of cigars
or a U.S. dollar for five hundred pesos nobody wants you
to play Cuban poker with them for no money nobody wants
to take you fishing off the bridge give you a free cigar
nobody wants to look over their shoulder and tell you
all this Communist horse**** is a bunch of propaganda

It is as if you are blessedly magically invisible
and the streets are full of people quietly slowly
meandering their way to work in a perfectly blessed world

and the waves come crashing silently over the Melacón seawall
and the rising sun gleams on the freshly washed streets
and on the sides of the sensational old buildings along the Prado
(they look so nice in early morning as do los habaneros guapos)

--David W. McFadden

...Prado
http://www.caus.vt.edu/graphics/habana/prado.gif

paradox
29.10.2004, 20:42
:approve:
... se malo kanadcanov...

The Secret Place

There's a place I go, inside myself,
Where nobody else can be,
And none of my friends can tell it's there—
Nobody knows but me.

It's hard to explain the way it feels,
Or even where I go.
It isn't a place in time or space,
But once I'm there, I know.

It's tiny, it's shiny, it can't be seen,
But it's big as the sky at night . . .
I try to explain and it hurts my brain,
But once I'm there, it's right.

There's a place I know inside myself,
And it's neither big nor small,
And whenever I go, it feels as though
I never left at all.

--Dennis Lee

namgyal
29.10.2004, 21:20
quote:Originalna objava paradox

:approve:
... se malo kanadcanov...




Paradox, ful si me zaintrigiral. Vidim, da imaš precej Kanadčanov v malhi. Sam se profesionalno zelo zanimam zanje. Bi mi zaupal, od kod jih jemlješ (če mi morda lahko daš kako novo informacijo?)...

Zate pa mala izmenjava...



Raztelešenje ljubezni

Če bi se zgodilo, da umreš,
bi morda rekli, da sem te ljubil:
ljubezen je popolnost kot je smrt,
in nobena ne rodi krivih pričevanj za drugo-
A ti ostajaš živa.

Ne, ne ljubim te
sovražim besedo,
to zasebno trinoštvo javnega glasu,
tvoja svoboda ostaja tvoja, ne moja:
a stisni mojo oddvojeno norost kakor meč
in si ga zabadaj v telo vso noč.

Če bo smrt z najinih kosti olupila vse razen kosti,
potem je tu meso, meso, ki je sladko pijano
kakor kupice vina v varljivi lunini bleščavi:
iztegni roko in ugasni mesečino,
saj je morda sploh nikoli ni bilo,
torej mi nikoli ničesar ne obljubi:
samo prek teme sezi z roko,
iztegni jo preko daljave te noči
in se še enkrat dotakni ganljivega trenutka
preden zaspiš-


Al Purdy (1918-2000)


pa še tale njegova...

Miši v hiši


Ena od njih švigne po tleh ob zavesi
čisto do moje negibne noge -
Ko gledam prizor me prevzame občutek
da se srečujeta, mirno kot enakovredna vrstnika,
predstavnika dveh izrednih ras -
Ampak miš ne bo nikoli tako prekleto neumna
da bo odšla in napisala pesem o tem

paradox
29.10.2004, 21:34
quote:Originalna objava namgyal

Zate pa mala izmenjava...

...dobra zamenjava :cool:

...you can check here if you want ;)
http://www.library.utoronto.ca/canpoetry/index_poet.htm


------------------------------------

...da nadaljujem (se vedno kanadcani)

ONIONS

The onion loves the onion.
It hugs its many layers,
saying, O, O, O,
each vowel smaller
than the last.

Some say it has no heart.
It surrounds itself,
feels whole. Primordial.
First among vegetables.

If Eve had bitten it
instead of the apple,
how different
Paradise.

--Lorna Crozier

paradox
29.10.2004, 21:43
:clown:
The satisfaction of knowing

"Elvis is dead," the man at the bar
says, "John Lennon gunned down
and Hemingway blew his brains
out fearing cancer, kills himself 'cause
he feared death, ain't that
a hoot? What I mean, though, all
the giants gone, died not young necessarily
but younger than they should have." He takes
a guzzle of beer, wipes foam
from his sensual mouth, blows his nose
in a napkin embossed with the name
of the place, The Empress of China. A comma
of suds clings to the corner of his lower lip.
"Who the hell," the fellow next to him
asks, "is Hemingway?" For a moment,
the bar is silent, the conversations
at each table and puddle having run the length
of their cycles, the silence blossoming, filling
itself with the echo of a shotgun
blast, the universe drawing a sharp breath
in surprise. "What was that?" the second guy
asks, he's pink-faced as a fresh ham, just
as blank. "What was what?" the first guy
says, turning back to the bar, to his beer,
to the satisfaction of knowing.


--Dave Margoshes
:D

paradox
29.10.2004, 22:08
:approve:
QUIET

It is the blue
side of the moon I felt
yesterday
with my fingertips.

It is a cave's
icicles: hermetic
decending slowly in the dark
while a thousand evolutions
pass under the sun.

It is the center of the storm,
the eye of the orgasm,
breathing in whispers later
on male and female nipples.

It is the secret spine
which rides the tree's vertical,
generating yearly rings.

It is something I have forgotten
I almost remember
each morning
as the language of waking mind
shapes colors and movements
of last night's dream.

It is blue in color
like steel and ice,
sky and water.
That is all I know
about the quiet.
It hides from speech
as from grasp.


--Libby Scheier

paradox
30.10.2004, 23:01
Motion

Most motion now is at a speed
No Roman or enlightened despot ever dreamed
As truth. The landscape we see we miss;
The oceans we cross we overlook;
The accelerations of word and style
Disguise the flat art we flirt with
The thoughts we dispose of after use.
Speed in this palliative world
Amounts to no executive privilege
Nor does the distance we devour
Sustain us. We dream faster
Than we travel, and the dreams
Speed back to what they meant
When sceptic, wise and mortal Socrates
Lay paralyzed at the apex of his argument.

--John Bruce

paradox
30.10.2004, 23:06
Between The Trees

A long time ago
I used to climb
The coconut tree.

Now my only child
Called, "Look daddy,
I climb the maple tree."

I smiled at her…
She at me.

Something passed between
the trees.

--Rudyard Fearon

paradox
30.10.2004, 23:28
...se vedno kanadcani...

Routines

After a while the body doesn't want to work.
When the alarm clock rings in the morning
the body refuses to get up. "You go to work if you're so
keen,"
it says. "Me, I'm going back to sleep."
I have to nudge it in the ribs to get it out of bed.
If I had my way I'd just leave you here, I tell it
as it stands blinking. But I need you to carry your end of
the load.

I take the body into the bathroom
intending to start the day as usual with a healthy dump.
But the body refuses to perform.
Come on, come on, I say between my teeth.
Produce, damn you. It's getting late.
"Listen, this is all your idea," the body says.
"If you want some turds so badly you provide 'em.
I'd just as soon be back in bed."
I give up, flush, wash and go make breakfast.
Pretty soon I'm at work. All goes smoothly enough
until the first break. I open my lunchpail
and start to munch on some cookies and milk.
"Cut that out," the body says, burping loudly.
"It's only a couple of hours since breakfast.
And two hours from this will be lunch, and two hours after
that
will be the afternoon break. I'm not a machine
you can force-feed every two hours.
And it was the same yesterday, too...."
I hurriedly stuff an apple in its mouth to shut it up.

By four o'clock the body is tired
and even more surly. It will hardly speak to me
as I drive home. I bathe it, let it lounge around.
After supper it regains some of its good spirits.
But as soon as I get ready for bed it starts to make trouble.
Look, I tell it, I've explained this over and over.
I know it's only ten o'clock but we have to be up in eight
hours.
If you don't get enough rest, you'll be dragging around all
day
tomorrow again, cranky and irritable.
"I don't care," the body says. "It's too early.
When do I get to have any fun? If you want to sleep
go right ahead. I'm going to lie here wide awake
until I feel good and ready to pass out."

It is hours before I manage to convince it to fall asleep.
And only a few hours after that the alarm clock sounds again.
"Must be for you," the body murmurs. "You answer it."
The body rolls over. Furious, and without saying a word,
I grab one of its feet and begin to yank it toward the edge
ofthe bed.

:hammer:
:D
:clown:

--Tom Wayman

paradox
31.10.2004, 20:59
We Need These Silences

We need these silences
the spaces that lie
between moments of sharing,
those times when it is
enough to feel the presence
of the other, the knowing
that this silence, too,
is a gift;
the silence of the mountains
or the dark forest,
or the plains at night,
reaching out to touch
some part of us
that craves time alone;
the moments before sleep,
or after waking, when the world
rises or falls into order,
finds shape and meaning
of its own.
We need these silences
as we need the words
we must first learn to say
and then forget
as we come to know
silence.

--Glen Sorestad


sometimes...

paradox
01.11.2004, 00:18
Early Morning

Something that never was,
that now is
and that again will not be­­


of which I am the observer
(who will also not be)
but who observes as from an eternity
of no time
the moment now,

the salesman who made a deal,
the young woman who paid him,
the red-lipped college girls, bold, a bit shy,
the counter girls on a coffee break,
the macho men,

all milling about unconscious
of one another
unconscious of the hand of time

that makes all things vanish, all fade,
all suffer change.
And they live today as if they were forever,
when they are here only for a day.

And I observe, and I am like them
only for a day

--Louis Dudek

paradox
01.11.2004, 00:22
Books Are

Books do not breathe, or
share your soup, stroke your
arms, inhale your rare perfumes.
Books do not spit, love or scheme
for more. Books do not live
parallel lives. Books do not
pray or hold mirrors unto God.
Books do not die with regrets.

What books do is talk
endlessly. Not to you or
the sycamores or the china
cups, but to no avail at all.
Talk, more talk. Books have
something to say and are bound
to say it. Books equal
their words exactly.

Since my last letter I have
been a book or several books
together. I do not listen
or spit. I talk to thin air.

Books are and emphasize.
Nothing, they chant and storm
will ever stay the same. The
wind on everything, pages
turned, pages torn.


--Barry Dempster

paradox
01.11.2004, 18:17
MICROCOSMIC

What if
the universe is
a single spangle of light

and whenever a first breath
flares out of darkness
time and space unfold

like a giant bloom by Georgia O'Keeffe,
new life a microscopic
vein in a yellow petal?

Or fragrance spills inside out
a cosmos of sun-and-star pollen
floating across the roof of a chlorophyll cell?

Would it matter
that God could puff up
time like opal balloons,

nanoseconds
bulging to eons
high on a transparent string,

or puncture infinity
into a mirror
flash?

Who are we to explain
that man is the measure,
not mites or nebulae,

that air is the mother element,
not water, not silver,
not fire?

What if
the whole wonder
does not revolve on our eye

but
blinks us awake
only when a root groans

or an asteroid
winds up night's clock,
tail showering pollen into new worlds?

:dontknow:
:approve:
:)

--Susan Ioannou

namgyal
01.11.2004, 22:50
quote:Originalna objava paradox

We Need These Silences

We need these silences
the spaces that lie
between moments of sharing,
those times when it is
enough to feel the presence
of the other, the knowing
that this silence, too,
is a gift;
the silence of the mountains
or the dark forest,
or the plains at night,
reaching out to touch
some part of us
that craves time alone;
the moments before sleep,
or after waking, when the world
rises or falls into order,
finds shape and meaning
of its own.
We need these silences
as we need the words
we must first learn to say
and then forget
as we come to know
silence.

--Glen Sorestad

doxi... tole je najbrž lepše, kaj?


Potrebujemo te tišine


prostranstva, ki ležijo

med trenutki, ko si jih delimo,
ta čas, ko je dovolj
začutiti samo prisotnost
drugega, le vednost,
da je ta tišina tudi
darilo;

tišino gora
ali temnih gozdov,
ali planjav v noči,
ki se proži, da se dotakne
delčka v nas,
hlepečega samo po času;

trenutke preden zaspiš
in ko se zbudiš, ko svet
pada ali se dviguje v red,
odkrije obliko in pomen
iz sebe.

Potrebujemo te tišine,
kot potrebujemo besede,
ki se jih najprej naučimo govoriti
in jih potlej pozabimo,
kot polagoma spoznavamo
in verjamemo
tišini.


Sorestad je bil pred dvema letoma na Vilenici in je, mimogrede, prav prijeten gospod...

paradox
02.11.2004, 01:40
quote:Originalna objava namgyal


doxi... tole je najbrž lepše, kaj?


Potrebujemo te tišine
...


Sorestad je bil pred dvema letoma na Vilenici in je, mimogrede, prav prijeten gospod...

...Ves da:cool:...materina beseda je vedno najlepsa:approve:

Mimogrede, a dosti prevajas tujo poezijo/liriko ali
je bil to samo en spontan trenutek v tejle sob'ci?

Vilenica - tista na nasem Krasu?
...malo starejsi gospod iz kanadske prerije ...s prijeten mislis verjetno predvsem prijazen...znanec/prijatelj?...btw, med njegovimi prebranimi poems mi je vsec samo tale :shy:;)

namgyal
03.11.2004, 00:03
quote:Originalna objava paradox

quote:Originalna objava namgyal


doxi... tole je najbrž lepše, kaj?


Potrebujemo te tišine
...


Sorestad je bil pred dvema letoma na Vilenici in je, mimogrede, prav prijeten gospod...

...Ves da:cool:...materina beseda je vedno najlepsa:approve:

Mimogrede, a dosti prevajas tujo poezijo/liriko ali
je bil to samo en spontan trenutek v tejle sob'ci?

Vilenica - tista na nasem Krasu?
...malo starejsi gospod iz kanadske prerije ...s prijeten mislis verjetno predvsem prijazen...znanec/prijatelj?...btw, med njegovimi prebranimi poems mi je vsec samo tale :shy:;)




V Vilenici na našem Krasu, kajpada. In prav imaš - prijazen... znanec, recimo. Se strinjam glede všečnosti pesmi; sam jih sicer poznam nekoliko več takšnih, ki so mi všeč, ne bi ga pa postavil v vrh kanadske poezije. Zato sem se tudi začudil, da so ga povabili v Vilenico. Bi si kdo drug to bolj zaslužil. (Navkljub temu, da je prijazen).

Kar se mene tiče. Saj sem rekel, da so Kanadčani moje profesionalno zanimanje. :) Tako, da zelo dobro vem, kaj se v zvezi z njimi dogaja v Sloveniji.:D
Več morda na OS. Ampak ne danes.
So mi Kanadčani (pa ne tile na forumu) že vzeli preveč časa in bom jutri zjutraj spet ***... ježa.:D:D:D

paradox
03.11.2004, 05:01
...hvala za info. in da si me izkljucil :D:cool:;)

------------------------------------
...gremo naprej ...se vedno maple leaf ...


A Grain of Rice

Such majestic rhythms, such tiny disturbances.
The rain of the monsoon falls, an inescapable treasure,
Hundreds of millions live
Only because of the certainty of this season,
The turn of the wind.

The frame of our human house rests on the motion
Of earth and of moon, the rise of continents,
Invasion of deserts, erosion of hills,
The capping of ice.

Today, while Europe tilted, drying the Baltic,
I read of a battle between brothers in anguish.
A flag moved a mile.

And today, from a curled leaf cocoon, in the course of its rhythm,
I saw the break of a shell, the creation
Of a great Asian moth, radiant, fragile,
Incapable of not being born, and trembling
To live its brief moment.

Religions build walls round our love, and science
Is equal of truth and of error. Yet always we find
Such ordered purpose in cell and in galaxy,
So great a glory in life-thrust and mind-range,
Such widening frontiers to draw out our longings,
We grow to one world
Through enlargement of wonder.
:)

--F. R. Scott

paradox
03.11.2004, 05:08
Fruit in Early Autumn

Fat and hard flowers
filled with pits
covered with skin
lurch on branches
leaves dark green in mourning
soon to sing briefly
in purple and orange,
then fall.

Funny thing, fruit,
edible babies
of the plant world.

These trees seem
sometimes what
we always wanted
our parents to be
tall and strong
rooted in place
in case we return.

Sometimes what
we were always afraid
they really were,
beings ready
to let us fall
when our weight
bent them in the wind.

--Libby Scheier

paradox
04.11.2004, 04:28
The purity of absence

Absence makes the heart
grow not fonder necessarily
but fuller, pails overflowing
with melt as you bail
the window wells at the close
of the longest winter, its cold
still lingering in the hills
like snipers protecting the flanks
of a retreating army. Why was
the winter so cold, so long?

