Αρχείο για Μαρτίου, 2009

here is little Effie’s head

Posted in E.E. Cummings, Ξένη Ποίηση with tags , , on 30/03/2009 by Magica de Spell

αυτοσαρκαστικόν

here is little Effie’s head
whose brains are made of gingerbread
when judgment day comes
God will find six crumbs

stooping by the coffinlid
waiting for something to rise
as the other somethings did-
you imagine his surprise

bellowing through the general noise
Where is Effie who was dead?
-to God in a tiny voice,
i am may the first crumb said

whereupon its fellow five
crumbs chuckled as if they were alive
and number two took up the song
might i’m called and did no wrong

cried the third crumb, i am should
and this is my little sister could
with our big brother who is would
don’t punish us for we were good;

and the last crumb with some shame
whispered unto God, my name
is must and with the others i’ve
been Effie who isn’t alive

just imagine it I say
God amid a monstrous din
watch your step and follow me
stooping by Effie’s little, in

(want a match or can you see?)
which the six subjective crumbs
twitch like mutilated thumbs;
picture His peering biggest whey

coloured face on which a frown
puzzles, but I know the way-
(nervously Whose eyes approve
the blessed while His ears are crammed

with the strenuous music of
the innumerable capering damned)
-staring wildly up and down
the here we are now judgment day

cross the threshold have no dread
lift the sheet back in this way
here is little Effie’s head
whose brains are made of gingerbread

ee cummings

Relativity

Posted in DH Lawrence, Ξένη Ποίηση with tags , , on 26/03/2009 by Magica de Spell

escher-or

 

 

 

 relativity of solitude

Originally uploaded by regolare

 

 

I like relativity and quantum theories
because I don’t understand them
and they make me feel as if space shifted about like a swan that can’t settle,
refusing to sit still and be measured;
and as if the atom were an impulsive thing
always changing its mind.

David Herbert Lawrence (1885-1930)

Tu m’ appartiens

Posted in Ξένη Ποίηση with tags , , , on 15/03/2009 by Magica de Spell

imagesvolees_1

Tu m’ appartiens

Visage, seins, sexe

Je te possede

Images multiples

Images secretes

Je t’ imagine

Et te vois

Je te regarde

Et te leche

 

 

Je te prends

C’est moi qui te baise

Pas lui moi

Quand je veux

Maintenant

La dans les bois

Dans la sale de bain

La cuisine le salon

La chambre

 

 

Tu me dis a l’ oreille

L’ enfant

Le demenagement

Notre cocon

Tu me blesses me soignes

Et tu m’ aimes

Tous les jours

Denise

 

Les images volees

Thierry Van Hasselt – Mylene Lauzon

East Coker (απόσπασμα)

Posted in Ξένη Ποίηση, Thomas Stearns Eliot with tags , , on 03/03/2009 by Magica de Spell

Δεν πρέπει να ελπίζω για σένα,

δεν πρέπει να σ’ αγαπώ

αλλά σε πιστεύω

και θέλω να περιμένω.

III.

O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark,
The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,
The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters,
The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers,
Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees,
Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark,
And dark the Sun and Moon, and the Almanach de Gotha
And the Stock Exchange Gazette, the Directory of Directors,
And cold the sense and lost the motive of action.
And we all go with them, into the silent funeral,
Nobody’s funeral, for there is no one to bury.
I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away—
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing—
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing
.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.                                    You say I am repeating
Something I have said before. I shall say it again.
Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
    You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.
In order to arrive at what you do not know
    You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
    You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
    You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.
T.S. Elliot
Four Quartets – East Coker (1940)
(η υπογράμμιση, δική μου)