Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts

6.9.10

Clod-stuck poem invigorated

or: Liturgy in the Sky

Again
 

Presentation of the role of straw Heron
This lake. For taking steps
Besides, why bother in the water, and
Pull up a blank, but only once.
Later, in the streets for miles, and some
He said that he will be there when the came. How to
Every day that fragile legs
Cool green scum, a good library door
The heat and light? This is the world's stupid.
Their streets every day, the sky,
Crypt in his cave,
Tin from surface distortion, Scattered in the yard.
daisied West
Changes in three colors, dandelion
The road was. Each year, influenza
Thick volume of air and tingling in wild
Hot, thin grass, leaves light
The beginning. Heron's position
The stone on the ground or behind me.
And broken wings, and then open and remove the iron
Blue rhythm, his body during the flight.
I felt the heat, and straw. Hope song
Taste of the wild, I empty
I said: No, but warm in the fields of
And skin. It is not long before
Start normal breathing,
The liturgy is still in the sky.


- Not Iself

Notes
Received another clod-stuck poem from that well-known ex-poet laureate this evening, which trampled its clod-stuck path about something or other very realistic from one trite line ending to the next.

What to do to breathe some sort of life into that still-life?

Well, I decided to pass it through Google Translate in a bunch of iterations - from English to Chinese to Bulgarian to Georgian to Arabic to God knows what and eventually back to English.

The above is the unadulterated result.

It's a wee bit puzzling ... but at least it's puzzling, which could not have been said about the pedestrian original.

Robert Bly might appreciate it - it has some of those leaps and bounds he thought great poetry should have.

Here's the Hindi version ... just for kicks:

फिर

भूसे की भूमिका की प्रस्तुति बगुला

इस झील. कदम उठाने के लिए

इसके अलावा, क्यों, पानी में परेशान है, और

ऊपर खींचो एक खाली है, लेकिन केवल एक बार.

बाद में, मील के लिए सड़कों में, कुछ और

उन्होंने कहा कि वह वहाँ जब आया होगा. कैसे करने के लिए

हर दिन है कि नाजुक पैरों

शांत हरी मैल, एक अच्छा पुस्तकालय दरवाजा

गर्मी और प्रकाश? यह दुनिया की बेवकूफी है.

उनकी हर दिन सड़कों, आकाश,

अपने गुफा में तहखाना,

विरूपण की सतह से टिन, यार्ड में बिखरे हुए.

पश्चिम गुलबहारों से ढंका हुआ

तीन रंगों, पीले फूल का एक पाक्रर का पौधा में परिवर्तन

सड़क था. प्रत्येक वर्ष, इन्फ्लूएंजा

हवा की मोटी मात्रा और जंगली में झुनझुनी

गर्म, पतले घास, पत्तियां प्रकाश

शुरुआत. बगुला है स्थिति

या मेरे पीछे जमीन पर पत्थर.

और टूटे पंख, और फिर खोलने के लिए और लोहे हटायें

ब्लू ताल, उड़ान के दौरान अपने शरीर.

मैं गर्मी महसूस किया, और पुआल. आशा गीत

जंगली का स्वाद, मैं खाली

मैंने कहा: नहीं, लेकिन के क्षेत्र में गर्म

त्वचा और. यह लंबे समय से पहले नहीं है

शुरू सामान्य श्वास,

मरणोत्तर गित आकाश में अब भी है.

12.7.10

Good-bye to Haiku Very Much

Indelible

Bright flags strung up on
timelines flutter their good-byes
into the present

– Johannes Beilharz (© 2010)

A haiku to say good-bye to Haiku Very Much and its haiku challenges. They will be missed!

27.5.10

Nightingale

Grey melody.
Earth and sky sing in you
And are Spring.

– Peter Hille (1854-1904)

(Translation of Nachtigall; copyright © of translation from German by Johannes Beilharz 2010)

3.5.10

You do ignite

You do ignite that
rotten side of me – now please
be gone, old fart – depart!

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2010)

Written around depart, ignite, rotten from 3WW and a slightly failed haiku.