The shape of your absence
in my bed, at the table, the feel
of your absence in my arms
at dusk, the absence of your voice
murmuring good night, its silence
resonating, the absence
of your scent on the pillow, your
absence carved in ice, traced
with a finger in the frost
on a window, the purity
of absence, the hard, brilliant seed
at its core, and finally the arrival
of its end, my mouth filling
with water, our hearts
filling with melted snow
beginning the long hiss
to boil, the pot spilling over

--Dave Margoshes

paradox
04.11.2004, 04:31
Right View

Look.
Open the eyes of your heart
and regard the garden.

Look with wisdom,
withholding judgement;
look with acceptance
at what is
and set aside
what should be.

See the coming into being
and the decay,
the arising
and the passing away.

Look deeply
into the essence
of all manifestation;
look at the commonplace,
it needs no change
or alteration.
Every thing is imbued
with the beauty of creation.

That which is seen
with love
is lovely.

--Linda M. Stitt

paradox
06.11.2004, 06:43
If Language Is Not Strange

IF LANGUAGE IS NOT STRANGE to itself
how can it be its own?

A word is a hunger, a power spot
like a body, a sea

flooding itself with fish, sown
with currents, glimmers

Beyond its margin palms wave

Deep in the ground
it pulls minerals from rocks
and listens to the talk of fossils

is given
gills, feathers, fire, palm fronds
spun with the silk of memory

and when we are re-
membered through it shimmering, alien
depths, we can listen with our skins

The heart that flutters there is
almost heard

overheard

over the wash of sea-pull
womb-beat: the wings

of a hairstreak

--Brian Henderson

paradox
06.11.2004, 06:47
quote:Originalna objava Twarlock

The time shall come
of the one last breath,
of the one last thought.
...
...
...

...kot obicajno :approve:

paradox
06.11.2004, 07:17
This Heavy Craft

The wax has melted
but the dream of flight
persists.
I, Icarus, though grounded
in my flesh
have one bright section in me
where a bird
night after starry night
while I'm asleep
unfolds its phantom wings
and practices.

--P.K. Page

Vladimir Gajšek
06.11.2004, 10:00
quote:Originalna objava paradox

...ne srackajte po moji temi!:D:D



Kranjc! ti le dobička išeš,
bratov svojih ni ti mar,
kar ti bereš, kar ti pišeš,
mora dati gotov dnar.
~ France Prešeren

Vladimir Gajšek, slovenski književnik, urednik spletne postaje resnice INTELY WAY

paradox
06.11.2004, 20:28
quote:Originalna objava Vladimir Gajšek


Kranjc! ti le dobička išeš,
bratov svojih ni ti mar,
kar ti bereš, kar ti pišeš,
mora dati gotov dnar.
~ France Prešeren

Vladimir Gajšek, slovenski književnik, urednik spletne postaje resnice INTELY WAY

:shock::D:nonono:

Slep je, kdor se s petjem ukvarja;
Kranjec moj mu osle kaze;
pevcu vedno sreca laze,
on zivi, umrje brez dnarja.

.
.
.
.

Vendar peti on ne jenja:
Grab'te dnarje vkup gotove,
kupovajte si gradove,
v njih zivite brez trpljenja!
Koder se nebo razpenja,
grad je pevca brez vratarja,
v njem zlatnina cista zarja,
srebrnina rosa trave,
s tem posestvom brez tezave
on zivi, umrje brez dnarja.

:approve:
--France Preseren

...mim'grede, daj kaksno svojo gor' "pr'limaj" ti bo lazje...
al' pa kaksen link do slovenske poezije na internetu ;)

sometimes...

namgyal
06.11.2004, 22:09
quote:Originalna objava Vladimir Gajšek

Vilenica 2004 - je kvečjemu komaj kaj več kot za osnovnošolska glasila, saj sta nagrajeni le dve Slovenki: prva je četrtarka (4.razred OŠ!), druga je osmarka (8.razred OŠ)! Objavljata tudi Novica Novaković - nekaj pesmic v prevodu ter odlomkoma prozico v lastnem prevodu Barbara Simoniti.

Sicer pa je zbornik Vilenica 2004 komaj skrpucalo, ki ga je potrebno zaradi nepojasnjenih načel urednikovanja in grobih nnapak nemudoma umakniti iz javnosti!

Vilenica 2004 -, KI je kvečjemu komaj kaj več kot za osnovnošolska glasila, je že prežvečena reč, sebinamenska prireditev krajevne skupnosti in osnovnošolskega okusa, kot vse kaže, pa zato tudi gleda skozi kristal kakor skozi magijsko kroglo čarovnic, a uspešnih čarovnic. Zato se je umetniška literatura v Vilenici kakor izgubila - objavlja se nekakšno "apokaliptično" pristaštvo, ki pa se ne nagrajuje po privrženosti Foruma 21, kot velja za mariborsko "večernico"...


Vladimir Gajšek, slovenski književnik, urednik spletne postaje resnice INTELY WAY


Vladimir, tole je grdo izkrivljanje namena posamičnih nagrad na Vilenici. Vprašanje: koga bi si pa želeli videt tam od Slovencev, morebiti celo nagrajenega?

Letošnji povabljenci res niso bogvekaj, lani pa je bilo nekaj zelo dobrih. Prav gotovo je Tate odtehtal vse drugo. Da o Kaaplinskem pred leti ne govorim...

PS. Sicer pa nam za Vilenico ni treba skrbeti... Itak jo bo Beletrina ob Žabotovi asistenci spremenila v Medano.:):):)

namgyal
06.11.2004, 22:15
Tole je eden mojih najljubših Kanadčanov... ga bom objavljal po delih.

John Newlove: Ponos


I.

Podoba / pawneejev
v svojih vigvamskih vaseh,
jasna podoba
tetonskih sjujev, divjih
nestanovitnih ljudi kot pravi letopisec,

divjih psov, ljudi
privezanih z usnjenimi jermeni
k mučilnemu kôlu, ki se borijo do smrti,

podoba: arikarasi
s prikupčevanimi španskimi rezili,
nataknjenimi na dolga
kopja za ubijanje bizonov,
dohitijo sjuje,
kentavri, konjeniki,
ki so preleteli širne prerije
v vojni ali na lovu,
dokler jih niso pomorile koze,
4,000 vojščakov,

podoba - osamele dežele,
tiste dolge poti med ognjišči,
nenajdenimi jezeri, prividi, hladnimi skalami,
in samotnih mož, ki gredo mimo,
bojevnikov z dobrimi puškami,
ki vzbujajo grozo v atkabaski,
med prebivalci, prestrašenimi
plemeni iz kamene dobe, "takimi,
ki so se razbežali na milje daleč
že ob pogledu na čuden dim."

namgyal
06.11.2004, 22:17
II.


Ta dežela zahoda, napolnjena
z duhovi indijancev,
ki se prikazujejo po obalnih skalah in bregovih,
z gozdom poraslih pacifiških otokih,
gorah, hribih in prerijah:

ob oceanu ethlinga,
človek v luni, izprazni
svoje vedro, ob
znaku, ki mu ga dá Duh
Vetra ethlinga
izprazni svoje vedro, osveži
zemljo, potem dežuje
na bela mesta;

tisti črni goljuf, Krokar
s polomljeno čeljustjo, nadvse spoštovan
med haidami in cimšijanci,
je v kvakiutu!
s plesnimi maskami-
on je bil tisti, ki je človeku
prinesel ogenj, hrano in vodo,
goljuf;

in Viharna ptica hilunga,
ki haide nanjo
redko mislijo ker tam
ni neviht, pride
z mnogimi imeni, z imenitnimi preoblekami
izrezljanimi v poslikan les,

je nootka tootooč, krila,
ki sprožijo grom in jezik plamena
ali iskreče oči, ki vzbudijo
divje bele bliske;
ki so ji bili hrana kiti,

kvunusela jo imenujejo kvakiutli,
ona je bila tista, ki je postavila debla za hiše,
za ljudi na Kraju,
Kjer Je Gorela Kvunusela;


v polni moči in smelosti
in v grozovitosti zakona, orel-
je oblast, sonce je
nekoč prevzelo njegovo obliko,
sonce, ki je bilo
detlovo jajce, upešno pre-
oblikovano;

in zlohotnost pride v deželo,
divja ženska iz gozdov;
ki se reži; v laseh
ji ždi kolibrij,
d'sonoqua, nora ženska -

vse je pripravljeno,
da jih najdemo, legende
in ljudi, ali
vse njihove duhove in spomine,
karkoli je zadosti močno,
da jih pomnimo.

paradox
07.11.2004, 06:57
...se ena njegova k je meni vsec :)

THE WEATHER

I'd like to live a slower life.
The weather gets in my words
and I want them dry. Line after line
writes itself on my face, not a grace
of age but wrinkled humour. I laugh
more than I should or more
than anyone should. This is good.

But guess again. Everyone leans, each
on each other. This is a life
without an image. But only
because nothing does much more
than just resemble. Do the shamans
do what they say they do, dancing?
This is epistemology.

This is guesswork, this is love,
this is giving up gorgeousness to please you,
you beautiful dead to be. God bless
the weather and the words. Any words. Any weather.
And where or whom. I'd never taken count before.
I wish I had. And then
I did. And here
the weather wrote again.

--John Newlove

paradox
07.11.2004, 18:21
from A Broken Bowl

and there
where desert meets the city
in a shantytown
where squalor defines our wealth
there
where God lies beneath rubble
where the bowl is broken
there
a moment we might miss
a glance
a caressing hand

you never know

--Patrick Friesen

namgyal
07.11.2004, 21:26
quote:Originalna objava paradox

...se ena njegova k je meni vsec :)


hvala, nisem je še bral, mi je ful všeč. To najbrž veš, da je od prejšnjega božiča, žal, že pokojni?

nadaljujem s Ponosom...




III.

A kakšne podobe, začudeni
sin vseh ljudi
pod vročim soncem,
ti častiš,
kakšno dovršenost
upaš pridobiti
iz teh zgodb,
napol razumljeno mogočnost, privid
v človeških možganih - kaj
pravzaprav hočeš;

s kolikšno silo
boš šel naprej
po črti,
ne ravni, niti kratki,
ki ji prihodnosti
ne moreš poznati
ali predvideti konca,
ki ji je smisel še
zakrit, ko se pripetljaji
dogodijo in vrstijo?





IV.

Dežela se premakne dalje;
v notranjosti so sadovnjaki,
gorski prelazi
so zlomljeni, predgorja
prekrita z govedom in ograjami,
in pojemajoče hribovje prekrito;

a prerija je pusta,
ne opustela, lahko je zame
ljubiti njene ljudi,
ljubiti njene ljudi,
ne da bi izbiral.

paradox
09.11.2004, 00:57
quote:Originalna objava namgyal

hvala, nisem je še bral, mi je ful všeč. To najbrž veš, da je od prejšnjega božiča, žal, že pokojni?

...me veseli :approve:
...jap...je bil pa res pesnik svoje velike dezele...no saj so ga tudi
odlikovali primerno ;)

paradox
09.11.2004, 01:05
... se malo... from the true North wild and free... :)

MEMORIAM

In lawnchairs under stars. On the dock
at midnight, anchored by winter clothes,
we lean back to read the sky. Your face white
in the womb light, the lake's electric skin.

Driving home from Lewiston, full and blue, the moon
over one shoulder of highway. There,
or in your kitchen at midnight, sitting anywhere
in the seeping dark, we bury them again and
again under the same luminous thumbprint.

The dead leave us starving with mouths full of love.

Their stones are salt and mark where we look back.
Your mother's hand at the end of an empty sleeve,
scratching at your palm, drawing blood.
Your aunt in a Jewish graveyard in Poland,
her face a permanent fist of pain.
Your first friend, Saul, who died faster than
you could say forgive me.
When I was nine and crying from a dream
you said words that hid my fear.
Above us the family slept on,
mouths open, hands scrolled.
Twenty years later your tears burn the back of my throat.
Memory has a hand in the grave up to the wrist.
Earth crumbles from your fist under the sky's black sieve.
We are orphaned, one by one.

On the beach at Superior, you found me
where I'd been for hours, cut by the lake's sharp rim.
You stopped a dozen feet from me.
What passed in that quiet said:
I have nothing to give you.

At dusk, birch forest is a shore of bones.
I've pulled stones from the earth's black pockets,
felt the weight of their weariness - worn,
exhausted from their sleep in the earth.
I've written on my skin with their black sweat.

The lake's slight movement is stilled by fading light.
Soon the stars' tiny mouths, the moon's blue mouth.

I have nothing to give you, nothing to carry,
some words to make me less afraid, to say
you gave me this.
Memory insists with its sea voice,
muttering from its bone cave.
Memory wraps us
like the shell wraps the sea.
Nothing to carry,
some stones to fill our pockets,
to give weight to what we have.

--Anne Michaels

namgyal
09.11.2004, 12:39
quote:Originalna objava paradox

quote:Originalna objava namgyal

hvala, nisem je še bral, mi je ful všeč. To najbrž veš, da je od prejšnjega božiča, žal, že pokojni?

...me veseli :approve:
...jap...je bil pa res pesnik svoje velike dezele...no saj so ga tudi
odlikovali primerno ;)




O tem me pa lahko kaj več poučiš?... Zadnja stvar, ki sem jo jaz izvedel od zgoraj omenjenega Sorestada, je bila ta, da mu Saskatchewan Festival of Words pripravlja tribute... (junija?)


pa še zadnja dva dela Ponosa:




V.

Leta 1787, stari indijanec saukamappee, ki je imel kakih 75 let, je tedaj pripovedoval, kaj se je godilo še v času, ko jih je imel 16, komajda je bil moški; pripovedoval davidu thompsonu o nenadnih vpadih šošonov, kač, proti zahodu - ki so prišli do pejžanov, o njihovih vojnih odredih, da so včasih jezdili 10 dni do sovražnega tabora, in o možeh, vseh v bojnih vrstah, pripravljenih na spopad, prihuljenih za svojimi velikanskimi ščiti; pejžani, oboroženi s puškami, so kače pognali iz prerije, iz prerije, kjer je bila njihova moč, kjer so živeli, odkar pomnijo (čeprav ne pomnijo ničesar, kar je izpred časa njihovih dedov), proti zahodu Skalnih gora;

ti ljudje so se selili brez prestanka,
nazaj in naprej, skupaj z vetrom,
z letnimi časi, z igro, velike črede
v lakoti in izobilju -

poleti in ob krvavih jesenih
so se zbrali na planjavah smrti,
polni in polni barv, zabavali
so se v razkošju vojne in smrti,

osvobojeni od tóka spoznanja,
utolaženi s potokom krvi
in s pôtom, hlapečim iz sveže kože
in utrujenih konjev, prenašali so svoj ponos
na preznojenih konjih, svoj ponos.




VI.

Vse to so zgodbe;
ponos, velika pesnitev
o naši deželi, o zemlji sami
bo prišla, dobrodošla in
iskana, in najdena
v vrstici bežečega verza,
preznojena, naš ponos;

Oprimemo se
tistega, kar se je zgodilo prej,
samo ena vrstica
bo zadosti,
ena sama vrstica in
potem nas obsijana blesteča podoba preplavi
z razumevanjem, trči v našo
pozornost, in vse hrepenenje
se ustavi, ostane sámo;

mi ostanemo sámi,
nič več osamljeni
ampak imamo korenine,
in ukoreninjene besede
se vrnejo v misli, se zrcalijo, tako da
ne vztrajamo, ne temeljimo nikjer drugje,
ganjeni, ponavljamo jih,
končno doma,
svobodno, začudeno;

"neupogljivo reklo,
uglašeno s časom,"
stvar, narejena
iz našega hrepenenja
ne iz besed, ne le
iz njih, ampak iz nečesa
drugega, tega po čemer
tako goreče hrepenimo, tega kar
ne bo prišlo, ko
je poklicano sámo,
ampak raste v nas
in poležava in se skriva
dokler ne pride pravi čas-

spoznanje
naših pokolenj, in kje
smo zares,
čigava zemlja je to
in še bo.


VII.

