Проза, поезија – извадоци

Спец, оваа ми е омилена. Случајно ја отворив темава и одма помислив на Анабел Ли. И налетувам на твојот пост.

Додека сум тука. Оваа ми е исто една од омилените.

Неверна жена

Поведох је до реке
мислећи да девојка је,
али удата она беше.

Ту би, у ноћи Светог Јага,
скоро по договору
фењери гасили се,
свици почели да светле.

Иза задњих градских кућа
дотакох јој груди снене,
и оне се расцветаше
као зумбул гране нежне.

Шуштање сам слушао
уштиркане сукње њене,
као кад комад свиле
десет оштрих кама сече.

Крошње дрвећа без сјаја
постајале су све веће.
Видик паса лајао је
у даљини изнад реке.

И прођосмо крај купина,
трња и трске зелене.
Испод њене пунђе на тлу
направи се удубљење.

Тад одвезах своју машну,
она скиде вел са себе,
ја опасач с револвером,
она јелеке свилене.

Нити смиље нит пужеви
нису коже тако лепе,
ни кристали месечеви
таквим сјајем не трепере.

Ноге њене бежаху ми
као рибе уплашене,
допола још увек хладне
а отпола сасвим вреле.

Најлепшим сам од путева
јездио те ноћи целе,
на ждребици седефастој
без дизгина и опреме.

Сад не могу поновити
ствари које она рече,
да обазрив будем памет
налаже ми и поштење.

Прљава од пољубаца
и од песка пође с реке,
а на ветру љиљани су
потезали сабље беле.

Као прави Циганин сам
владао се цело вече,
најзад сам јој поклонио
кошару од свиле меке.

Али у њу се не заљубих
јер удата она беше,
а рече да девојка је
кад поведох је до реке.

Федерико Гарсија Лорка

И уште една од омилените.

За тебе љубави моја

Ишао сам на трг птица
И купио сам птице
За тебе, љубави моја

Отишао сам на трг цвијећа
И купио сам цвијећа
За тебе, љубави моја

Отишао сам на трг жељеза
И купио сам окове
Тешке окове
За тебе, љубави моја

А затим сам отишао на трг робља
И тражио сам тебе
Али те нисам нашао
Љубави моја.

Жак Превер

Може ги ставил некој. Сори, нот сори. Не се расчитав.

 

Вљубеник сум во делата на Edgar Allan Poe.
Во продолжение неколку поеми.

***

To M —

O! I care not that my earthly lot
Hath little of Earth in it,
That years of love have been forgot
In the fever of a minute:

I heed not that the desolate
Are happier, sweet, than I,
But that you meddle with my fate
Who am a passer-by.

It is not that my founts of bliss
Are gushing - strange! with tears -
Or that the thrill of a single kiss
Hath palsied many years -

Tis not that the flowers of twenty springs
Which have wither'd as they rose
Lie dead on my heart-strings
With the weight of an age of snows.

Not that the grass - O! may it thrive!
On my grave is growing or grown -
But that, while I am dead yet alive
I cannot be, lady, alone.

***

Spirits of the Dead

Thy soul shall find itself
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tombstone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness - for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.
The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dewdrop from the grass.
The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!

***

A Dream within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow -
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand -
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep - while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

 

At evening the autumn woodlands ring
With deadly weapons. Over the golden plains
And lakes of blue, the sun
More darkly rolls. The night surrounds
Warriors dying and the wild lament
Of their fragmented mouths.
Yet silently there gather in the willow combe
Red clouds inhabited by an angry god,
Shed blood, and the chill of the moon.
All roads lead to black decay.
Under golden branching of the night and stars
A sister's shadow sways through the still grove
To greet the heroes' spirits, the bloodied heads.
And softly in the reeds Autumn's dark flutes resound.
O prouder mourning! - You brazen altars,
The spirit's hot flame is fed now by a tremendous pain:
The grandsons, unborn.

Georg Trakl


Whoever leads a solitary life and yet now and then wants to attach himself somewhere, whoever, according to changes in the time of day, the weather, the state of his business, and the like, suddenly wishes to see any arm at all to which he might cling - he will not be able to manage for long without a window looking on to the street. And if he is in the mood of not desiring anything and only goes to his window sill a tired man, with eyes turning from his public to heaven and back again, not wanting to look out and having thrown his head up a little, even then the horses below will draw him down into their train of wagons and tumult, and so at last into the human harmony.

Franz Kafka

 

The world is increasingly designed to depress us. Happiness isn’t very good for the economy. If we were happy with what we had, why would we need more? How do you sell an anti-ageing moisturizer? You make someone worry about ageing. How do you get people to vote for a political party? You make them worry about immigration. How do you get them to buy insurance? By making them worry about everything. How do you get them to have plastic surgery? By highlighting their physical flaws. How do you get them to watch a TV show? By making them worry about missing out. How do you get them to buy a new smartphone? By making them feel like they are being left behind. To be calm becomes a kind of revolutionary act. To be happy with your own non-upgraded existence. To be comfortable with our messy, human selves, would not be good for business.

