Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

OLD POEMS

July 23, 2016

I started writing poems when I was around seven and I still think they are quite good. I want to post them all here when I find them in my parents’ house in December. Sorry readers! And here’s a later bunch.

 

A CONVERSATION

I’ll hurt you.

But being with me?

Being with you.

Well, I’ll hurt you, too.

But in between the hurting,

Baby, it’s paradise.

It’s heaven and hell

Break loose

At the same time.

 

 

SHAKESPEARIAN

My lord, why are you so out of measure sad?

What’s thy pleasure?

Do you love me, master? No?

Well, in that case

Let your indulgence set me free.

 

YOU ARE SO SOFT

You’re so soft

With a softness I have never experienced before,

Never dreamed of before,

A softness of something, an object,

And yet of flesh,

And yet of me.

 

How strange to be able to reach so deep,

Explore oneself in the true sense of the word,

Explore oneslef without cruelty, without vomit, without blood.

 

It’s always there.

 

It’s always been there.

 

So soft.

 

 

GRASS AND GLASS

You’re made of thin ice and slivers of glass, pointed upwards,

And, in between, wide plains of lush grass, green,

So green, so warm, so welcoming

One only wants to lie down

And rest

And dream

And get stolen by a wave

Of green grass,

Basking in the sun,

Until the hand reaches the brim of the warmth

And one shivers

And one cries.

 

NEVER BE MINE

The smile,

The eyes,

The mystery.

Hundreds of hours spent talking with a spectre,

Hundreds of hours of new, overwhelming joy

That might not be found.

Smelling the brow,

Gently brushing against the cheek, the nose

To reach just the very tip

Of the moist line

Of your lips

And

In a rush

Taste your tongue.

 

 

THE ICE CREAM SONG

I guess I’m a very religious person,

It’s just

I don’t happen to love Jesus.

 

I’m melting! Scoop me up!

 

Let’s go with the flow – but you’re the captain.

 

Whatever happens to us,

Adrienne Rich will haunt me.

 

 

I WANT

I want you to tell me stories about planes and wars,

I want you to cook one of those meticulously prepared dishes of yours,

I want you to smile

so wide

that there

will be a fine

line

on your right cheek

running down from the eye,

I want you to send me

emails long enough to show how good at writing

you are,

I want you to send me

songs that you composed and ask

what I think of them…

What I think of you?

I want you.

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KROLOWA PANTALYKOW

February 21, 2014

Czyli jak nauczyc dziecko slow w rodzaju “powabna” i delikatnego obchodzenia sie z winylami, a przy okazji rozkochac w muzyce klasycznej. Z serii “wspomnienia” zainspirowanej przez Iw M-G. (Emocje siegaja zenitu i nie wiem, jak pojde popoludniu do pracy, majac te skarby znowu pod reka)

http://w748.wrzuta.pl/audio/9JDlyhMPK8K/alicja_w_krainie_czarow

http://w961.wrzuta.pl/audio/8d1mZvVEfBN/bajki-grajki_nr_48_-_osla_skorka

http://maqtka.wrzuta.pl/audio/7BJiYSczPdQ/pan_ropuch_-_sluchowisko_dla_dzieci

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RKSp-EcY3Wk

PS. Mamo, czy ja jeszcze czegos sluchalam po 50x, bo nie pamietam?

 

PYNCHON

August 29, 2013

“Miłość śmietanowa o brzasku, 

O zmierzchu miłość śmietanowa –

Człek się niczym pająk skrada, co

Serwatki rad zasmakować

Gdyż… to…

 

Mleko!

Ach, dajcie mi mleka!

Duszę bym oddal,

Twierdzę bym poddał,

By kropli doczekać. 

 

Gdy widzę gdzie krowę,

Odbiera mi mowę,

Slina nabiega do ust –

Gdy ser się przetoczy,

Osełkę zoczę,

Lub twaróg wyjrzy spod chust.

W głowie się kręci,

Nabiał mnie nęci,

Już Polly idzie z obory.

Mrozy czy żniwa,

Miłość ma żywa –

Mleko zawszem pić skory!”