Neupogljivo reklo:
ko bo pravi čas, takrat
se bo zagnalo nad nas
iz naših lastnih ust,
neopaženo, neustavljivo
v svojem spoznanju, popolno –

ne to prgišče
drobcev, kakor indijanci
niso sestavljeni iz
romantičnih zgodb, ki krožijo
o njih, ali iz zgodb,
ki jih pripovedujejo le oni, ampak
še vedno prejezdijo to zemljo
v nas, izsušijo v kosteh delček
prahu v naših očeh,
potreben in nadležen
v njihovem siju, v
naši sapi, v naših
ušesih, v naših ustih,
v naših celih telesih, v naših mislih, dokler
končno ne postanemo oni

v našem hrepenenju, našem hrepenenju,
prividih, zrcaljenjih, ki so njihova,
neusmiljenem hrepenenju, in
postanejo naši resnični predniki, izoblikovani
z istim vetrom in dežjem,
in v tej deželi smo
mi njihovi ljudje, ki smo se
vrnili v življenje.

paradox
10.11.2004, 07:57
quote:Originalna objava namgyal

O tem me pa lahko kaj več poučiš?...

...ah, ne bi...pa brez zamere;)
...lep prevod Ponosa - VI in VII sta mi se posebno :approve:



sometimes...

paradox
10.11.2004, 08:03
Variations on the Word Love

This is a word we use to plug
holes with. It's the right size for those warm
blanks in speech, for those red heart-
shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
like real hearts. Add lace
and you can sell
it. We insert it also in the one empty
space on the printed form
that comes with no instructions. There are whole
magazines with not much in them
but the word love, you can
rub it all over your body and you
can cook with it too. How do we know
it isn't what goes on at the cool
debaucheries of slugs under damp
pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-
seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
among the lettuces, they shout it.
Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising
their glittering knives in salute.

Then there's the two
of us. This word
is far too short for us, it has only
four letters, too sparse
to fill those deep bare
vacuums between the stars
that press on us with their deafness.
It's not love we don't wish
to fall into, but that fear.
this word is not enough but it will
have to do. It's a single
vowel in this metallic
silence, a mouth that says
O again and again in wonder
and pain, a breath, a finger
grip on a cliffside. You can
hold on or let go.

--Margaret Atwood

paradox
10.11.2004, 23:48
The Woman Beside The Lake Is Reading

The woman beside the lake
is reading; is trying to read
the same page of the same book
she has been trying to read
all week beside the same lake.

The rhythm of summer lulls her--
the indolent rhythm of water
the lake with its thousand bodies
singing, dancing,
below the threshold of perception
so that the mind slows
and the words on the page
drift away, inconsequential
despite their freight of grief.

All summer she has been reading novels
and in novels this summer children suffer
acutely and often
and in ingenious ways.

Her heart is grey and tearful.
Her heart is a lake, its thousand bodies
dancing below the threshold of perception.

At the edge of the lake her own children play.
They are always busy. Right now
they are constructing dwellings for the creatures of the lake
involving sand and stones and blackberries
and complicated systems of irrigation.
No one has hurt them too badly yet
she thinks, unless all this building
is a form of sublimation, a novel without words
depicting various forms of suffering
in ingenious ways.

The woman beside the lake is reading
has been trying to read all week

the book
the lake
the children.


--Susan Glickman

namgyal
11.11.2004, 22:27
quote:Originalna objava paradox

quote:Originalna objava namgyal

O tem me pa lahko kaj več poučiš?...

...ah, ne bi...pa brez zamere;)
...lep prevod Ponosa - VI in VII sta mi se posebno :approve:
sometimes...


pa nič...
ja, hvala. lepo je slišat to od nekoga bilingvalnega (če ne večlingvalnega)
...
Newlova je sicer izredno težko prevajat zaradi njegovih retoričnih učinkov (ritem, notranje rime itn.).

namgyal
11.11.2004, 22:36
Še ena meni ljuba pesem...


Deset tisočkrat

Mrak je. Ptice vijugajo nizko proti jezeru in potem se potopijo
vanj. Veter pobere nekaj listov s tal
in jih spremeni v koleščka, ki se nekaj časa
vrte, potem se sesedejo. Ni je stvari, takšne kot so veje
posejane na ozadju neba, ki te spominjajo
na občutek kako je biti z nogami na zemlji, na način kako se tvoje roke
včasih druga druge dotaknejo. Vsi ti spomini,
saj ne bi hotela da še enkrat zaživijo, nobenega smisla bi ne bilo.
Kaj bo naprej, se vprašuješ.
Vprašuješ se deset tisočkrat.


Roo Borson

paradox
12.11.2004, 04:29
quote:Originalna objava namgyal

Newlova je sicer izredno težko prevajat zaradi njegovih retoričnih učinkov (ritem, notranje rime itn.).

...to ti pa verjamem, dober si:cool:...mene so zmedla predvsem native names/words v slovenskem prevodu ( nikol prej slisala :shy:)

...btw, ko si ze odprl novo temo '...za doxi in druge'...naj le pripomnim, da tale tema niti slucajno ni 'moja'...res je bilo prvih nekaj pesmi od Bine za mene (hehe, a ne Solsikke ;):kisses:) a kot je avtorica teme izrazila na prvi strani je bilo pricakovati kaj vec prispevkov nase, slovenske poezije.
Sama sem malo brskala po netu, a je bolj revscina (morda se tudi motim, a nihce iz rodne zemlje me ni preprical drugace) ...in zato je najvec mojih prispevkov v anglescini.

Ker se folku, ki bere tole sobco ne da tipkati iz morda kaksne knjizice s poezijami, ki jo ima kdo pri roki je seveda slovenski prispevek bolj reven. Osebno si pa kaj takega ne morem privosciti glede na to, da je slovenska poezija v obliki knjige tukaj neobstojeca :nonono:
Ce pa ti zelis prispevati svojo, pa lahko tudi tukaj...;)

No kjerkoli ze bos te bomo prebrali, ko bomo zeljni lepe besede ...

paradox
13.11.2004, 03:40
COME TO ME

Come to me
I know we are out of sync
I know they will call it dying
but come to me anyway
I have tried to hate you with the strength
of many animals and I cannot hate you
so come to me burning
and I also will burn
come to me with ancient music and I will be a snake
writhing with my many wrists
each one more undulant than your long hair
o I still have nights and nights of you
all queued up in the thirst of a single slave
to work out
come to me with snow and I will promise
to be red in it
come to me unique and I will match you
stare for stare
come to me in greek in spanish in french in hebrew
and I will sing that I found you
because I overthrew reason
because I live in the wreck of my senses
by wish and magic
like a roc in the ruins of its egg
come to me dancing
that dark bacchanal of your kiss
so wet on my lips for days I will not want
drugs or water
just your own sea broken like a sheet of lightning
on your thigh so sensual
come to me because we will arrive
anyway at each other
because it has been many lives
and each time we touch
great forces
are again able to move
come to me cruel and lovely
because I am abandon
because I am silver
because a million years
you have suffered in slavery to men
and know at last how to be free


--Robert Priest
From: Sadness of Spacemen

klepetava
13.11.2004, 07:10
PRIDI ZMERAJ, PRIDI

Ne bližaj se. Tvoje čelo, tvoje žareče čelo, tvoje
plameneče čelo
sledovi poljubov,
ta sijaj, ki se čuti podnevi, če se bližaš
ta nalezljivi sijaj, ki mi ostane na rokah,
ta sveta reka, ki vanjo potapljam roke
in ki se iz nje skoraj ne upam piti, ker se bojim,
da bom potem živel težko življenje zvezde.

Nočem, da živiš v meni, kakor živi luč,
s to osamljenostjo zvezde, ki se združuje s svojo svetlobo,
ki se ji ljubezen ne da skozi prostor,
trd in moker, ki ločuje in ne združuje,
kjer je vsaka zvezda nedosegljiva
samota, ki stokajoč izžareva svojo žalost.

Samota žari na svetu brez ljubezni.
Življenje je živa skorja,
nagubana negibna koža,
kjer človek ne more najti svojega počitka,
čeprav usmerja svoje sanje proti neki ugasli zvezdi.

Ti pa se ne bližaj. Tvoje žareče čelo, goreče oglje,
ki me trga iz moje zaveti,
iskreča se bolečina, ki v nji nenadoma čutim
skušnjavo, da bi umrl,
da bi si opekel ustnice s tvojim neizbrisnim dotikom,
da bi čutil, kako se razkraja moje meso ob tvojem
žgočem diamantu.

Ne bližaj se, ker tvoj poljub traja, kakor se trčita
dve zvezdi,
kakor vesoljstvo, ki se prižge iznenada,
množeč se eter, kjer je uničenje sveta
eno samo srce, ki do kraja zgori v pepel.

Pridi, pridi, pridi kakor temno ugaslo oglje,
ki oklepa mrtvo žensko;
pridi kakor slepa luč, ki mi približuje svoj obraz;
pridi kakor dve ustnici, zaznamovani z rdečino,
s tisto dolgo črto, ki topi kovine.

Pridi, pridi, ljubezen moja, pridi nedostopno čelo,
okroglina, skoraj vrteča se,
svetiš se kakor krog planeta, ki bo v mojih rokah umrl;
pridi kakor dvoje oči ali dve globoki samoti,
dva ukazajoča klica iz globine, ki je ne poznam.

Pridi, pridi, smrt, ljubezen; pridi kmalu, uničujem te;
pridi, ker hočem moriti ali ljubiti ali umreti ali ti dati vse;
pridi, ki se korališ kakor lahek kamen,
zmeden kakor luna, željna mojih žarkov.


(Vicente Alexandre)




Neli

namgyal
15.11.2004, 21:36
quote:Originalna objava paradox
...to ti pa verjamem, dober si:cool:...mene so zmedla predvsem native names/words v slovenskem prevodu ( nikol prej slisala :shy:)


a res? mi lahko poveš, katera? Bi mi zelo pomagalo pri nadaljnjih namenih z Newlovom.


he, nekaj slovenskih knjig pa celo je v Kanadi. Vaš Amicus v NLC/BNA daje presenetljive rezultate... Recimo, na U of Toronto, U of BC in U of Victoria je mogoče dobiti celo revijo Sodobnost!... :D:D:D (pa nekje v Ca mate Grafenauerja, pa Pesmi štirih, pa celo Dneve poezije in vina...) :shy:

no, se bom potrudil, pa bom jaz začel prepisvat!...

ah, še tole --- če te slučajno zanima, kaj se naši študentje (nes)pametnega naučijo o kanadski književnosti: http://anglistika.om-shanti.net/podatki/3_letnik/kanadska_knj.pdf

paradox
17.11.2004, 01:19
:) SUNRISE :)

You can
die for it--
an idea,
or the world. People

have done so,
brilliantly,
letting
their small bodies be bound

to the stake,
creating
an unforgettable
fury of light. But

this morning,
climbing the familiar hills
in the familiar
fabric of dawn, I thought

of China,
and India
and Europe, and I thought
how the sun

blazes
for everyone just
so joyfully
as it rises

under the lashes
of my own eyes, and I thought
I am so many!
What is my name?

What is the name
of the deep breath I would take
over and over
for all of us? Call it

whatever you want, it is
happiness, it is another one
of the ways to enter
fire.


--Mary Oliver

namgyal
17.11.2004, 22:01
quote:Originalna objava paradox
...hehe, U of Victoria...


sej ne vem, a ti je to tolk blizu al tolk daleč...

glede indijanskih imen si me kar pomirila. Cimšijani (Tsimshian?) so (bili, skoraj) pleme J od Vancouvra; Kwunusela = Hilunga = viharna ptica, to je po indijan. legendah ptica, ki "poskrbi" za nevihte. Indijanci imajo, mimogrede, ful zanimivo mitologijo.

paradox
20.11.2004, 00:07
quote:Originalna objava namgyal

... Kwunusela = Hilunga = viharna ptica, to je po indijan. legendah ptica, ki "poskrbi" za nevihte. Indijanci imajo, mimogrede, ful zanimivo mitologijo.

Thanks;)...(Hilunga sounds more familiar)
...se strinjam kolikor mi je poznana:)


...Natives (Indijanci)about Natives... ni ravno lirika...mi je
pa vsec njihov humor:approve:...(author also Native-Canadian, Thomas King)

...
Narcise Blood is a good friend. One time he took me out to visit his grandfather, who lived in a small house on the reserve. The old man had a garden, and he took me through it, showing me each plant. Later we had tea in his kitchen.
Did I know about the big storm? he asked.
I had to admit that I didn't.
It was a big one, he said. It came up quick and hard.
So I told him about my trip from Salt Lake City to Lethbridge and how we had been trapped under a freeway overpass by a storm.
Yes, those storms can be tricky, he told me. You see those tomatoes out there?
From the kitchen window you could see his garden.
The tomato plants were just beginning to produce fruit.
When that storm came through, I was just getting ready to pick my tomatoes. They were big and red. Real ripe. But the storm beat me to it. First the rain. And then the hail.
And here the old man stopped and helped himself to more tea. And then he sat back and looked at the table.
I tried to be sympathetic. You must have been upset, I said.
Nope, said the old man, without even the hint of a smile. Always good to have some ketchup.
:D:cool:
...

paradox
14.12.2004, 05:41
Venus Rising


Over the clouds of the sea she comes,
Jewel of the morning skies.
Between the light and the dark she gleams,
Queen of the circling stars.

Above the hearts of fear she flies,
Nurse of the waning night.
A beacon to the barren and the bleak she beams
Her rays into earthly shadows.

Above the dolphins' wake she wings,
Maid of the verging dawn.
Among the crests of stellar waves
She mimes the ocean's song.

Before the gate of sleeping years
She stands, a shining sentry.
Robed in white she offers prayers
For the frontiers of infinity.

A torch of truth, the lamp of love,
She reigns above mortality
And like an ancient sacred sign
Reflects the face of harmony.

If life is word, then she is thought,
Grace that mirrors wisdom.
Within her soul she harbors all
The heirs of nature's kingdom.

-- John Marshall

paradox
22.12.2004, 05:27
When

When growing up is feeling and not seeing
When places you want to be are at the call of people you love
When breaking down is a matter of days
and healing can be accomplished by a few noncommittal words;

When the moon talks to you through a dusty window
and a song can say more than your lover ever would
while a phone call can invalidate your whole claim to existence;

When pain can be an antidote to being less than you are
When love is more tangible than your own skin
When hate is just a game to pass the time between those two
and obsession is a first grader's sum to include the three;

When faith equals personal emails and alcohol added up
and being invisible is an option, both virtual and reality oriented;

When words fly high, and you dream of sex, roads and dragons
When his / her definition of you is what you run from
or do your best or worst to live up to;

When convention and normality are dirty words
and your body is a temple and a dump, a scapegoat and a shrine
not to mention your soul, if you have ever owned up to having one;

When your dream is sacred and cursed
and beauty is everywhere besides you and yours
while trust is something you have read about and interpreted personally;

When money is just money
even when it is running out like time
with her / him, or those you left behind
and you still walk outside to watch the stars
while someone's recorded voice is a ransom for your solitude;

When you can get through this poem without feeling overly nauseated or condescending

You must be a bit like me

young.

--Elly K.

paradox
22.12.2004, 05:30
Love

Love is a hurricane
or a summer rush
of freedom, longing
and humourous despair.

Love is a favorite beanbag
Stuck in the corner
of your room
yet always a centerpiece
for your heart

Love is a long drink of water
after climbing
a steep and unwavering hill

Love is protection
yet knowing when to let go
and give without expecting
a thing in return.

Do I love you,
you might ask?

Yes, I love you still.

--Elly K.

paradox
22.12.2004, 05:33
Mirage

Dream of safe but adventurous places with sun on your skin
like a melody which never quite lets go of your imagination

where loneliness blooms like a flower to only show you how it is to belong

when pain is a gift you allow yourself just to find out when it is the time to laugh out loud...

when you realize you are the only teacher of the thousand faces you have to live with...inside yourself...
where dusk descends for always and sunlight pays to enter...
subliminally...no lies or apologies...just pure wishes

welcome to my world

i love you.

--Elly K.

paradox
31.12.2004, 06:08
On New Year's Eve, at the stroke of midnight, "Auld Lang Syne" is sang almost everywhere in the United States to bring in the New Year. Written during the 1700's, "Auld Lang Syne" means "ancient times" or "good old day". Here are the words to "Auld Lang Syne" ...

Should old acquaintance be forgot
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and days of auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot
and days of auld lang syne?

And here's a hand, my trusted friend
And there's a hand o'thine
We'll take a cup o'kindness yet
For auld lang syne.

paradox
31.12.2004, 19:51
...a mamo kaksno slovensko pesemco z novoletno 'kind-of' liriko...anyone?

pk
31.12.2004, 20:59
Za slovensko ne vem, vem pa za francosko verzijo pod naslovom Chanson des adieux.

Faut-il nous quitter sans espoir,
sans espoir de retour?
Faut-il nous quitter sans espoir
de nous revoir un jour?
Ce n´est qu´un aurevoir, mes freres,
ce n´est qu´un aurevoir,
oui, nous nous reverrons un jour,
le jour de nos retours.