-Matt Haig, Reasons to Stay Alive-

 

“You have asked me what I would do and what I would not do. I will tell you what I will do and what I will not do. I will not serve that in which I no longer believe, whether it calls itself my home, my fatherland or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can, and as wholly as I can, using for my defence the only arms I allow myself to use… silence, exile, and cunning.”
— James Joyce, excerpt from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

 

The Panther
In the Jardin des Plantes, Paris

His gaze against the sweeping of the bars
has grown so weary, it can hold no more.
To him, there seem to be a thousand bars
and back behind those thousand bars no world.

The soft the supple step and sturdy pace,
that in the smallest of all circles turns,
moves like a dance of strength around a core
in which a mighty will is standing stunned.

Only at times the pupil’s curtain slides
up soundlessly — . An image enters then,
goes through the tensioned stillness of the limbs —
and in the heart ceases to be.

Rainer Maria Rilke

 

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

— Max Ehrmann, Desiderata

 

The Mirror Image


Gazing out at me from the glass,

With your eyes’ misty orblets,

Like comets that are dimming;

With features, wherein two souls like spies

Around each other strangely prowl,

Well, then I whisper:

Phantom, you are not my peer!



You’ve but slipped from dreams’ custody,

To turn to ice my live warm blood,

To make pallid my dark locks;

And, for all that, you dawning face,

A dual light within strangely plays.

Were you to step forward, I know not;

Would I love or hate you?



To the ruler’s throne of your brow,

Where thoughts all pay their homage

Like minions, shyly would I peer;

Yet from the eye’s cold lustre,

So full of dead light, all but diffracted,

So ghostly; I, shy guest, would draw

My footstool so far, far away.



That smile around your mouth so mild,

So soft and helpless like a child,

I would shelter in faithful wardenship;

Then again, when it mockingly plays,

Aiming as from the bended bow,

When quiet all its lines displays,

Then flee would I, as before henchmen.



It is for sure, you are not I,

An alien being whom I approach

Like Moses, not wearing shoes,

Filled with forces to me unknown,

Filled with sorrow strange, strange desire;

God have mercy on me, if in my heart

Your soul rests slumbering there!



And yet I feel, as though related,

Myself spellbound by your thrills,

And love must needs unite with fear.

Yes; were you, O phantom, to step

From glass’s circle to the ground,

But gently shiver would I, and

Methinks – weep I would for you!

Annette von Droste-Hülshoff

 

The Evolution of Mankind




Once did fellows squat in very trees,

ill-faced and with hair galore.

Then out the forest primeval they were teased

and to pave and mount the world were pleased,

even to the thirtieth floor.


There sat they now, from fleas flown,

in rooms with central heat.

There sit they now on the telephone.

And there prevails the very same tone

as ages since in trees.


They listen wide. They see afar.

They are at one with the universe.

They clean their teeth. They whiff new air.

Earth is now a cultured star

with a great deal of waterworks.


They lob their correspondence through a reed.

They hunt and cast out microbes.

They give nature the comfort it needs.

They fly to the sky where nothing impedes

and stay two weeks like globes.


What’s left behind when they digest

makes cotton wadding neat.

They split the atom. They heal incest.

And by stylistic analysis the best,

find Caesar had flat feet.


And so they have with head and mouth

brought mankind into futurescapes.

Yet despite all this to tout

when looked at in the light no doubt

they’re still the same old apes.


Erich Kästner

 

Yearning



The stars were shining with golden light
as I stood alone by the window
and listened to the distant sound
of the posthorn in the still countryside.
My heart became inflamed in my body,
and I thought secretly to myself:
Ah, if only I could journey with them
into that magnificent summer night!

Two young men were walking
past on the slope of the mountain,
and I heard them singing as they walked along
in the quiet area:
of vertiginous, rocky gullies
where the woods rustle so gently;
of springs that rush out from the clefts
into the night of the woods.

They sang of marble statues,
of gardens that grew wild upon stones
in dusky groves;
of palaces in the moonlight
where maidens listen by the windows
when the strum of lutes awakens them;
and of fountains murmuring sleepily
in the magnificent summer night.


Joseph von Eichendorff

 

They sat round the tea‑table drinking

They sat round the tea-table drinking,
And speaking of love a great deal;
The men of aesthetics were thinking,
The ladies more prone were to feel.

"All love ought to be but platonical"
The wither'd old counsellor said;
His wife by a smile quite ironical
Rejoin'd, and then sighed "Ah!" instead.

Said the canon with visage dejected:
"Love ne'er should be suffered to go
"Too far, or the health is affected;"
The maiden then simper'd: "How so?"

The Countess her sad feelings vented,
Said "Love is a passion, I'm sure,"
And then to the Baron presented
His cup with politeness demure.

A place was still empty at table;
My darling, 'twas thou wert away;
Thou hadst been so especially able
The tale of thy love, sweet, to say.

