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  #91  
Staro 29.10.2004, 21:20
namgyal Uporabnik namgyal ni prijavljen
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Citat:
quote:Originalna objava paradox


... 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

  #92  
Staro 29.10.2004, 21:34
paradox Uporabnik paradox ni prijavljen
*One & Only*
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Citat:
quote:Originalna objava namgyal

Zate pa mala izmenjava...
...dobra zamenjava

...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
  #93  
Staro 29.10.2004, 21:43
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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
  #94  
Staro 29.10.2004, 22:08
paradox Uporabnik paradox ni prijavljen
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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
  #95  
Staro 30.10.2004, 23:01
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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

  #96  
Staro 30.10.2004, 23:06
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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
  #97  
Staro 30.10.2004, 23:28
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...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.


:D


--Tom Wayman
  #98  
Staro 31.10.2004, 20:59
paradox Uporabnik paradox ni prijavljen
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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...
  #99  
Staro 01.11.2004, 00:18
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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
  #100  
Staro 01.11.2004, 00:22
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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
 

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