Don't worry, be happy !

paradox
31.12.2004, 21:17
:cool:;)...se kaksen drug jezik mogoce, anyone?

paradox
03.01.2005, 03:47
...ena se vedno relevantna iz 80-tih ...

Waking Early New Year's Day, Without a Hangover


Look at the map and tell me where

A conscious mind would not despair.

In Poland? Palestine? Peru?

In Angkor Wat? In Timbuktu?

Twist as you will upon the grid

of North, South, East, and West, amid

Whatever fleshpots Rome may boast,

Or safe at home with buttered toast,

At least it all comes down to this --

The world's too big for bombs to miss,

The law too weak, the door too wide

To forestall every suicide.

While there are motive, means, and time,

There will, as sure as death, be crime.

Our hope must be that those who've got

The right, or guns, to have us shot

Will set a limit to their catch

And feel no need to fire the thatch;

That just as long as power buys

Good opera seats and alibis

The guilty rich will be content

Still to convene their Parliament,

Still to resist the urge to wreak

Some vengeance on their heirs, the meek.

How like the thief's benign reprieve,

Who'd spare our lives and only thieve,

So long as we do not protest

We even may enjoy the jest.

This is the social contract we

In 1986 A.D.

Must live by if we mean to live,

Committing sins we can't forgive

With every coffee bean we grind,

And every heart, and every mind.

(For surely if you've wit to trace

A line of logic through this lace

Of verses, you're among the few

Who're well -- or well-enough -- to-do

And can't too bitterly complain;

For thoughtful minds are free of pain

To the degree that they can think

And alchemize their thoughts to ink.

Happy the man who can declare

His angst with any savoir faire.

More happy still if he repine

Over a five-buck jug of wine.)

How swiftly, ably fear deflects

The squeamish eye away from texts

So dire toward each bright ad's plea

For booze and equanimity.

Internalized that turns the eye

And tunes the slavish tongue to praise

Our meted lengths of rope and days?

Laud we the god, for yet we breathe,

And hang in heaven a smoky wreath

Of thanks for yielding yet a year

More to the time we're sentenced here.


Between the jailer and the jailed

There's no hope lost. The god that failed

To intervene at Buchenwald

Will not decide to be appalled

At infamies that shall be nameless.

That god is dead, and history aimless

Enough of peeling New Year's chimes.

I want my coffee and The Times.


--Tom Disch

paradox
10.01.2005, 03:13
Song for Hannah Arendt

Out of being torn apart
comes art.

Out of being split in two
comes me and you. HA HA!

Out of being torn in three
comes a logical poetry. (She laughed but not at poetry.)

Out of the essential mistranslation
emerges an illegitimate nation.

Better she said the enraged
than the impotent slave sunk in the Bay.

Out of being split into thirteen parts
comes the eccentric knowledge of "hearts."

(Out of being torn at all
comes the poor-rich rhyme of not knowing, after all.)

And out of this war, of having fought
comes thinking, comes thought.

--David Shapiro

paradox
03.03.2005, 05:50
:approve:
Get Drunk

Always be drunk.
That's it!
The great imperative!
In order not to feel
Time's horrid fardel
bruise your shoulders,
grinding you into the earth,
get drunk and stay that way.
On what?
On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever.
But get drunk.
And if you sometimes happen to wake up
on the porches of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch,
in the dismal loneliness
of your own room,
your drunkenness gone or disappearing,
ask the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock,
ask everything that flees,
everything that groans
or rolls
or sings,
everything that speaks,
ask what time it is;
and the wind,
the wave,
the star,
the bird,
the clock
will answer you:
"Time to get drunk!
Don't be martyred slaves of Time,
Get drunk!
Stay drunk!
On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!"

--Baudelaire, Charles

paradox
06.03.2005, 23:54
...yello ...:kisses::approve:...


...evo ena funny od John-a za tebe ... ;) (...ce ne ves kerga kr vpras :tongue::clown:)

"I sat belonely"

I sat belonely down a tree,
humbled fat and small.
A little lady sing to me
I couldn't see at all.
I'm looking up and at the sky,
to find such wondrous voice.
Puzzly puzzle, wonder why,
I hear but have no choice.
'Speak up, come forth, you ravel me',
I potty menthol shout.
'I know you hiddy by this tree'.
But still she won't come out.
Such softly singing lulled me sleep,
an hour or two or so
I wakeny slow and took a peep
and still no lady show.
Then suddy on a little twig
I thought I see a sight,
A tiny little tiny pig,
that sing with all it's might.
'I thought you were a lady'.
I giggle, - well I may,
To my suprise the lady,
got up - and flew away.

timal
09.03.2005, 19:37
quote:Originalna objava paradox

...yello ...:kisses::approve:...


...evo ena funny od John-a za tebe ... ;) (...ce ne ves kerga kr vpras :tongue::clown:)

"I sat belonely"

I sat belonely down a tree,
humbled fat and small.
A little lady sing to me
I couldn't see at all.
I'm looking up and at the sky,
to find such wondrous voice.
Puzzly puzzle, wonder why,
I hear but have no choice.
'Speak up, come forth, you ravel me',
I potty menthol shout.
'I know you hiddy by this tree'.
But still she won't come out.
Such softly singing lulled me sleep,
an hour or two or so
I wakeny slow and took a peep
and still no lady show.
Then suddy on a little twig
I thought I see a sight,
A tiny little tiny pig,
that sing with all it's might.
'I thought you were a lady'.
I giggle, - well I may,
To my suprise the lady,
got up - and flew away.


:):approve:hvala, a je od Lennonovga:D:clown:?

paradox
10.03.2005, 05:12
quote:Originalna objava timal

:):approve:hvala, a je od Lennonovga:D:clown:?

...aha;)...lustna, ane:)

paradox
10.03.2005, 05:14
The Moment

The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.

---Atwood, Margaret

paradox
12.03.2005, 06:26
Between Going and Staying

Between going and staying the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.
All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can't be touched.
Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.
Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.
The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.
I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.
The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.

---Octavio Paz

paradox
12.03.2005, 06:48
"I am not yours"

I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.
You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.
Oh plunge me deep in love -- put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.

-- Teasdale, Sarah

paradox
14.03.2005, 06:26
On Living
...:kisses:...
I

Living is no laughing matter:
you must live with great seriousness
like a squirrel, for example-
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
I mean living must be your whole occupation.

Living is no laughing matter:
you must take it seriously,
so much so and to such a degree
that, for example, your hands tied behind your back,
your back to the wall,
or else in a laboratory
in your white coat and safety glasses,
you can die for people-
even for people whose faces you've never seen,
even though you know living
is the most real, the most beautiful thing.

I mean, you must take living so seriously
that even at seventy, for example, you'll plant olive trees-
and not for your children, either,
but because although you fear death you don't believe it,
because living, I mean, weighs heavier.

II

Let's say you're seriously ill, need surgery -
which is to say we might not get
from the white table.
Even though it's impossible not to feel sad
about going a little too soon,
we'll still laugh at the jokes being told,
we'll look out the window to see it's raining,
or still wait anxiously
for the latest newscast ...
Let's say we're at the front-
for something worth fighting for, say.
There, in the first offensive, on that very day,
we might fall on our face, dead.
We'll know this with a curious anger,
but we'll still worry ourselves to death
about the outcome of the war, which could last years.
Let's say we're in prison
and close to fifty,
and we have eighteen more years, say,
before the iron doors will open.
We'll still live with the outside,
with its people and animals, struggle and wind-
I mean with the outside beyond the walls.
I mean, however and wherever we are,
we must live as if we will never die.

III

This earth will grow cold,
a star among stars
and one of the smallest,
a gilded mote on blue velvet-
I mean this, our great earth.
This earth will grow cold one day,
not like a block of ice
or a dead cloud even
but like an empty walnut it will roll along
in pitch-black space ...
You must grieve for this right now
-you have to feel this sorrow now-
for the world must be loved this much
if you're going to say “I lived'' ...

---Hikmet, Nazim (turkish poet)

paradox
19.03.2005, 05:35
...:D:music:...


Life is Fine

I went down to the river,
I set down on the bank.
I tried to think but couldn't,
So I jumped in and sank.
I came up once and hollered!
I came up twice and cried!
If that water hadn't a-been so cold
I might've sunk and died.
But it was Cold in that water! It was cold!
I took the elevator
Sixteen floors above the ground.
I thought about my baby
And thought I would jump down.
I stood there and I hollered!
I stood there and I cried!
If it hadn't a-been so high
I might've jumped and died.
But it was High up there! It was high!
So since I'm still here livin',
I guess I will live on.
I could've died for love--
But for livin' I was born
Though you may hear me holler,
And you may see me cry--
I'll be dogged, sweet baby,
If you gonna see me die.
Life is fine! Fine as wine! Life is fine!


---Hughes, Langston

paradox
19.03.2005, 05:58
when serpents bargain


when serpents bargain for the right to squirm
and the sun strikes to gain a living wage -
when thorns regard their roses with alarm
and rainbows are insured against old age

when every thrush may sing no new moon in
if all screech-owls have not okayed his voice
- and any wave signs on the dotted line
or else an ocean is compelled to close

when the oak begs permission of the birch
to make an acorn - valleys accuse their
mountains of having altitude - and march
denounces april as a saboteur

then we'll believe in that incredible
unanimal mankind (and not until)

---Cummings, Edward Estlin


-----------------------------------------------------------------:approve:

paradox
20.03.2005, 04:32
Ode

We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

---Arthur O'Shaughnessy

:approve:

paradox
21.03.2005, 02:13
Forugh Farrokhzad...iranska pesnica...her work had a tremendous impact on Iranians and non-Iranians alike...


It is Only the Voice that Remains

Why should I stop?
the road passes through the capillary veins of life
The fertile quality of atmosphere
in the womb of the moon
will kill the corrupt cells,
and in the chemical expanse after sunrise
there is only the voice
the voice that will be
absorbed in the atoms of time
why should I stop?

The trees are my ancestors
Breathing stale air depresses me
A bird already dead counseled me to remember flight


To join the glowing essence of the sun,
such union is the ultimate in power,
pouring down the light of understanding
Windmills
naturally fall apart
Why should I stop?
Under my breast
I press a sheaf of unripe wheat
nursing it
The voice, the voice , the voice , only the voice
the voice of the tall yearning of plants to grow
the voice of the transparent wish of water to flow
the voice of starlight pouring
on the surface of the pistil of the earth
the voice of conception of the seed of meaning
and expansion of love's common mind
The voice , the voice, the voice
it is only the voice that remains.



...pa se eden :)


Rebirth

Life is perhaps
a long street through which a woman holding a basket passes every day.

Life is perhaps
a rope with which a man hangs himself from a branch.

Life is perhaps a child returning home from school.

Life is perhaps
lighting up a cigarette in the narcotic repose between two love

or the absent gaze of a passerby
who takes off his hat to another passerby
with a meaningless smile and a good morning.

I will plant my hands in the garden
I will grow,
I know, I know, I know,
and swallows will lay eggs
in the hollow of my inkstained hands.

I shall wear twin cherries as earrings
and I shall put dahlia petals on my fingernails.

The journey of a form along the line of time
and inseminating the line of time with the form,
a form conscious of an image
returning from a feast in the mirror.

And it is in this way
that someone dies
and someone lives on.

timal
21.03.2005, 20:25
paradox, neverjetno dobro delo opravljaš, hvala ti:2thumbs::kisses:

paradox
23.03.2005, 02:36
Timal, me res veseli, da tako pridno beres mojo izbiro lirike v tej
'sobci' in seveda se bolj, da ti je vsec :cool:;)
...upam, da se tudi v bodoce ujameva med tukaj in tam v povedanem :)

paradox
23.03.2005, 02:48
Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too near.

Your slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if you wish to close me, I and
my life will be shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing of which we have to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing.

(I do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.

---Edward Estlin Cummings:)

timal
23.03.2005, 22:14
med tukaj in tam je mavrica:), res pa je, da je tvoj izbor za moj okus fenomenalen.
Tale zgornja pa sploh......:)

paradox
21.04.2005, 23:05
Charles Bukowski (1920-1994)
"question and answer"

he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer
night, running the blade of the knife
under his fingernails, smiling, thinking
of all the letters he had received
telling him that
the way he lived and wrote about
that--
it had kept them going when
all seemed
truly
hopeless.

putting the blade on the table, he
flicked it with a finger
and it whirled
in a flashing circle
under the light.

who the hell is going to save
me? he
thought.

as the knife stopped spinning
the answer came:
you're going to have to
save yourself.

still smiling,
a: he lit a
cigarette
b: he poured
another
drink
c: gave the blade
another
spin.

--from The Last Night of the Earth Poems

Kate
02.05.2005, 22:02
Regrets at 80

I wish I had lost my virginity in the mud at Woodstock.
I wish I had streaked naked across the 50-yard line in the Rose Bowl.
I wish I had skinny-dipped with Sea World whales.
I wish I had played hooky more often—in the middle of the week.
I wish I had dried Che Guevera’s feet with my hair.
I wish I had swallowed all that fat from all those pork chops.
I wish I had moaned and screamed and rent my garment.
I wish I had marched down Pennsylvania Avenue in protest of everything!
I wish I’d dared to really care.

Emilie Disen


there will always be a part of me wondering...

Kate
02.05.2005, 22:15
Thursday Afternoon

"But you're not supposed to know," he said.
"Yeah," I sighed,
"but I just want to know a little,
like when you get a new book and you read the last page.
You know what the last page is going to be like,
but you don't know the whole story;
you only have a little idea."
He followed me to the bathroom, where I
started flossing my teeth, and he kissed me.
I let the white floss fall in my hand.
It was a good kiss,
not those quick kisses of good-bye when he leaves for work,
or the sloppy kisses when you are both
too busy to care how your mouth feels.
It was the kind of kiss that makes you
remember why you started kissing him in the first place.
And all at once you are not so afraid to grow old.

Jennifer Carson


there will always be a part of me wondering...

Kate
03.05.2005, 21:35
The Bee Box

In this small box, my love,
you'll not find a ring,
but instead, a brave little bee.
He'll be dead by morn, having given his life
defending his flowers against me.
I felt his sting
while picking the small, purple pansies
growing wild along the roadside,
in hopes of an afternoon bouquet for you.
And I grieved the sting,
more for him than me,
knowing full well the price he paid
for my small pain.
And I allowed him his victory,
leaving his flowers as a memory,
and brought you instead
this brave little bee,
who proves there is love
even in the smallest
of things.

Lowell Parker


there will always be a part of me wondering...

Kate
03.05.2005, 21:47
Poems from Someone You Know

Poems from someone you know
are a responsibility
like confidences told over kitchen tables
on rainy afternoons

An offering with hands cupped
around a fragile beauty
letting you in for a look

Received and accepted, but held carefully
lest the vulnerabilities are touched too harshly
and like fragile crystal
are shattered into pieces

Dorothy Marshall


there will always be a part of me wondering...

klepetava
12.05.2005, 19:01
GERTIN PUST

Če v zamotano klobko zvezd, med niti,
zaplete se kolo in če se konj
sredi gneče vzpne, če po laseh in rokah
ti zasneži v drgetu pisanih
trakov ali če dvignejo otroci,
ko se na pot pripravljaš, v tih pozdrav
tožeče okarine, in odmevi
polze z mostu nad reko,
če cesta se izprazni in pripelje
te v svet, ki z dihom pihnjen je v drhteč
mehurček zraka in luči, kjer sonce
pozdravlja tvojo ljubkost - si morda
spoznala pot, ki jo za hip odkril
je svinec, raztopljen opolnoči,
ob mirnem koncu leta brez streljanja.

Zdaj rada bi ostala, kjer nek filter
glasove slači
in dim za dimom toči, smehljajoče
in trpke, ki sestavljajo tvoj jutri:
zdaj rada bi v deželo, kjer naj osli
sladkorne kocke ližejo ti z rok
in kjer drevesa silna v čudežne
poganjke naj vzbrste pod pavjim kljunom.
(Tvoj Pust nocoj bo še bolj žalosten
kot moj, ko boš ujeta sred daril
ti - za odsotne: sredi rdečkastih
vozičkov, punčk iz cunj, lesenih pušk,
otroških žog in majcenh stvari
za kuhinjo: določil jih bo žreb
prijateljem po svetu v uri,
ko se izteka januar
in se izšlo vedeževanje. Je to Pust
ali samo kasni december? Mislim,
da vse, če le kazalček svoje drobne
zapestne ure zavrtiš, bo zdaj
vrnilo se spet v razdejano prizmo,
po barvah in oblikah babilonsko....)