Heinrich Heine

 

An Atheist On A Date

“i kissed a girl
wearing a cross
around her neck
her lips didn’t taste
like church
but her hips
felt like god
i wonder what
her pastor would
have thought
i wonder if that
cross around her neck
meant more to me
than it does
to her”

Jesse Feinman

 

Јас имам сериозни причини да верувам дека планетата од каде што дошол малиот принц е Астероидот Б 612. Тој Астероид е забележан само еднаш преку телескоп - во 1909 година, од еден турски астроном.
Тогаш тој поднесе многу голем реферат за своето откритие на еден интернационален конгрес на астрономите. Но, никој не сакаше да му верува, поради неговата облека. Возрасните личности секогаш се такви.
За среќа, за репутацијата на Астероидот Б 612, еден турски големец му нареди на својот народ, по цена на смрт и живот, да носи Европска облека. Кога астрономот го поднесе својот реферат, во 1920 година, беше облечен во многу елегантна облека. И, овојпат, сите го прифатија неговото мислење.
Тоа што ви ги раскажав овие детали за Астероидот и што ви го доверив дури и неговиот број, е само заради возрасните. Тие сакаат бројки. Кога им зборувате за некој нов пријател, никогаш нема да ве прашаат за она што е важно. Тие никогаш нема да ви речат: ,,Каков е звукот на неговиот глас? Кои се игрите што ги сака најмногу? Дали собира пеперутки?'' Тие ќе ве прашаат: ,,Колку години има? Колкумина браќа има? Колку е тежок? Колку заработува татко му?'' И само тогаш мислат дека го познаваат. Ако им речете на возрасните : ,,Видов една убава куќа со розови тули, со гераниуми на прозорците и со гулапчиња на покривот...'', тие нема да успеат да ја замислат таквата куќа. Треба да им се рече: ,,Видов една куќа од сто илјади франка''. Е тогаш тие ќе извикаат: ,,Колку убава куќа!''



- Што значи тоа припитомена?
- Тоа е една многу заборавена работа, - рекла лисицата. - Тоа значи ,,создавање врски''...
- Создавање врски?
- Па, се разбира, - рекла лисицата. - Ти за мене сѐ уште си само едно обично дете слично на стотици илјади деца. И јас немам потреба од тебе. И ти исто немаш потреба од мене. Оти јас за тебе сум исто така само една лисица слична на стотици илјади лисици. Но, ако ти мене ме припитомиш, ние ќе имаме потреба еден од друг. Ти ќе бидеш за мене единствен на светот. Јас ќе бидам за тебе единствена на светот...
- Сега почнувам да разбирам, - рекол малиот принц. - Има едно цвеќе... Мислам дека тоа мене ме припитомило...
- Тоа е можно, рекла лисицата. - На Земјата можат да се видат разни работи..
- О! Па тоа не е на Земјата, - ѝ рекол малиот принц.
Лисицата била зачудена:
- На некоја друга планета?
- Да.
- Дали има ловци на таа планета?
- Не.
- Тоа е интересно! А кокошки?
- Не.
- Ништо не е совршено, - воздивнала лисицата.
Лисицата се вратила на својата тема.
- Мојот живот е здодевен. Јас фаќам кокошки, а мене ме фаќаат луѓето. Сите кокошки личат меѓу себе и сите луѓе личат меѓу себе. Мене по малку ми е здодевно. Но ако ти сакаш да ме припитомиш, мојот живот ќе се разведри. Јас ќе распознавам еден шум на чекор што ќе се разликува од сите други. Другите чекори ме тераат да се кријам подземи. Твојот како музика ќе ме мами надвор од моето дувло. А сега, гледај! Ги гледаш ли онаму полињана со жито? Јас не јадам леб. За мене житото е некорисно. Полињата со жито не ме потсетуваат на ништо. И тоа е толку тажно! А ти имаш златеста коса. Кога ќе ме припитомиш, ќе биде чудесно убаво. Житото што е златесто ќе ме потсетува на тебе. И јас тогаш ќе го сакам шумот на ветрот во житото...

(Малиот принц- А.С.Егзипери)

 

“And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.”
— Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars

 

“My heart is a cathedral.
Widows, ghosts and lovers sit and sing in the dark, arched marrow of me.”
— Segovia Amil

 

Decay

In the evening, when the bells ring peace,
I follow the wonderful flights of birds
That disappear in long rows into the clear vastness
Of autumn like a devout procession of pilgrims.

Wandering through the dusk-filled garden
I dream after their brighter destinies
And barely feel the motion of the hour hands.
Thus I follow their journeys over the clouds.

Then a whiff of decay makes me tremble.
The blackbird complains in bare branches.
Red wine sways on rusty trellises.

While like the death-dances of pale children
Around the dark edges of weathered fountains,
Shivering blue asters bend in the wind.




Georg Trakl

 

Во животот е важно само тоа што си го направил, а не она што си можел да го направиш. И нека не те лажат дека пропуштените шанси во животот се поважни од шансите што си ги искористил. Тоа е теза на лажните моралисти.

(Облечен човек, И.Џамбазов)