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  #161  
Staro 21.04.2005, 23:05
paradox Uporabnik paradox ni prijavljen
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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
  #162  
Staro 02.05.2005, 22:02
Kate Uporabnik Kate ni prijavljen
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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...
  #163  
Staro 02.05.2005, 22:15
Kate Uporabnik Kate ni prijavljen
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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...
  #164  
Staro 03.05.2005, 21:35
Kate Uporabnik Kate ni prijavljen
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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...
  #165  
Staro 03.05.2005, 21:47
Kate Uporabnik Kate ni prijavljen
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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...
  #166  
Staro 12.05.2005, 19:01
klepetava Uporabnik klepetava ni prijavljen
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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
  #167  
Staro 13.05.2005, 06:17
klepetava Uporabnik klepetava ni prijavljen
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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
  #168  
Staro 17.05.2005, 23:22
paradox Uporabnik paradox ni prijavljen
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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
  #169  
Staro 17.05.2005, 23:45
paradox Uporabnik paradox ni prijavljen
*One & Only*
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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
  #170  
Staro 18.05.2005, 00:11
paradox Uporabnik paradox ni prijavljen
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...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
 

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