Prišel bo božič, novo leto, ki
razpršene prijatelje ti vrne,
in bo vrnil se tudi tale pust, ki nama
zdaj se umika med zidove v ruševinah.
Bi rada, da kdo ustavi čas v deželi,
ki tod se širi? Rahlo se dotikajo
te prižasta, velika krila, lože
tišče na prosto plavolase lutke,
a žive, nad vreščečo mlako se
vrte lopatasta kolesa mlinov.
Bi rada, da kdo zadrži srebrne
zvonove nad vasjo in gruljenje
golobov? Bi dehteča jutra svojih
oddaljenih obal morda zdaj rada?

Kako postaja vse težko in čudno,
in vsaka stvar bolj nemogoča, praviš.
Življenje tvoje je tu doli, kjer
ves čas bobne kolesa težkih voz
in nič ne vrne se, če ne morda kaj
v napačni dostavi možnega.
K igračkam se zdaj vrni, kjer še umreti
ni dano; s časom, ki ti na zapestju
utripa in te bivanju spet vrača,
med gmote teh zidov, ki se v človeški
utrujeni vrtinec ne odpro,
spet vrni se na pot, kjer s tabo hiram,
kot ti je kazal svinec, zledel
v moj, tvoj večer:
v pomladi vrni se, ki ne cvete.

(Eugenio Montale)

Neli

klepetava
13.05.2005, 06:17
HOČEM VEDETI

Povej mi skrivnost svojega življenja;
hočem vedeti, zakaj kamen ni perje
in srce ne visoko občutljivo drevo,
zakaj deklica, ki umira med dvema rekama žil,
ne odhaja proti morju kakor vse ladje.

Hočem vedeti, ali je srce dež ali meja,
kaj ostane ob strani, če se dva nasmehneta,
ali je samo meja med dvema mladina rokama,
ko stiskata toplo kožo, ki ne ločuje.

Cvet, kamen ali dvom, ali želja ali sonce ali bič:
ves svet je eno, obrežje ali veka,
ta rumeni ptič, ki spi med dvema ustnama,
kadar zora s trudom prodira v območje dneva.

Hočem vedeti, ali je most železo ali poželenje,
težka združitev dveh skrivnih teles,
ločitev dvoje prsi, ki jih je zadela
nova strelica, izstreljena iz zelenine.

Mah ali luna je isto, to, kar nikogar me preseneti,
to lahno ljubkovanje, ki se ponoči pretaka
skozi telesa kakor perje in ustne, ki zdaj dežujejo.
Hočem vedti, ali reka sama od sebe odhaja
in stiska v tišini neke oblike,
slapovje teles, ljubečih se kakor pena,
dokler ne pridejo do morja kot podarjen užitek.

Kriki so letve žvižga, zabite v tla,
živ obup, ko vidiš prekratke roke,
vzdignjene proti nebu, ko milo prosijo luno,
boleče glave, ki spijo tam zgoraj, plavajo
brez diha kakor temne, nejasne oblike.

Hočem vedeti, ali noč vidi spodaj
bela platnena telesa, ležeča na zemlji,
zlagane skale, papirje, niti,kožo, mirno vodo,
priče kakor podobe, razložene po tleh,
ali železen hrup, deviški gozd za človeka.

Hočem vedeti višino, nejasno ali neskončno morje;
ali je morje ta skrivni dvom, ki me opija,
kadar veter prenaša prosojne tkanine,
senco, težo, slonovino, dolga neurja,
temnega jetnika, ki se tam zadaj neviden
upira, ali jato krotkih zvijač.


(vicente aleixandre)


Neli

paradox
17.05.2005, 23:22
Evening Hawk

From plane of light to plane, wings dipping through
Geometries and orchids that the sunset builds,
Out of the peak's black angularity of shadow, riding
The last tumultuous avalanche of
Light above pines and the guttural gorge,
The hawk comes.
His wing
Scythes down another day, his motion
Is that of the honed steel-edge, we hear
The crashless fall of stalks of Time.

The head of each stalk is heavy with the gold of our error.

Look! Look! he is climbing the last light
Who knows neither Time nor error, and under
Whose eye, unforgiving, the world, unforgiven, swings
Into shadow.

Long now,
The last thrush is still, the last bat
Now cruises in his sharp hieroglyphics. His wisdom
Is ancient, too, and immense. The star
Is steady, like Plato, over the mountain.

If there were no wind we might, we think, hear
The earth grind on its axis, or history
Drip in darkness like a leaking pipe in the cellar.

--Robert Penn Warren

paradox
17.05.2005, 23:45
Introduction to the World


For the time being
call me Home.

All the ingénues do.

Units are the engines
I understand best.

One betrayal, two.
Merrily, merrily, merrily.

Define hope. Machine.
Define machine. Nope.

Like thoughts,
the geniuses race through.

If you're lucky

after a number of
revolutions, you'll

feel something catch.:)

--Matthea Harvey

paradox
18.05.2005, 00:11
...ko je ze glih maj...

MAJSKA

Ko popki se odpirajo,
kadar je maj,
ko vdove se ozirajo,
ko prostitutke hirajo,
kadar je maj,
ko zenske noge vnemajo
v fanticih zmedene zelje,
ko puncke v snu prizemajo
se k pernicam in, vznak leze,
drgetajoce stokajo,
ko macke zadke k tlom tisce
in za devisTvom jokajo,
kadar je maj,
takrat na svetu so ljudje,
ki vse noci prekrokajo
in sami ne vedo
zakaj.

---Menart

namgyal
18.05.2005, 00:45
quote:Originalna objava paradox

...ko je ze glih maj...
MAJSKA

---Menart


:2thumbs:

mene je pa neli spomnila na eno mojih ZARES najljubših:

ognuno sta solo sul quor della terra,
trafitto da un raggio di sole,
ed e' subito sera

S. Quasimodo

paradox
18.05.2005, 03:16
quote:Originalna objava namgyal


ognuno sta solo
sul quor della terra,
trafitto da un raggio de sole:
ed e' subito sera

S. Quasimodo

...:approve:;)

...pa ga dajva se v anglescini...

Everyone stands alone at the heart of the earth
Stunned by a ray of sunlight
and suddenly it is evening.

paradox
18.05.2005, 21:08
after Hokusai and Hiroshige

I dreamt half my life was spent
in wonder, and never suspected.

So immersed in the moment
I forgot I was ever there.

Red-tailed hawk turning
resistance into ecstasy.

The patrolmen joking with the drunk
whose butt seemed glued to the sidewalk.

A coral quince blossom in winter,
pink as a lover's present.

And tilting my bamboo umbrella
against the warm slant

of rain, was I not a happy peasant
crossing the great bay on a bridge that began

who knows when, and will end
who knows when.

--Thomas Centolella

namgyal
18.05.2005, 23:35
quote:Originalna objava paradox

...pa ga dajva se v anglescini...



Madona, še štirih verzov si ne morem več zapomnit na pamet:disapp: Ampak, a si zamišljaš, da to napišeš pri 19-ih!!! Madona, lahko mirno zapreš štacuno in se ne sekiraš več.

...

Pa ga dejmo še v slovenščini, čeprav, kar se mene tiče... to je edina pesem, za katero trdim, da v nobenem prevodu ne deluje niti pol tok kot v originalu..


Vsakdo je sam na srcu zemlje,
z žarkom sonca preboden,
in je takoj večer

Nyingje
27.05.2005, 19:17
quote:Originalna objava namgyal

Vsakdo je sam na srcu zemlje,
z žarkom sonca preboden,
in je takoj večer


Uhhhh...eden najlepših verzov, kar sem jih kdajkoli prebral.
Čutite mravljince po hrbtu?

Podobna mojstrovina so Daljave od Kajetana Koviča.


.................................................. ..............................................
Anything that contradicts experience and logic should be abandoned!
H. H. Dalai Lama

paradox
30.05.2005, 00:13
:)USPAVANKA

Le še pet minut ti ostaja,
Dokler ne ugasnem luči.
Ker pesmi, ki si jo ves dan čakal,
Ni bilo, naštej za konec enostavno, kar je.
Torej: na mizi ležijo utrujene knjige,
Rastline so že zvile svoje liste in spijo,
Televizor šumi in na mizi frfota vešča,
Do smrti zaljubljena v luč.
Le še minuto imaš. Trideset sekund.
Sedaj sem gol in v postelji. Slišim te:
Deset, devet, toda - ali nisem nečesa pozabil? -
Šest, da, pet, pozabil sem na štiri,
Tri, toda sedaj je dva
in je tudi za to
Prepozno. Lahko le še trdno zatisnem krila
In upam, da me ob nič prebudiš.

--Aleš Šteger

paradox
30.05.2005, 00:17
OREH

Ostal si praznih rok in v rokah imaš oreh.
Sprva ga stiskaš in skrivaš kot kako čarovnijo,
Toda potem stisne vse tebe in veš, da moraš
Odgovoriti in s tem ubiti čarovnika, da bi preživel.
V središču oreha je jedrce, toda jedrce te ne briga,
Rešitev rabiš, ki je zapisana na notranjosti lupine.
Stiska je prehuda, zato stisneš prazno pest in ga zlomiš.
Oreh umolkne, počeni znaki postanejo nedoumljivi
In odgovor sfingičen, a skozi razpoke smukneš v notranjost
In poješ jedrce. Tako si izdolbeš prostor. Tako postaneš ti jedrce.
In jedrce postane ti. Ti počepne in čaka,
Da se lupina okrog njega zarase. Kot nekakšen fetus
Čepi in čaka in v orehu je vedno manj svetlobe
In vedno manj ran. Počasi lahko prične ti brati znamenja
In znamenja so vedno bolj cela.
Ti bere na glas, a ko pride skoraj do konca,
Se lupina zaraste in okoli ti se znoči. V temi ujeti ti sliši,
Kako iz cilindra skoči beli zajec z morilskimi sekalci,
Obstoji pred orehom in ga nepremično gleda.

Aleš Šteger

:dontknow:(:D):clown:

paradox
31.05.2005, 01:31
MEJE

To isto polno luno gledava… obzorja
daleč, predaleč drug od drugega. Med nama
se pno gorovja. Mehka mahovnata skorja
zarašča najine stopinje. Čisto sama

si prečkala vse meje in prišla na tuje,
v domovino mojih rok. Nevarno sam
se plazim mimo varuhov mejá: potujem
na severozahod, kjer me je bridko sram

škripanja duše sredi gladkih, strašnih sten.
Stojim pred njimi, temni moški z jugovzhoda,
sumljivega imena, drhteč, gol kot plen.
Ne morem pobegniti. Meja je usoda.

Zdaj veš: čeprav prestopiš mejo, je ne zbrišeš.
Še višja bo krojila tvoj korak, kot dvom.
Zemljevid ni privid. Zato govôri tiše.
Onstran vseh mejá so tvoje ustnice moj dom.

---Boris A. Novak

paradox
31.05.2005, 02:21
quote:Originalna objava paradox

quote:Originalna objava namgyal

quote:Originalna objava paradox

OREH
Aleš Šteger
:dontknow:(:D):clown:

ne glede na moje mnenje o Štegerju,... se priporočam, da kakšno takšno objaviš tudi v uni moji temi, ki je odprta za mlade pesnike:approve::shy:

:)...med tistimi nekaj komadi od njega, ki sem jih odkrila na netu je bila omenjena med zanimivejsemi...;)

...ja tvojo temo so pa res prestavili v arhiv...in kot pravi Cvetlicni Decek je treba vprasati kaksnega admina, da ti jo spet 'ozive' (se da v njej spet kaj objavit) ... Drgac pa vzdrzuj svoje teme, ce hoces, da 'zive'...zadnje case se bolj pridno 'pucajo' kot v zacetkih arhiviranja...Zgleda, da imajo zelo effective brooms...:clown::D

...aja, drgac pa lahko tudi v tej temi objavis dela slovenskih pesniskih dusic, ce te seveda ne moti, da je v njej trenutno vec angleskega...Meni je lepo lepo...upam le, da prepoznam tisto, kar na koncu dojamem s svojo celoto kot nekaj, ki mi odkrije neponovljivost trenutka, ki ga moja pamet interpretira v svoji enkratni varianti...:music:

...no se ena od A. Štegerja ...:)

-------------------------------------------------------------------
METEOROLOGI TI NE BODO POVEDALI

Meteorologi ti ne bodo povedali,
Da je zasnežilo gozdove.
Toda ogenj v lončeni peči se spomni;
Objemal sem njegovo skorjo,
Ko so bukve še stale.
Požagane in razsekane, zložene v klade-
Še zadnjič si me poskusila potegniti
V rano, ki se je zasolzila med
Tvojimi nogami. Slutila si, da sem
Privolil v sečnjo. Roka sledi grebljici
V peč in ogenj ve, da kovinski kavelj
Ne bo zapustil nobenihih sledov
Na njegovih plamenih.
Ti in jaz: vsak dotik ostane zavedno
V dlani. Trajalo je več let, da sem te
Dokončno sežgal. Vse do danes, ko je sredi
Hiše snežilo. In nihče, niti
Gospodje, ki se v zadregi nasmihajo pred
Ciklonskimi kartami, niso znali povedati,
Da se tudi sredi najhujše zime
Dotikamo z opeklinami.

paradox
31.05.2005, 02:43
Sinoči, ko sem stikal okrog potoka

Sinoči, ko sem stikal okrog potoka
za hišo, v lopi bogve kaj iskal,
zaslišim v gozdu, kot da nekaj joka
v temi in mrazu, kliče pravzaprav.
Prisluhnil sem, saj ob večerih,
ko počrnijo hribi in poti,
ure in ure presedim pri dverih
in čakam nekaj, česar ni.
Za glasom šel sem, za pomenom,
ki ga večer je širil iz gozdov:
nekdo me klical je po imenu –
nemočen, ranjen, negotov …
Minil je hip, večer, cel dan je
minil kot hip, in zdaj z neba
strmijo zvezde nevsakdanje
v tišino novega snega.

---Marjan Strojan

paradox
02.06.2005, 00:56
INTÉRIEUR

Skrivnostni so značaji naših bližnjih
stvari: domači kot obraz človeka,
a od nenehne rabe čudno bližji.
Le kdo je komu človek, kdo obleka?

Obutih čevljev jezik je molčeč.
(Stvari, ki služijo ljudem, molčijo.)
Ko jih sezujem, brž spregovorijo:
prepad brez dna, saj mene tam ni več.

Ko odložim očala, od kod in kam
strmijo? Brez njih zrem le vase. Blazno.
Stvari živijo, jaz sem živ in sam.

Sam spim v omari. Ko odklenem veke,
zagledam zevajoč rokav obleke
in hlačnico brez moje noge. Prazno.

---Boris A. Novak

paradox
02.06.2005, 00:59
JUŽNI OTOK

Je južni otok. Je.
Daleč v neznanem morju
je pika na obzorju.
Je lisa iz megle.

Med svitom in temo
iz bele vode vzhaja.
In neizmerno traja.
In v hipu gre na dno.

In morje od slasti
je težko in pijano.
In sol zatiska rano.
In slutnja, da ga ni.

Da so na temnem dnu
samo zasute školjke
in veje grenke oljke
in zibanje mahu.

A voda se odpre
in močna zvezda vzide
in nova ladja pride
in južni otok je.


© Kajetan Kovič

unicorn
02.06.2005, 20:34
Black Cat

A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place
your sight can knock on, echoing; but here
within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze
will be absorbed and utterly disappear:

just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified.

She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen
into her, so that, like an audience,
she can look them over, menacing and sullen,
and curl to sleep with them. But all at once

as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;
and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,
inside the golden amber of her eyeballs
suspended, like a prehistoric fly.

Rainer Maria Rilke

unicorn
02.06.2005, 20:42
L'invitation au voyage


Mon enfant, ma soeur,
Songe #224; la douceur
D'aller l#224;-bas
vivre ensemble!
Aimer #224; loisir,
Aimer et mourir
Au pays qui te ressemble!
Les soleils mouillés
De ces ciels brouillés
Pour mon esprit ont les charmes
Si mystérieux
De tes traîtres yeux,
Brillant #224; travers leurs larmes.
L#224;, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.
Des meubles luisants,
Polis par les ans,
Décoreraient notre chambre;
Les plus rares fleurs
M#234;lant leurs odeurs
Aux vagues senteurs de l'ambre,
Les riches plafonds,
Les miroirs profonds,
La splendeur orientale,
Tout y parlerait
A l'âme en secret
Sa douce langue natale.
L#224;, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.
Vois sur ces canaux
Dormir ces vaisseaux
Dont l'humeur est vagabonde;
C'est pour assouvir
Ton moindre désir
Qu'ils viennent du bout du monde.
Les soleils couchants
Rev#234;tent les champs,
Les canaux, la ville enti#232;re,
D'hyacinthe et d'or;
Le monde s'endort
Dans une chaude lumi#232;re.
L#224;, tout n'est qu'ordre et beauté,
Luxe, calme et volupté.