 

“Filadelfijskie dziewczęta,

Filadelfijskie momenta,

Filadelfijski ton”

 

“Jedni jadą do wód,

Gdzie, jak pszczoły na miód,

Nawet kler, czując głód,

Ku nim spieszy.

Znajdziesz też coś na ząb,

Gdzie kopiący rów głąb,

Skory sięgnąć jest w głąb

Swojej kiesy.

Różne są instrumenta,

Tu teleskop, tam pięta,

Tu i tu za kunszt wzięta zapłata.

Czy noc spędzasz z lunetą

Czy z upadłą kobietą,

Nierozważną i grzeszną jest gra ta.”

 

“Skanderuuun,

Radbym był być w Skanderuuun,

Trza nam wkrótce pić tam ruuum –

W czerwcu Wenus ujrzy tłuuum

W Skanderuuun!

Blisko Anglii port to biały,

W Azji Mniejszej, jak słyszałem,

Palmy cień będą dawały,

Moglibyśmy zlec dzien cały,

Rachatłukum napchać gęby,

A spisawszy obserwacje,

Gdy się w rogal zmieni Księżyc,

Wyjść w mrok, w nocy rewelacje.

Morza Śródziemnego szum,

Muezin, arabski tum,

Nie zapomnę ja, ni kum,

Souvenirów z Skanderun.”

 

“Ach, seniorito,

Jesteś bandytą,

Gdyż skradłaś serce me.

Zdradź swe sekrety

Sprytnej kobiety,

Nim sam domyślę się.

Cóż to za fiesta,

Nieznana sjesta

Tobie, wciąż tańczyć chcesz.

Spójrz, miesiąc wschodzi,

Przestań mnie zwodzić

Swym ‘no comprendo ingles’.”

A LOVE SONG FROM 1692

March 21, 2010

Do look it up sung by Sylvia McNair to see how great music and a great soprano can change lyrics into magic. This accompanied by Silverberg’s Dying Inside “at once both wounds me and tickles my heart”:

“O let me weep, for ever weep,
My eyes no more shall welcome sleep;
I’ll hide me from the sight of day,
And sigh, and sigh my soul away.
He’s gone, he’s gone, his loss deplore;
And I shall never see him more”.

WHY I DRINK PORTER

February 21, 2010

Times have changed,
And we’ve often rewound the clock,
Since the Puritans got a shock,
When they landed on Plymouth Rock.
If today,
Any shock they should try to stem,
‘Stead of landing on Plymouth Rock,
Plymouth Rock would land on them.

In olden days a glimpse of stocking
Was looked on as something shocking,
But now, God knows,
Anything goes.

Good authors too who once knew better words,
Now only use four letter words
Writing prose, anything goes.

The world has gone mad today
And good’s bad today,
And black’s white today,
And day’s night today,
When most guys today
That women prize today
Are just silly gigolos
And though I’m not a great romancer
I know that I’m bound to answer
When you propose,
Anything goes

When grandmama whose age is eighty
In night clubs is getting matey with gigolos,
Anything goes.

When mothers pack and leave poor father
Because they decide they’d rather be tennis pros,
Anything goes.

If driving fast cars you like,
If low bars you like,
If old hymns you like,
If bare limbs you like,
If Mae West you like
Or me undressed you like,
Why, nobody will oppose!
When every night,
The set that’s smart
Is intruding in nudist parties in studios,
Anything goes.

If saying your prayers you like,
If green pears you like
If old chairs you like,
If back stairs you like,
If love affairs you like
With young bears you like,
Why nobody will oppose!

And though I’m not a great romancer
I know that I’m bound to answer
When you propose,
Anything goes!

[And you thought your great grandma led a boring life back in 1934!]

Read aloud at this year’s Thanksgiving

November 28, 2009

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

the art of losing’s not too hard to master

though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Charles Reznikoff

January 23, 2009

This smoky winter morning
do not despise the green jewel among the twigs
because it is a traffic light.

***
The house-wreckers have left the door and a staircase,
now leading to the empty room of night.

***
What are you doing in our street among the automobiles, horse?
How are your cousins, the centaur and the unicorn?

***
Among the heaps of brick and plaster lie a girder,
still itself among the rubbish.