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  #61  
Staro 27.09.2004, 02:15
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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
  #62  
Staro 01.10.2004, 06:19
Kate Uporabnik Kate ni prijavljen
ingnored by temp
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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.

  #63  
Staro 02.10.2004, 03:26
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  #64  
Staro 04.10.2004, 02:25
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...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
  #65  
Staro 06.10.2004, 04:55
paradox Uporabnik paradox ni prijavljen
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"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)
  #66  
Staro 06.10.2004, 17:40
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...

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
  #67  
Staro 10.10.2004, 03:06
paradox Uporabnik paradox ni prijavljen
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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
  #68  
Staro 10.10.2004, 05:00
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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
  #69  
Staro 11.10.2004, 19:28
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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
  #70  
Staro 11.10.2004, 19:30
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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
 

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