Charles Baudlaire - Les fleurs du mal

Tankard
03.06.2005, 09:57
quote:Originalna objava unicorn



Arthur Rimbaud



ZLO

Dokler karteč škrlatni pljunki žvižgajo
skozi neskončnost modrega neba ves dan;
dokler škrlatni in zeleni rušijo
može vsevprek, ob njih pa kralj je nasmejan;

dokler strahotna blaznost še drobi ljudi
stotisoče v ognjeni kup; - V travah
ubogi mrtvi, v soncu, v tvoji radosti
Narava, ki si jim življenje dala!...-

Je Bog, ki se skozi kadilo, z damastnih
oltarjev, iz velikih zlatih čaš smeji;
ki v prav narahlem zibanju hosan zaspi

in se zbudi, ko matere, v bojazni
sklonjene, pod črnim šalom jokajoče,
mu dajo v robcu zvezan velik suj, tresoče!



Moje majhne ljubice

Solzavi hidrolat umiva
nebne zelenine:
pod popjem, ki se že razliva,
vaše pelerine

zbledele od posebnih lun
prepolnih zmrzlobe,
udarite s koleni skup
ve moje grdobe!

In ko tedaj sva se ljubila,
sinja grdoba,
naju mehka jajca so hranila,
črevc kurjih kisloba!

Si kronala me za poeta,
svetla grdoba:
v naročju sedi mi razpeta,
da bičam te znova;

kozlal sem tvojo briljantino,
črna grdoba;
presekala bi mojo mandolino
ti lica ostroba.

Fej, moje posušene sline,
rusa grdoba,
smradijo tvoje še obline,
polnih prsi rova!

O moje majhne ljubice,
kako vas mrzim!
Pritisnite boleče cunjice
prek grdih prsi!

Teptajte skledaste starine
mojih čustvovanj;
... Hopla, bodite mi balerine
za trenutek vsaj!...

Lopatice izpahne gesta,
o ljubezni moje!
Na vaših šepajočih bokih zvezda,
kroge zakrožite svoje!

Vendar zaradi vaših ovčjih tac
sem verze gulil!
Bi hotel kolke vam zdrobiti v prah,
da sem vas ljubil!

Grmade neuspelih zvezd postane,
zapolnite kote!
... S prostaškimi skrbmi sedlane
crknile pri Bogu boste!

Še nižje od posebnih lun
prepolnih zmrzlobe,
udarite s koleni skup,
ve moje grdobe!



BLODNJE

Daleč od ptic, vaščank in čred ovac,
kaj sem pil, na kolenih sred vresišč,
ko obkrožal me je leskin les mehak
in roji mlačnih, zelenih meglic?

Le kaj sem pil lahko sred mlade Oise,
... Oblaki, nemi bresti, trata brez cvetlic!...
iz čutar pil rumenih, stran od drage
koče? Je znojilen bil napitek zlat.

Pred krčmo sem nejasen bil napis.
... Vihar nebo podil. Ko padel mrak je,
se gozdna voda je izgubila v pesek čist
in Božji veter metal led je v mlake;

zlato sem videl jokajoč ... in nisem mogel piti. ...

...............................



Dobra jutranja misel

Poleti, ko se dan zbudi,
ljubezenski spanec še traja.
Že izpuhti iz gaja
vonj slavja noči.

Po širnem gradbišču okrog,
kjer sonce Hesperid žari,
že moštvo brez srajc, golih rok,
Tesarjev vrvi.

Mirni, v Pustinjah mahovin,
trdne delajo opaže,
tja bogatin
naslikal nebo bo, ki laže.

Za delavce, Venera daj,
za sužnje kralja Babilona,
se loči od Ljubimcev zdaj,
krasi jim dušo krona.

Kraljica pastirjev!
O, delavcem prinesi žganje,
da sila njihova umiri se,
ko čaka v morju poldansko kopanje.



Občutje

V sinjih poletnih večerih bom šel po stezah,
skoz žito bodeče, v poljanah pogazil bom travo:
sanjav bom občutil svežino na svojih nogah.
Vetru bom pustil oblivati golo mi glavo.

Nič ne bom mislil in niti govoril:
a v duši se bo zdramila neskončna ljubezen
in kot kak cigan se bom daleč odpodil
skozi Naravo – kot da bi z žensko bil, srečen.


Le kaj so nama te plasti krvi, srce

Le kaj so nama te plasti krvi, srce,
in oglje, tisoč smrti, dolgi kriki jeze,
ihtenja vsega pekla, ki vsak red drobe;
in še čez ruševine hladni veter

in maščevanje? Nič!... – Želiva ga, o pač!
Magnati, knezi in senat, umrite!
Oblast, pravica, zgodovina, zdaj klonite!
Naj teče kri! Naj vzpne se plamen zlat!

Moj Duh, v teror, za maščevanje, v boj!
Zagriziva v meso! Naj zginejo s sveta
republike in ves cesarski zbor,
regimenti, kolonisti, ljudstva vsa!

Kdo drug zanetil bi požar,
če ne midva in ti, ki jih za brate imava?
Zasanjani prijatelj, le k nama!
Ognjeni vali, mi ne bomo delali nikdar!

Evropa, Azija, Amerika, v smrt.
Naš maščevalni marš zavzel je svet,
vsa mesta in dežele! – Ocean bo strt,
mi uničeni, ko se vulkani razbesne.

Prijatelji! – Da, to so bratje ti, srce:
neznani črnci, gremo! Gremo zdaj vsi!
A jaz drhtim in stara zemlja, o gorje!
Na me, ki bolj in bolj sem vaš, se prst vali.

To ni nič! Jaz sem tu, še vedno tu!



N.C.

Zvezda se zjokala roza v srce tvojih ušes,
večnost se je zvila bela od vratu do križa,
morje je zmezelo ruso na sesek rdeč,
Človek skrvavel je črn v stegna ti najvišja.


Prvi večer

-- Ona si je haljo slekla
in drevesa so ob zidu
zlobno z listi tolkla v stekla,
čisto blizu, čisto blizu.

V naslanjaču je sedela
in smeje roké sklenila.
Od ugodja je drhtela
njena noga, nežna, fina.

-- V sobo je zafrfotal
skozi listje žarek bled,
je na njene prsi pal
in na smeh – kot muha v cvet.

-- Sem poljubil nežne gležnje,
in njen smeh sladko brutalen
se razlil je v žvrgolenje,
v smeh prijeten in kristalen.

Drobne noge so pod srajco
se rešile: »Boš končal!«
-- To dovoljeno nesramnost
sladek smeh je kaznoval!




Večji sem od Kristusa.

unicorn
08.06.2005, 18:55
Bile so svetle sanje in prešle,
zdaj je življenje takšno, kakor je.

Pravice ni in je nikdar ne bo,
velike ribe zmerom majhne žro.

Svobode ni – svoboden je le duh,
a duh je v mesu, ki presnavlja kruh.

Resnica je – a v vseh stvareh tičí
takó globoko, da se v njih zgubi.
(...)

(Polnoletnost)


All that is of Legendry
Beauty, Magic, Mystery
Gentleness and Purity
Dwells in Me

Kate
09.07.2005, 15:40
John Ashberry: Misli mladega dekleta
(prev.: Uroš Zupan)


"Tako lep dan je, da sem ti morala napisati pismo
iz stolpa in ti pokazati, da nisem nora:
Samo spodrsnilo mi je na koščku zračnega mila
in utopila sem se v kopalni kadi sveta.
Preveč dober si bil, da bi veliko jokal za mano.
In zdaj ti pustim oditi. Podpis, Palček. "




tonight my life is moving fast...i sit and watch the demons pass


heather nova

namgyal
12.07.2005, 23:44
Huj, doxi, ko me že dolgo ni blo, pa je glih pri roki...



MILTON ACORN
Pismo svojemu rdečelasemu sinu


Mladi javorjevi listi, prekriti z nežno, bakreno rdečico,
se iztegnejo, komajda se upognejo v sapi, ki ukrivlja veje,
a mene prebada slast, ki je ustvarila tebe
in nore pesnike sili, da imenujejo pomlad zeleno.

Pesnik proti mnoštvu lažnivcev, vem,
da se boš ljubezni in iskrenosti naučil od nje,
ki se ni mogla naučiti prezira in me je zapustila.
Naučil se boš, fant, da boš, tako kot jaz, strupen
z ljudmi prebarvanih oči,
do njihove podkupljivosti in besed: "črnuh";

"drugačni od nas" .... "pankrt."

Nori pesniki imenujejo pomlad zeleno, a jaz,
pesnik, vem, da ti ne morem dati nič tvojega
- samo, kar vem o sebi: da
nič, kar sem storil, nobena pesem, prepričanje,
misel ali dejanje ljubezni, ni poklicalo
drugega, močnejšega dejanja, ali pa sem ga izgubil.

paradox
15.07.2005, 14:04
quote:Originalna objava namgyal

Huj, doxi, ko me že dolgo ni blo, pa je glih pri roki...


thanks:)

paradox
15.07.2005, 14:11
... ne vem sicer cigave so, so mi pa vsec:approve:

BLAZENOST

Vecerno sonce dogori,
iz tal zeleni žar zatli
in me zaloti,

ko hodim blag in ves lahak
nekomu drag skoz topli mrak
po varni poti.

Spremenil sem se v cisto snov
in grem med grozami svetov
sebi naproti.

paradox
15.07.2005, 14:12
OB SVECI

Bivanje,
čisto in polno.
Najkrajsi in najgostejsi svet.
Tako blizu mi se ni bil.
Ne ganem niti s prstom.
Niti z utripom se ne premaknem.
Stojim kakor, da lezim
in spim kakor da sem ugasnil luc.
Prihajam kakor da se iscem.
Odhajam kakor, da se vracam.
Negibnost me nosi.
Stalnost me spreminja.
Vse zunaj mene je moj jaz.
Vse znotraj jaza
je vse.
:music:

paradox
03.08.2005, 11:25
NOMAD

Kakor nomad se selim
s trnjem nemira v dusi
v nove pomladi iz zim,
v travnato radost po suši.

Upanje, zilavi konj,
stopa po skalni planoti,
suhi, brezupni kot on,
z mano k poslenji samoti.

In ko kot v kožuh zavit
ležem zvecer med spomine,
dom zablesti kot privid
večno zelene doline.


VDANOST

Samotni kamen, daj mi svojo zbranost,
drevo pozeni v moje veje mir,
nauci me, o zemlja, kaj je vdanost,
spremeni me avgust, v ta svoj večer.

Ves dan je vame v mrzlih curkih lilo,
kot toča trto klesilo telo.
O, koliko tega je že minilo
O, koliko tega še morda bo.


--Lojze Krakar

paradox
03.08.2005, 11:30
ODGOVORI

Kar je drzno - ostane
Ostalo je prevara

Kar je živo - preživi
Prebije se skozi besede

Kar teče s tokom
ga reka odplakne
svetloba prežari

Kar samo živi - samo umre
Nebo leže nanj
in ga pokrije

Temno temno modro
kot september
ko so dnevi krajsi
in vode deroče
in se nikoli ne sprašuješ

o ničemer



--L.Krakar

paradox
03.08.2005, 11:35
Bistveno

Nikoli se cvet dovolj ne odpre
da bi lahko dosegel pesem

Nikoli se čas dovolj ne umakne besedam
da bi lahko postale resničnejše od trenutka

Nikoli ni nobeno slovo dovolj daleč
da bi se lahko zgodila ponovitev

In zvezde niso nikoli tako blizu
da bi lahko nasli vprasanja

na vse odgovore


--Vinko Moderndorfer

paradox
03.08.2005, 11:40
:clown:

Sinja rdecina šumi,
mrak se srebrno peni,
ko pa tema se zgosti,
pal bo se zadnji ognjeni
list z veje deblu do nog,
kjer ba bo v bliskov sijaju
dvignil ga opolnoci Bog
in si ga spravil v raju.

...tudi L.Krakar

paradox
25.08.2005, 12:33
bard strtoglasec
razkraja gib,...
Izenacuje hip;,
Postavlja hrib,;,
Zraven (;)

*****

...
Preluknjal bi slovar - luknja
pri besedi brez pomena!
- Slovarje vseh jezikov
sveta imam, lahko jih stlacim
v nos - ce hocem.

pa nocem, zato sem jih
podaril svoji sobi -- zato --
da je ne bi motil ---.

:clown:



...znavci se zakotale iz daljnogleda v nedogled :approve:


---Jani Kovacic

paradox
27.08.2005, 12:26
:)

Before dawn, across the whole road
as I pass I feel spiderwebs.

Within people’s voices, under their words or
woven into the pauses, I hear a hidden sound.

One thin green light flashes over a smooth sea
just as the sun goes down.

What roses lie on the altar of evening
I inhale carefully, to keep more of.

Tasting all these and letting them have
their ways to waken me, I shiver and resolve.

In my life, I will more than live.

--- William Stafford

namgyal
07.09.2005, 22:12
Peter Semolič: Hatchet
(transl. by Ana Jelnikar)

Father, it's time for us to meet in wakefulness.
You, entirely of memories and ashes. I...

You will recognize me easily.
I bear your eyes, your chin, your destiny,
marked on my skin.

Father, it's time we admitted the existence of a hatchet, driven into a knot.

I am not asking you for a miracle.
I am not asking you to tug at the blade.
I assent to the fact
that our hearth will forever be cold.

I am asking you for a simple admission:
we did not obey the laws of growth.

And I accept the excuse:
it was cold,
which is why the handle shivered in our grip.

Father, that is all I am asking for.

I know, you have always said
that birds are merely trees' visitors.
That the wind sifts the leaves only for itself.

But this is the way I am.

How can I throw my slender youth
onto the pyre of memory,
if there is mute steel lurking in it?

Let us admit to its existence, father.
So death will be easier for you
and life less of a burden for me.

unicorn
12.09.2005, 10:16
Twarlock, super pesmi. :2thumbs::)

All that is of Legendry
Beauty, Magic, Mystery
Gentleness and Purity
Dwells in Me

Pikado
25.09.2005, 20:52
Pesmi so prevedene iz arabščine in jih izvaja Soad Massi...
http://www.netrhythms.co.uk/images/souad.jpg

YEMMA
Mami, lažem ti, moram
Vse imam
Mami, lažem ti, moram
Ne zmerjajo me
Mami, lažem ti, moram
Solze ne tečejo v potokih

Zebe me in nihče ne skrbi zame
Po soncu hrepenim, le kako zmorem?
Ptica v kletki nima smisla
Če bi zemlja spregovorila, bi nas spodila
Bogastvo prihaja z neba – in ljudje umirajo od lakote.


LE BIEN ET LE MAL
Če bi imela srečo, ne bi pela solz.
Očitala sem sreči: Kje si bila, zakaj si prepozna?
Padla sem v zasedo in sem imela težave, je rekla.

Ko sta se srečala Dobro in Zlo
dobro ni sprevidelo namenov Zla
In Zlo je našlo pot do jutri
Utrujeno si, je reklo Zlo, hoja te je utrudila,
Moj hrbet naj bo tvoje sedlo.
Dobro ni podvomilo v te besede
in je zlezlo na hrbet Zla.
In ob zori so se ljudje ustrašili te podobe, rekoč:
Nekateri objokujejo svojo usodo
Nekateri živi jočejo na lastnih grobovih
Nekateri mladi ostarijo
Dovolj nam je tega življenja.


YAWLIDI
Vstati moraš zgodaj, moj fant.
Iti v šolo, da boš postal sila, moj fant
In ko boš odrasel, boš dovolj pameten,
da boš razumel življenje, moj fant.
Želel boš postati nekaj posebnega.
Vstati moraš zgodaj, moj fant.
Gledal nas boš zviška, moj fant.
Ko boš izbiral prijatelje med nami, fant.
In izničil tiste, ki ti ne bodo všeč, fant.
Uničeval boš, moj fant.
Igral se boš z življenji, fant.
Uničeval boš, moj fant.
In kazal boš pot, ko bo prišla nevarnost, moj fant!



http://img227.exs.cx/img227/659/sun2t3vj.gif
To LoL or not to LoL

paradox
15.10.2005, 03:35
...from Litvija...