1.5.10

NYC

redeeming snowy rooftops
upper east side manhattan
looking toward sunrise
12th floor blinking red for planes
and below the neighbor's hillocked roof garden
at night the jewelry of tiny glowing rectangles
infinite humans in that flying brick
the chirping of a small bird
a siren far then near then far
the rush of tires
a horn

– Deirdre LaPenna (© 2010)

This poem was originally posted in response to one of my own (Ditty in celebration of a grey city morning).

Other poems by Deirdre:
First poem
It is not imaginary
Older poems

26.4.10

From across the river

Dark-eyed,
from across the Hooghly she beckons to me

Mysterious night
across the river beckons to me

The old chamber softly lit
beckons to me

A sweetly solemn thought, sun and wind and beat of sea
beckon to me

“I am your woman,” she says
and beckons to me

– Iself (© 2010)

Written for napowrimo #26, get scrappy.

Note
As I was quite sure that I did not have any scribbled or unfinished poem in my wallet or in a notebook, I went to a random poetry generator for inspiration, picking a poem from the “poetry in motion” category. The above romantic/folkloric poem, which is more or less in the form of a ghazal, is the result.

I’m not posting the original generated poem because it has ingredients I did not care for and did not use.

The Hooghly river is a distributary of the Ganges in West Bengal, India, and flows by Kolkata.

25.4.10

The first word to hear

It’s 7 a.m. on Sunday morning.
It’s the apartment and me.
The first word to hear is yet to come
from somewhere –
most likely through a telephone wire
or wireless or from someone
at a bakery.
But there’s bird song
through the open window,
and those birds
seem to be saying something.

– Iself (© 2010)

For napowrimo #25, first things first.

21.4.10

La salsa

Alors vint la salsa...
– Gino Ducreuil
I

     The salsa enters on the tiptoes of celery
its bongos are maroon leathery mushrooms
     And the fat singer after margaritas
is pulsating fire: Celia Cruz

II

     The little black angels deform
under the blasting wall of electric strings
     Willie Colón the outlaw in-law
and this is the moment Brunilda Ruiz rises

     from a vogue for an eternally long
second-long long bridge
     The span of her foot is the graves of Puerto Rico
and the glistening rainy streets of Nueva York

     Spanish words by Adrés Eloy Blanco
music by Manual Álvarez Maciste
      for this elating bow the salsa
now playing in some nightclub in París

– Johannes Beilharz (© 1981/2010)

One quarter elemental for napowrimo #17, something elemental.

Note
Some explanation might be in order here to make this less cryptic.

This poem came about some time after the purchase of El Baquiné de Angelitos Negros, a 1977 album by Willie Colón. The cover shows dancer Brunilda Ruiz, and I somehow wove her, salsa and the much older song by Eloy Blanco and Álvarez Maciste into this poem along with salsa queen Celia Cruz, transplanting the whole show to Paris and quoting a non-existent Frenchman to introduce it.

20.4.10

I wanna be your hero

You call my attempts
risible, but please
leave me some lowly
pedestal at least

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2010)

Written for napowrimo #20, the hero poem.

A tiny little antidote to Bonnie Tyler:

10.4.10

They call him the breeze

It happened by unthought known –
he knocked up my friend

Said shucks when told
and for amendment from his native country
Há tempos ... there are times

Don’t cry sister cry – get ready
for the times to get better

– Iself (© 2010)

A late entry for napowrimo #1, iTunes on shuffle. The pieces were:

Knocked up – Kings of Leon
Don’t cry sister cry – J.J. Cale
Shucks – Bill Frisell
Unthought known – Pearl Jam
Há tempos – Legião Urbana  

From memory I added a modified version of “They call me the breeze” by J.J. Cale for the title and “Ready for the times to get better” by Crystal Gayle for closure.

