poetry: results 1–19 of 19

You who never arrived

in my arms, Beloved, who were lost

from the start,

I don't even know what songs

would please you.

again and again the two of us walk out together

under the ancient trees, lie down again and again

among the flowers…

Yet everything that touches us, me and you,

takes us together like a violin's bow,

which draws one voice out of two separate strings.

Don't judge me if I love wine

if I like fire

when it's alive.

In a fat, greasy soil, that's full of snails,

I'll dig a grave deep down, where I may sleep

Spreading my bones at ease, to drowse in deep

Oblivion, as a shark within the wave.

It seems to me sometimes my blood is bubbling out

As fountains do, in rhythmic sobs; I feel it spout

And lapse; I hear it plainly; it makes a murmuring sound;

But from what wound it wells, so far I have not found.

Soon into frozen shades, like leaves, we'll tumble.

Adieu, short summer's blaze, that shone to mock.

All this was long ago, but I do not forget

Our small white house, between the city and the farms;

Rest on my heart, deaf, cruel soul, adored

Tigress, and monster with the lazy air.

I long, in the black jungles of your hair,

To force each finger thrilling like a sword…

Among the vermin, jackals, panthers, lice,

gorillas and tarantulas that suck

and snatch and scratch and defecate and fuck

in the disorderly circus of our vice,

there's one more ugly and abortive birth.

Muses, O ye who the course of true love so willingly favor…

Towards the setting sun the two thus went on their journey…

Like as the traveller, who, when the sun is approaching its setting,

Fixes his eyes on it once again ere quickly it vanish…

Now when the foreign judge had been by the minister questioned

As to his people's distress, and how long their exile had lasted,

Thus made answer the man: "Of no recent date are our sorrows;

Since of the gathering bitter of years our people have drunken…

Here the three men, however, still sat conversing together,

With mine host of the Lion, the village doctor, and pastor;

And their talk was still on the same unvarying subject,

Turning it this way and that, and viewing from every direction.

Thus entertaining themselves, the men sat talking. The mother

Went meanwhile to look for her son in front of the dwelling,

First on the settle of stone, whereon 'twas his wont to he seated.

When she perceived him not there, she went farther to look in the stable…

Thus did the modest son slip away from the angry upbraiding;

But in the tone he had taken at first, the father continued…

Ow when of comely mien the son came into the chamber,

Turned with a searching look the eyes of the preacher upon him,

And, with the gaze of the student, who easily fathoms expression,

Scrutinized well his face and form and his general bearing.

Truly, I never have seen the market and street so deserted!

How as if it were swept looks the town, or had perished!