Poems by Ina Kontvainyte...(aka Angelina Thomas)


UMBILICAL CORD

There is a memory before the year when I was born,
There is a dream beyond the night I fall to sleep
There is a land distant the land outside my door
This is the ancient tie to Lietuva I keep.

Far from this century of din and aimless haste
Into the bosom of an ancient sea
The seabirds plunge where amber stones lie deep
Within the swells of Baltic memory

Forests of fir and shaded glades of oak reply
With intense perfume of wild strawberry
Filling the azure air under the sky
Still resonant with ancient melodies.

Though miles have come between and days pass by
The bond was made before my birth.
The tie to Lietuva remains...
As strong as gravity to earth.

paradox
15.10.2005, 03:52
...se vedno ...Ina

LOGIC

So much a realist have I become
That if you even breathe the word "idealism" to me
I'll unbelieving slam the door and leave,
To breathe night's air and walk under true stars.

Cherish the thing you are, but be secure
In knowing that it is a wisp of smoke,
Like atmosphere... or gossamer
Fainter than a dream.

Do not declare to me, "Oh, I am definitely this."
As if convinced that you're an imprint brief and clear
And finished, to the last degree.

Each one is what he is just for a breath,
The second one lies in repose
He blends and flows into another self,
Again without finality or hope of ever being done
With change or growth.
As each man meets another on the way
There are no certainties, each is in flux.

(Because of this, when questioned yesterday
If I loved you
I did not lie when I said yes.
Whereas today I'd answer "no" and be
Less fickle to myself than you.
Who, though you swear undying love,
Sound hypocritical instead of true.)


------------------------------------------------


WISDOM

"Young man," I asked, "what do you know of love?"
So he replied, in idioms and sighs, in countless words
(And many fancy lies) the why, the how of it,
The joy, the sorrow.
Yet unconvinced, I asked another still.
I said, "Old man, what do you know of love?"
But he just answered. "It's too soon to tell,
But if you wish, ask me again. Tomorrow."

paradox
15.10.2005, 04:11
...Ina

SEASHORE

I shall forget the city for the shore
Forsaking bricks and stones for an edifice
Of salty sand and clay and colored shells.
For scent of windswept harbors and
The sea-gulls cry.
I'll trade these asphalt streets
For quiet paths
Into the fairyland of trees and long green grass,
Where bright white clouds float by like sailing ships and
Hours pass wherein none other footstep falls,
Save mine...
And where the womb that birthed
The universe, shall cradle me,
Like a contented child.

paradox
17.10.2005, 00:57
...some more poetry from Baltic shores ...

THE MAP OF THE HAND

What territory is this?
What rivers, what boundaries?
Whose bones beneath the ancient mounds?

Life, head, heart, fate –
the lines that hold us up,
that cradle us in the deep,
rocking wind of our lives.

I stare down at my own hand
like a man awake in a dream,
flying above the earth.



A MEDICAL FACT

At the precise moment of death
the pupil of the eye
opens its widest.

The white lights in ceilings,
the moon, sun
stars, comets, nebulae,
the great band of the Milky Way –
all fall into the brain.

There are no lights
too bright for the dying.

---Antanas Venclova

paradox
17.10.2005, 00:58
THE URGE TO LIVE

The urge to live is an ocean.
The lunar force which hauls flooding and ebbing.
Speed of sunlight which goes right through the brain.
Love and sex alike are each only a small part of that overall urge.
The urge to create. The urge to love and to hate. The urge to exist.
To exist as world, as universe, as an ant or H2O molecule.
The urge to live of those who really are alive is the urge to take in
more than has been allotted.



NIGHT COLOURS

The colours melt in evening shadows.
The Painter Day goes off to bed
And here comes Night, a gifted draughtsman,
Who uses jet-black ink instead...

Only the sky still glows with colour...
Upon its thick and dark blue velvet
Like grains of amber stars are twinkling
And in the sombre lake below
Are seen their less distinct reflections:
So vague, so pale – like drops of paint
Spilt on the water from a height...
Such is the palette of the night.

That's why again I turn my eyes
To where the sun will shortly rise...

---Alis Balbierius

paradox
18.10.2005, 20:56
ANDANTE

You are space, melted by heat,
The heavens thundering force,
I am a stone, awoken
On earth's first day by sudden lightening.

Sunbeams cause havoc in my head,
Burn out black blots
Sunbeams splatter your boiling color
Onto me ...

And we both melt, inflamed,
Thirsting for the same.
Not having yet said even one word,
Not having yet even believed in miracles,
We stand before the cradle of thought.

---Kazys Brad#363;nas

paradox
18.10.2005, 20:59
Leaf by leaf,
Moment upon moment,
Spark after spark,
You sing out,
Live out,
Burn out,
And rise from the ashes
Phoenix-like
Tearing open your breast
to feed them
drop by drop
with your heartblood.
Consummate self-adulation.

--- Antanas Venclova

paradox
18.10.2005, 21:03
RETURNING YOUR FLOWERS

I'm returning your flowers. It's Autumn.
With dry gooseberry stalks Earth smells sweet.
And the sky's ever deeper, and water
Feels more painful for chill-blained feet.

I'm returning your flowers. You know -
It's a fact – every summer runs through.
Let's go look for a house where there's light,
Where there's nothing but bread and fruit.

And that's why I'm returning your flowers
From the field of illusion. Please put
Words aside, just remain here with me
While the Milky Way fades underfoot.

--- Antanas Venclova

paradox
18.10.2005, 21:09
AT MIDNIGHT

Every star –
Eternity's dust –
Is silent.

Only the heart –
Universal presence –
Is beating.

That is enough,
No more is needed –
Only to feel,
How a song slumbers,
Freezing into a snowflake...

---Kazys Bradunas

-------------

Tomorrow I don't know what you will mean to me: my wings, my load?
Never yet has a life inside me asserted itself and grown
with such fiery, wild, impetuous force.

You are my country now – all of it under my heart.
Yesterday was but a street under passing feet.
You are like a young god. And I don't care where
you take me: heaven or hell.

A moment's whim? A sign of fate? Who cares.
A self-destructing star at dawn above whirling sparks.
I sink into you and there turn to flame.
Stripped bare to my dearest darkest depths.

--- Antanas Venclova

paradox
18.10.2005, 21:12
For the Love of Yourself

Do what you do for the love of yourself
Bring purple candles of preparation
To the altar of your life.
Hum in your heart to calm your fears
Of living fully
And know that full joy is just a seed
Planted in your soul
Yet to flourish in unimagined forms.
Walk by a tree and hug it.
Let a song caress your ears
Allow your gentle tears to fall
For lost hopes and dented dreams.
Sigh for unknown futures
Breathe deeply of the silence
And know that your pain
Is but a breaking open
Of yourself
To be yourself.

---Sherrie Connelly

paradox
18.10.2005, 21:15
DIRECTIONS FOR RESISTING THE SAT

Do not believe in October or May
or in any Saturday morning with pencils.
Do not observe the rules of gravity,
commas, history.
Lie about numbers.
Blame your successes,
every one of them,
on rotten luck.
Resign all clubs and committees.
Go down with the ship—any ship.
Speak nothing like English.
Desire to live whole,
like an oyster or snail,
and follow no directions.
Listen to no one.

Make your mark on everything.


--- Richard Hague

paradox
21.10.2005, 15:17
...ob njegovem odhodu nekaj njegovih verzov v spomin na njegovo zivljenje...
...naj pociva v miru

Dane Zajc

ZA VSE BOŠ PLAČAL

Za vse boš plačal.
Največ boš plačal za svoje rojstvo.
Jata posmehljivih ptic te bo zasledovala
skoz življenje.
Ob uri miru
in ob uri nemira
se bo spuščala na tvoje prsi.
Terjala bo plačilo.
In ti boš dajal in dajal.
Ampak odrešitve ne bo nikoli.
Ker ni nikjer odpuščanja.
Nikjer ni odrešitve za človeka.
V sebi nimaš vrednosti,
s katero bi plačal.
In sam si plačilo za vse.

***


BITI KAPLJA

Biti kaplja na tvojih prsih,
biti svetla cista kaplja
na zejni kozi,
biti nemirna kaplja
na vrocih prsih,
biti posrkana kaplja na tvojem telesu.
Biti trska v tvojem ognju,
biti plamenec ogenj v tvojem ognju,
biti velik ogenj
v ognju tvojega zivljenja,
goreti, goreti, zgoreti
in biti pepel, ki ga raznaša
dih tvoje strasti,
nicesar vec cutiti, nicesar vec zeleti
Le v unicenju je mir in ljubezen,
le v unicenju je neskoncna zvestoba,
mrtve stvari ljubijo z mirom vernosti,
o biti skala v polju
tvoje ljubezni.


***

GORI POEZIJA

Ogenj prebira pesmi.
Ogenj postavlja locila.
Hitri ogenj z zoglenelimi ocmi
lista liste z zubljastimi prsti.

Kdo bo bral verze,
zapisane v zerjavici.
Pregorele besede. Razpadle zloge.
Zverizene #232;rke.

Na kol nataknjena glava
pesni pod zapitimi vekami.
Crno pesem poje glava,
jo poje neslišno iz odsekanega grla.

Gorijo svetlolase pesmi z ognjem v laseh.
Gorijo slavci nad mestom slavcev
z ozganimi krili, s pregorelim
gostolenjem v kljunu.
Gorijo vrtnice v obzidanih vrtovih.
Gorijo beznice, palice minaretov se lomijo.
Cerkve gorijo.
V ognju je zoglenelo vprašanje,
kaj je pesem.

Gorijo obrazi ur,
vsi naenkrat zazgani.
Cas pretekli, cas prihodnji
frlita iz plamenov casa sedanjega.

Na vprašanje, kaj je smrt,
kaplja kri
iz smrtne rane pravkar rojenega.

paradox
23.10.2005, 02:22
...pa se en lusten :) od Romuna Nichita Stanescu...


A Poem

Tell me, if I caught you one day
and kissed the sole of your foot,
wouldn't you limp a little then,
afraid to crush my kiss?...

paradox
28.10.2005, 18:51
Too Black

They take my kindness for weakness.
They take my silence for speechless.
They consider my uniqueness strange.
They call my language slang.
They see my confidence as conceit.
They see my mistakes as defeat.
They consider my success accidental.
They minimize my intelligence to "potential".
My questions mean I'm unaware.
Not to ask means I don't care.
Any praise is preferential treatment.
To voice concern is discontentment.
If I stand up for myself, I'm too defensive.
If I don't trust them, I'm apprehensive.
I'm deviant if I separate.
I'm fake if I assimilate.
My advancement is somehow affair.
When I reach the top, it's considered rare.
My character is constantly under attack.
Pride for my race makes me "too black".

--By: Cynthia L. Moore

paradox
28.10.2005, 18:55
I Am
I am a book
I am a cover
I am a hater
I am a lover
I am an echo of future mends
I am the past when new times end
I am a spirit
I am a soul
I am in chaos
I am in control
I am sunny days that never end
I am destiny waiting to begin
I am the blind man that needs to see
I am the river that becomes the sea
I am everyone but no one
I am the air that holds the sun
I am silence
I am choice

I am freedom
hear my voice

complete!

---By: Carlos Carter

paradox
28.10.2005, 18:58
"The American Dream"

I can’t stand baseball and my favorite dessert ain’t apple pie
Pecan was the best in my house with peach cobbler in a close tie

The American dream seems more like an apparent scheme
To keep crabs in a bucket and eagles flying on the winning team
Now don’t get me wrong, I love living here in America
I just got a problem and hate what’s wrong with the American dream

Why can a badged man take out his aggression on me and call it resistance
The middle class can miss the rich tax breaks and make too much to qualify for assistance

I can lose my job because a spiteful coworker backed up into me
It’s amazing how the American dream ain’t all it was cracked up to be

Why are so many homes labeled broken when they weren’t fixed in the first place
Why does a man have to give up his possessions when he was found innocent
in the first case

How can important news take the back page to the faces of a movie star break up
The American dream got some people on a daily basis, not wanting to wake up

America the beautiful, land of the FREE? Let’s take a pole
Let’s ask the biggest population of people locked up without the chance of parole
Let’s ask the ones who were trying to feed their families when they robbed and stole
Let’s ask the ones laid off in the middle of winter when their homes were freezing cold

I went to college, scratched and clawed, and got my degree
But there are still strippers and drug dealers making twice as much as me
There’s nothing like his struggling family to take the dignity of a man
In this home of the brave, so proudly we hail’d, this of free, land

A land where space exploration takes millions away from education and health
A land where 10% of the country owns 90% of its wealth
A land that while free, in your time of need, doesn’t necessarily guarantee you protection
A land where you can win the majority of the votes and still go on to lose the election

A land where your termination can happen unbeknownst to you through email and faxes
A land where a hate group can march down the middle of your street where you pay taxes
A land where representatives don’t call back and bill collectors are relentless
A land so crowned with good and brotherhood and built on independence

Built on INDEPENDENCE? This country was built on the backs of slaves
Independence was the Underground Railroad and sleeping in caves
Independence was 4 centuries of faith and the lives that they gave
Independence was the heart of a race and the road to freedom that they paved

To fight for independence and then for slavery, and be passionate about both
Seems to encompass solemn a pledge to a hypocritical oath

So I won’t trade in my African ties for a cultured American tie
It was the slave-owning Americans who prospered while the enslaved died
And don’t sell me an American piece of an American pie
Because the American dream is an American lie







---By: Kenneth Henry, Jr.

paradox
27.11.2005, 04:06
...pa se malo turske poezije

FREE

We live free
Air is free, clouds are free
Valleys and hills are free
Rain and mud are free
The outside of cars
The entrances of cinemas
And the shop windows are free
Bread and cheese cost money
But stale water is free
Freedom can cost your head
But prison is free
We live free

---Orhan Veli Kanik



THE FUTURE

The proto-hips is the horse's forerunner
The dinothere is the elephant's ancestor
We are ancestors of Man...
THE HAPPY MAN OF THE FUTURE.

---Melih Cevdet Anday

------------


Governments and armies
dislike poetry

Holy books, prophets and laws
dislike poetry

Philosophers
shrink from poetry
For poetry
will steal philosophy's bread

But poetry does not care:
it owe nothing to no one

It brews a storm
in the steps of history
and walks its own way

Poetry loves all

---Ozkan Mert

paradox
27.11.2005, 04:31
UNCREATED AND UNDESTROYED

Period of revolution,
period of rotation,
timeless circumstance,
perfect situation.

This enchanted sky
assumes a definite soul,
uncreated and undestroyed.


M.W. Albrecht

paradox
27.11.2005, 04:38
...also:
M.W. Albrecht

WATCHING NOTHING HAPPEN

Watching nothing happen
over and over,
slowly learning to see through it all,
to realize without realizing,
anything real is not real
until revealed.



METAMORPHIC DREAMS

The death of a butterfly
explodes deep inside my mind,
breaking open a lost world
of metamorphic dreams.

I am so altered
that I hear the whir of electrons
and the prayers of flowers.

spela26
27.11.2005, 19:16
It is all good


A good friend, good words,

Good music and tea.

What is lacking is

That inexplicable,

Unstoppable, rapture

That inspires a skylark, a forest,

And the whole creation

Before the first dawn.



Therefore I know

The night will last.


Neza Maurer


Kdor se veseli zivljenja in ga sprejme z vsemi - in + ,se zvecer zahvali dnevu in po prespani noci objame svit,poljubi jutro in odhiti novemu dnevu naproti :-)

spela26
27.11.2005, 19:24
NAJU NI VEC.


Sama sem.

Ti si samo še pot.

Napev nekega jutra.

Nevihta nekega vecera.

Dnevi,

povezani z zlato praprotjo,

cakajo,

da jih zazgem

in se zadnjic ogrejem

ob njih.

Cakam,

da moja sla po toploti

premaga muko;

z njo bo ugasnil tudi spomin

na naju.



Potem bova spet

ti in jaz.

Neza Maurer



Kdor se veseli zivljenja in ga sprejme z vsemi - in + ,se zvecer zahvali dnevu in po prespani noci objame svit,poljubi jutro in odhiti novemu dnevu naproti :-)

spela26
27.11.2005, 19:31
TISTI, KI ME LJUBI,


mi daje krila.
Tisti, ki ga ljubim,

me zapre v kletko.



Je res,

da ptice v kletki

najlepše pojo?