Ditty

In celebration of a grey city morning

The sky is grey, the roofs glisten a lifeless red,
just rose from restless sleep in bed

Last night I inhaled tons of smoke
and had too much rum with my coke

Give this city boy some good country rest,
a tour in spring air and today will be blest

– Johannes Beilharz (© 2010)

Havent’s quite shaken off the effects of last night’s outing with friends in a smoker bar as you can read here in this silly celebration for napowrimo #10.

5.4.10

For her

Had a terrible Easter
weekend staying
away from you. You laid
down the rules. Your
plan is to educate me,
drive all the feeling for you
out of this torn mind.
But I don’t have to put
that shoe on. I can
shuffle on loving you.
Perhaps educate you –
who knows...

– Johannes Beilharz (© 2010)

Something very personal for napowrimo #5.

4.4.10

Ms. Mueller’s Receiving Speech

“Here’s your room – there’s your view of the Alps.
On good days you can see the Zugspitze.
Did you see it on the way? There’s one place
around Fernpass where you can see it. I see,
you didn’t stop there. Here’s the bathroom,
please use the toilet brush. There’s hot water
in the mornings. Breakfast from 7 to 10
in the cellar or on the terrace on sunny days.
Tomorrow won’t be sunny, going by the forecast.
And tomorrow you plan to be where? Merano?
Well, then, good night.”

– Johannes Beilharz (© 2010)

Lends itself quite well to inside out for napowrimo #4.

28.2.10

Momentous event

Another big dream
gone up
into thin air.

– Iself (© 2010)

Written and posted for Sunday Scribblings and Big Dreams.

I hate to admit it, folks, but that’s the way it went with a lot of my dreams – big and small.

21.2.10

Love disenchanted

When pigs cease to fly
it’s time to say good-bye.

I’ve had enough of you
and all the times I’d woo

you with four leaves of clover.
See you when hell freezes over.

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2010)

Written specifically for Sunday Scribblings and When Pigs Fly / When Hell Freezes Over.

All the Morgenstern poetry (Felix and Christian) posted in this blog

7.2.10

First Poem

Between the greatest galaxy
and the smallest sigh
the most important sound is
the voice of you or I.

– Deirdre LaPenna (© 2010)

Posted for Sunday Scribblings #201 / Message.

This poetic message is published here by kind permission of the author.

Older poems by Deirdre LaPenna

28.8.08

Rainer Maria Rilke: Spanish Dancer

Spanish Dancer

As a struck match, before becoming flame, white
flickering tongues in all directions sends,
so, bystanders looking on, unfolds her dance: bright,
hot and hurried, a circular rite,
pulsating with passion, and intense.

And suddenly it is fully aflare.

With just a glance she lights her hair,
and then, with daring art, turns her entire
dress into this flaming ball of fire,
from which, each like a startled snake,
her naked arms dart, rattling and awake.

Then, deeming too close the lambent heat,
she gathers all of if it together and flings it to her feet
with an imperious gesture, haughtily gazing.
There it lies on the floor, enraged and blazing,
and burning still, refusing to retire.
But, confident of victory, her smile assured and sweet,
she lifts her face as if in greeting to the fire,
and stamps it out with solid little feet.

– Rainer Maria Rilke

Translated by Thomas Geydan, published here by kind permission of the translator. Copyright by Thomas Geydan.

6.7.08

She Tells Her Love

She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half-words whispered low:
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.

Robert Graves (1895-1985)

A poem by one of the grand old men of British 20th century poetry, perhaps now remembered not so much for his poetry but his historical novel I, Claudius about the Roman emperor.

3.6.08

Slim Siamese asks Tessa Terrier out

When he asked for a date
she said maybe better wait

and consult a doctor to see
whether we could ever have a family

– Felix Morgenstern

Written for Mad Kane's Dates and Dating prompt.

17.5.08

Inner warning

The more that inner warning sign flashes
the more you’re attracted like a moth to the flame.
How many phoenixes do you want from the ashes?
Aren’t you getting tired of this destructive game?

– Felix Morgenstern (© 2008)

Missed the formal point again by presenting neither limerick nor haiku for Mad Kane’s This is a warning. Contentwise, however, I'm on target, I think.