Neza Maurer



Kdor se veseli zivljenja in ga sprejme z vsemi - in + ,se zvecer zahvali dnevu in po prespani noci objame svit,poljubi jutro in odhiti novemu dnevu naproti :-)

spela26
27.11.2005, 19:39
KADAR LJUBIMO



Sama sva na svetu -

ti in jaz.

To je vedno tako, kadar ljubimo.



Povej mi dosti lepih besed,

nabrati jih morava za vse življenje:

najina ljubezen je večna.

To je vedno tako, kadar ljubimo.



Ne misli na smrt!

poslušaj: Vrtnica se je razcvetela,

sonce je vzšlo žareče.

Nikogar ni razen tebe,

da bi mu to povedala -

in vsak dan je bolj res.

Vedno je tako, kadar Ijubimo.



V posteljo najinih dlani

položiva svet, da se spočije,

da se ogreje od najinega diha.

Ves svet je v najinih rokah,

v najinih prepletenih prstih -

Vedno je tako, kadar Ijubimo.



Neza Maurer

Kdor se veseli zivljenja in ga sprejme z vsemi - in + ,se zvecer zahvali dnevu in po prespani noci objame svit,poljubi jutro in odhiti novemu dnevu naproti :-)

spela26
27.11.2005, 19:48
SLUČAJNO SEM TU



Samo s koncem stopal

se dotikam zemlje;

zoreči sad je pripet na vejo

z vsak dan tanjšim pecljem.



Roke prožim v nebo,

telo je napeto v rahel,

prestrašeno vzhičen lok

Malega princa,

ko ga je oplazil strupen curek.

Rešen vseh vezi

se žene k svoji vrtnici.



S prikritim očitkom in strahom

se ozirate v moje priprte oči -

vase gledam, iščem,

kje je rumena kačica poniknila v pesku -

vam pa se oči belijo od groze.



Samo slučajno sem tu.

Želim si, da bi me ljubili

kot lep, dišeč

nad breznom zoreč sad.


Neza Maurer



Kdor se veseli zivljenja in ga sprejme z vsemi - in + ,se zvecer zahvali dnevu in po prespani noci objame svit,poljubi jutro in odhiti novemu dnevu naproti :-)

paradox
28.11.2005, 03:09
...Spelca, za tale prispevek si pa zasluzis :kisses::kisses::kisses:

...sem ze pozabla kako je tale nasa Neza dobra:approve:...upam, da se kdaj kaj nalimas;)

spela26
28.11.2005, 16:52
quote:Originalna objava paradox

...Spelca, za tale prispevek si pa zasluzis :kisses::kisses::kisses:

...sem ze pozabla kako je tale nasa Neza dobra:approve:...upam, da se kdaj kaj nalimas;)


meni je ona prva med slo.pesnicami...njene pesmi,poezije so zame kot zamet...ves de se kej nalepim:):2thumbs::kisses:



Kdor se veseli zivljenja in ga sprejme z vsemi - in + ,se zvecer zahvali dnevu in po prespani noci objame svit,poljubi jutro in odhiti novemu dnevu naproti :-)

spela26
28.11.2005, 18:45
Bela lisica


Nebo je čadasto črno.

Zemlja sajasta.

Na črnikastem travniku

šop venečih rož

To so otroci.


Neya M.

Moji otroci.

Naj jih potrgam,

skrajšam črne dneve?



Poprosim železna vozila

-v zraku, na cesti, na vodi-

poprosim sive ljudi:

»Pomagajte, da jih odpeljem

žive in cele do zraka,

do sonca.«



Nobeden ne sliši.

Ne čuti.

Že dolgo ne dela nihče po svoje.



»Smrt, prosim, pridi vsaj ti,

če si poštena,

kakor si nekdaj bila...«



Nekaj belega-kdo ve od kod-

se mi prikrade do nog,

se vzpne, me pogleda:

»Človeška mati, moj rod je na varnem.

Razumem te. Daj mi jih,

da postanejo, kar sem jaz-

pa jih rešim.«



Otroci s poslednjo voljo

dvignejo glave,

sprožijo suhe roke:

»Mati, ne!«



»Molči golazen!

Ne poznam vas!

Vzemi jih, bela lisica,

pelji jih, kamor hočeš.

Naj živijo kot bilke,

kot divje živali-

samo naj živijo! Naj živijo!«



Kričim, tulim,

ko beli trop v diru izginja na sever-

kot bežeči vhod v zadušnem predoru,

kot medla pika ugašajočih oči.

In potem-

vesoljna tema.

Tulim v črni školjki neba in zemlje:

»Živijo...«



Še krik,

stok.

Umolknem.

Kdor se veseli zivljenja in ga sprejme z vsemi - in + ,se zvecer zahvali dnevu in po prespani noci objame svit,poljubi jutro in odhiti novemu dnevu naproti :-)

paradox
03.12.2005, 18:30
,,,huda :disapp:...ampak fina;)

...dej se katero slovensko:):approve:

hula
04.12.2005, 14:27
GOLTAŠ IN UGAŠAŠ

Goltaš svoje tablete,
ugašaš televizijo,
mi obračaš svojo tanko rit
in čakaš, da ne boš več
budna.
Ob tvoj hrbet se privijam
z vso svojo ljubeznijo,
umeščam kolena v skledico,
ki jo delajo tvoja stegna
in meča,
prestavljam roko preko tvojih
bokov ter z dlanjo ravnam
tvoj napeti trebuh.

Primeš me za zapestje
in rečeš:
Jutri me vprašaj o tem moškem,
s katerim si me videl,
prosim te.

(D. Glamuzina)

Ma-la
10.12.2005, 23:19
sm prebrala kar zajeten kup pesmi(v miru:smile: )se za nazaj...in ker me spanec nikakor ne doseze...se ena lepa od Daneta Zajca...za doxi:kisses:

Ni te

Ni te v glasu vetra, ne v razmetanosti gora,
ni te v cvetu, in če kličejo ptice, ne kličejo tebe,
ni te v goloti zemlje, ne v težkem vonju trave,
in če sadiš rože, da bi ti dišale, rože dišijo sebi,
in če zgradiš cesto, ti bo cesta pripovedovala o sebi,
in če postaviš dom, če ga napolniš z dragimi predmeti,
te bo nekega dne sprejel kot tujca
in predmeti bojo govorili sebi s svojim jezikom,
posmehljivim zate.

Laž je, da je studenec zato, da bo gasil tvojo žejo,
in reka zato, da te bo okopala v hladnem naročju.
Laž je, da te bojo stvari tolažile z mirnim spominom,
ker nekega dne se ti bo uprl ves tvoj svet.

Nekega dne bojo stvari spremenile imena,
takrat bo kamen sovraštvo, veter groza,
cesta bo strah, ptice ti bojo zabijale v čelo
skeleče žeblje glasov, reka bo obup,
tvoji predmeti bojo tvoja krivda in tvoji tožniki.
Svet bo porušen. Svet bo brez imena.

Takrat ti bo moralo biti vseeno. Sedel boš v zapuščenem kotu.
Zaprl boš oči, da bi ničesar ne videl. Predvsem da bi ne videl
svoje zgubljenosti v zgubljenosti zumrlega sveta.
Da bi ne pomislil, da moraš
karkoli storiti, kamorkoli stopiti z nogami,
ki bojo tenke kot noge suhe južine.
Samo tvoja glava bo velika. Tvoja glava, ki bo cvetela
belo kot magnolija. Dolgo boš iskal v beli jami ust ime zase,
ampak takrat bo bolje, če boš našel ime za konec,
kot za nadaljevanje. Dane Zajc

Ma-la
11.12.2005, 00:00
ni je cez pesnico Nezo Maurer....:smile:

Nisem še ciganka


Nisem še ciganka,

nisem še odšla,

da se ne bi nikoli vrnila.

Trepalnice mojega otroka

mi kot drevored visokih topolov

kažejo pot domov.



Pa bi bila slast

sesti v prah,

zagrebsti vanj noge,

da porjavijo nohti in prsti.

Z umazano roko si pogladiti

štrenaste lase,

brezbrižno zamazati, pomečkati

in strgati krilo

in obzirnost

in vse dolžnosti

in vsa pravila

in vse načrte.

Kakšna slast bi bila

ždeti zamazana

na rjavi, težki zemlji

in jokati

dolgo,

počivati in si oddihovati,

izjokati vso žalost,

vse solze,

in z njimi napolniti reko,

da odplakne iz duče vse pomrle upe,

sanje, hrepenenja, hotenja,

da odnese vse mrtvo, razpadajoče

in odloži pregneteno neznanokje

kot rodovitno blato,

v katerem lahko vzklije

vsaj eno seme trpotca.



Izjokati

in oditi:

brez vrnitve, brez želje po njej,

grda, povaljana in raztrgana

in kalna kot voda,

ki teče, kamor mora.

Ne bežati pred čim,

ne hiteti za čim-

samo hoditi po svetu,

da se dopolni življenje.



A zdaj še nisem ciganka.

Trepalnice mojega otroka še utripajo

kot veje topolov, ko dahne veter.

Zato sem tu.

In neki hiši še zmeraj pravim dom.

Ma-la
11.12.2005, 00:11
Ljubljeno lila


Zgrabim večerno zamolklo modro nebo

In ga potegnem na tla.

Spečemu soncu odprem žilo,

Da brizgne peneči sij na temno modrino,

Da zacveti čez nebo in zemljo

Lila cvetje.



Ogrnem se v rdeč plašč

In odidem po lila sledi

V temo.

noc:kmet:

paradox
11.12.2005, 21:51
noc:kmet:noc:kmet: ...in jutro:smile:
...in hvala:kisses:

spela26
19.12.2005, 18:36
KIKLOP:smile:


Samo eno oko imam.

Ni ga,

ki bi me prisilil,

naj gledam samo v tla.



Gledal bom naprej

in kvišku.

Vi pa iščite svoje koristi

in me pustite pri miru.

paradox
21.12.2005, 01:07
I died a long ago,
why I'm still breathing I do not know.
my heart is filled with darkness,
coldness pumping trough my vanes,
I walk in world of silence,
no light, no warmth, no wishing well.

Once I could see this beauty,
now I see nothing for I am blind,
only deathly wishes,
floating trough my mind.

:kisses:

twarlock
21.12.2005, 17:52
:blush: :kisses: :wink:

namgyal
05.01.2006, 11:06
Roo Boorson:
Deset tisočkrat


Mrak je. Ptice vijugajo nizko proti jezeru in potem se potopijo
vanj. Veter pobere nekaj listov s tal
in jih spremeni v koleščka, ki se nekaj časa
vrtijo, potem se sesedejo. Ni je stvari, takšne kot so veje
posejane na ozadju neba, ki te spominjajo
na občutek, kako je biti z nogami na zemlji, na način, kako se tvoje roke
včasih druga druge dotaknejo. Vsi ti spomini,
saj ne bi hotela, da še enkrat zaživijo, nobenega smisla ne bi imelo.
Kaj bo naprej, se vprašuješ.
Vprašuješ se deset tisočkrat.



PS. doxi - OS

namgyal
09.01.2006, 22:03
Brane Mozetič: Iz Metuljev

26

vsako noc samo poslušam, v telefonu
tuja koprnenja, in na nebu
bombniki hrumijo v dalj, zjutraj
se zavlecem v omamo, gledat barve, neme.



39

z reko bi spustil se v mesto
a na eni strani vojska, drugi smrt
tu in tam kak štrcelj stene, cevelj
ali košcek pisma z vetrom v dalj.


44

prazen tek po mestu, eksplodiranje granat
trume trupel, petje v cerkvi, dolge kace
proti domu, zbita srna, nov komad
tvoj leden poljub -- in je takoj vecer.

51

kako je jutro tiho, ni grmenja bomb
ni živih ciljev, macek in drevesa prazna
na obrobju mesta volk sestradan, joce
s tacami se skriva, kot razleze se oblak.

54

sosedova družina zoglenela v kleti
nimajo obrazov, le zrnca fižola
pred seboj na mizi, in skoz okna gledajo
cveteti cešnje, rdece, vse hrustljave.



58

slišiš bobne v mraku, pridi v gozd, otrok
k opici in kaci, nic ne rabiš iz vasi
pridi, rešil se boš svetih vojn, luci
za seboj boš pustil le prgišce bolecin.

70

sosed seka glave, jih odira in pred hišo
razobeša kot lampijone, njihove nasmehe
širi z žeblji, za oci nalepi svetle zvezde
ki svetlikajo se v noci kot kresnice.

72

drobec bombe je belinu ranil krilo
ves nemocen prhuta, se stiska med razpoke
kot da sram ga je za psa brez noge, zgnilo sadje
zame, ki bi rad se vdrl v zemljo, skril za vselej.

paradox
11.01.2006, 08:34
črv je... Črv, ja! :big:...ja, ja vsak ma svoj'ga:big:

...Si bom dovolila :shy: tole tvojo kratko staritev, ki mi je med ostalimi se posebno vsec (ce izvzamem crva in melone:big:) nalimati tukaj...hope you don't mind:wink:

----------------
tanka

Med tankim nebom
in globokim odsevom
mirujeta dve črti:


ena loči nebo od vode,
druga izčrpani jezik od teže dotikov.
:kmet:

paradox
12.01.2006, 05:04
The Eclipse

I stood out in the open cold
To see the essence of the eclipse
Which was its perfect darkness.

I stood in the cold on the porch
And could not think of anything so perfect
As mans hope of light in the face of darkness.


Richard Eberhart

paradox
16.01.2006, 18:24
...Twarlock :2thumbs:
:approve:
:kisses:

---------------------------------
...pa se ena od moj'ga fotra...se pa se stara


Stoletja so minula kot trenutki
in v njih clovestva custev so mansarde
ljubezni in sovrastva avantgarde
v vrtincu casa kjer zive obcutki
Idej in idealov so osnutki
cekini zlati, ki gube se v blatu
izdaje sibkih src, vkovani v zlatu

Zrcalijo se in kaze nam lica
umazejo nam dober, cist namen
pa ohrome lepoti perutnice
a nadi nasih src zgube pomen
napadajo sebicnosti nas klice
cenen slap besedi je neiskren.

paradox
16.01.2006, 18:26
where do you go to
when there's nothing to live for?
where do you go to
when there's nothing to die for?
where do you go?
If I can be that sparkle
Which dances in your eyes
I’d make you see the wonders
That can defy the time
:big::clown:

šnela
16.01.2006, 18:30
Odlična sta! :approve:

twarlock
16.01.2006, 18:41
If I can be that sparkle
Which dances in your eyes
I’d make you see the wonders
That can defy the time
:big::clown:
If you'd be that sparkle,
that sparkles inside,
I'd show you the wonders,
the wonders of mind.

For mind is lossless,
the defying one,
the one with vision,
the vision of the blind.

paradox
17.01.2006, 00:22
If IF weren't a dreamer
in search of its dream
few visions of abstract
could ever be seen

The weaver of pieces
ilusive and intricately fine
IF dwells in the realms of
impossible kind

Too fickle to catch
too hard to define
yet , always there ready
to tickle one's mind

:wink:

paradox
17.01.2006, 00:42
The songs
have wrapped the soul
in lingering refrains...........................

the dreams
are waving threads
from dissipating flames

the screaming truth
is feasting
in emptiness of hope

the shadows
keep on swirling
in synopsis of mind

the echo of the ions
keeps drawing
the spiral line of time .....................

twarlock
17.01.2006, 02:33
yet abstract defines
the ever wondering' mind,
in visions revealing...
o how I wish I was blind.
the IF may be a tickler
the IF may elude
but sometimes you wonder
if maybe you could...
you know...
it's hard to find words
so I could define
what (Really) tickles my mind.

twarlock
17.01.2006, 02:36
The songs
have wrapped the soul
in lingering refrains...........................

the dreams
are waving threads
from dissipating flames

the screaming truth
is feasting
in emptiness of hope

the shadows
keep on swirling
in synopsis of mind

the echo of the ions
keeps drawing
the spiral line of time .....................
:shock: :approve: :approve: :approve:

paradox
18.01.2006, 21:42
...wow:cool:
...Preseren bi kuj enga zvrnu s tabo:approve:

paradox
18.01.2006, 21:45
Tiho padajo snezinke
vsipajo se iz neba
kot kosmici bele vate
vsipajo se nate, zate
da pokrijejo vse staro
sivo in odmrlo
tiho padajo na tla...

Mehko se je razprostrlo
pregrinjalo 'krog srca
v sneg zavile bodo trate
koder si poti prehodil
ko v jeseni neizmerni
tam iskal si, pel in blodil

tiho padajo na tla...