How do I tell you?

Image

*Image found HERE. It won’t speak much reason to the reader, but it is the only picture of the place I managed to find.

This poem is dedicated to my best friend, Ikarus

How do I tell you?

That’s what we are, then?
Limners with no diploma,
strayed through eons
who pierced masts on porches
and terazzas,
unknown heroes that piss in the bushes
and lay claims to cities
while housewives watch us from the windows
and gourd grows around our hands.
But you are slicing horizons there on your waist
for nothing,
towns like we are have no harbors,
only docks
where whores give themselves out
for as little as a croissant.
So you close your eyes and somehow, quail
and ruffle and shake
wilted leaves down from yourself,
you create allegories,
dig with your fingers
searching for Elysium fields.
And I don’t know just how to burst,
how to tell you,
that long ago our bellies were cut open
and robbed of everything both gold and rotten,
the scars will never nor they ever did
harden;
how do I tell you
that we are already long dead.

How, when with letters of lead
you chase away the rainy clouds,
how when you are so eager
for the fickle Miss to fry you
and carry you away, steal you sleekly;
how to reveal you
that we are no trumps in no deck of no cards,
but a senile water carrier
and a blooded fairy,
and that pea under the mattress
that breaks your spine –
that’s how you kiss, that’s how you lose your lips
so you never have to say a thing again.
You want to swallow rays
and make gardens out of violin keys,
like to me, on that day on that fence
the devil looked generous.
As if all of yours is clouded
and you haven’t learned a thing,
so you search for amber and pillows
inside a ripped pocket
and you spell out, sweaty, into the darkness:
“I don’t need air, I don’t need air!”.
Me, then, I just don’t know,
when you are so amiably melancholic,
how not to lie
and tell you
that we are some creation, some moss
that leads to some place,
some brick, and not just some body;
I get angry and I call you stupid,
I flap my mouth and I silence it out for you,
that this is how we breathe –
and that we are long dead
and we never were
nor we will we ever be
alive again.

That’s what we are, then? Poets?
You believe, you want to speak it out,
you want the Moon to really be
a cheese wheel,
cuts from enchanted shrubs
to leak you wine,
you lave yourself with fornication,
so you think that drunken stupor
makes us better jesters,
while our wrists are frosted from releasing
balloons into the sky
and there is no space in the veins
for shards of it’s arches;
our palms turn it all to smoke.
We are alone, coalesced into the terracotta,
nothing but two traders of mist,
filthy stars stooped over
in front of us to wash themselves,
and the town in us smells of
burning
and decay,
It appears to you like endless rows of souls
in front of the store
that gives away happiness and renovates dreams,
while all you have to offer
are tatters made of rose petals.
They want full plates,
mandolins, senzafine,
bland, dry scenes and a pushy god,
and truth, like opium,
sneaks up on you and covers your cold thigh,
it becomes my place to lie for her.
But it hurts when I don’t know
just how to tell you
that it’s all one same song
spinning under the pin cruelly,
that razors are made from sweet,
unattainable death,
and we can’t have it.
How to tell you to go and trot with an open chest,
that there are no beasts or man within you
or within me or anywhere,
as long as you are awake,
everyone is hungry and parsimonious;

how do I tell you
that we are already long dead.

******
Kako da ti kazem?

To smo li, dakle?
Slikari bez diplome,
Zalutali kroz aeone,
Proboli jarbole na neke verande
I terace,
Neznani junaci sto pisaju u zbunje
I svojataju gradove
Dok ih sa prozora gledaju domacice
I raste nam brshljan oko ruku;
Al dzaba rezesh horizonte tu po struku,
Nashi gradovi nemaju luku,
Samo pristanishte
Gde se kurve daju I za kroasan.
Pa zazmurish I sav nekako strepish
I talasash I tresesh se,
Pustas sa sebe uvelo lisce,
Stvarash alegoriju,
Kopash prstima.
Trazish polja jelisejska.
A ja ne znam kako da se raspuknem
Kako da ti kazem
Da su nam davno rascerecili trbuhe
I uzeli I sta je bilo I trulo I zlatno,
A da se oziljci nikada nece I nisu
Stvrdli;
Kako da ti kazem
Da smo vec odavno mrtvi?

Kako kad slovima od olova
Rasterujes kisne oblake,
Kako kad si zeljan
Da te prevrtljiva gospodjica sprzi
I ugladjeno odnese I ukrade,
Da ti otkrijem
Da nismo aduti iz nikakvog shpila;
Samo senilni vodonosa I krvava vila,
I taj grasak pod dusekom
Sto ti lomi kicmu –
Tako se ljubi, tako se ostaje bez usana
Da ti vise nikad ne trebaju reci.
Ti bi da gutas zrake
I od violinskih kljuceva da pravish vrt,
Kao kad je meni, tamo na ogradi,
I djavo bio darezljiv.
Kao da ti se sve pomutilo
I nista nisi naucio,
Pa u busnom dzepu trazis jantar I jastuk.
I srices, znojav u tamu:
“ne treba mi vazduh, ne treba mi vazduh!”
A ja ne znam, kad si tako mio I setan,
Kako da te ne lazem,
Da smo neka tvorevina, neka mahovina
Koja nekud vodi,
Neka cigla a ne neki trup;
I naljutim se pa ti kazem da si glup
I preklopim usta I odcutim ti
Da se tako dishe –
I da smo vec dugo mrtvi
I zivi nikad nismo bili nit cemo
Biti vishe.

To smo li dakle, pesnici?
Verujes, zelis da veils,
Zelis da je Mesec komad sira
I kad se poseces na zacarani zbun
da iz tebe tece vino.
Umivas se bludom,
Pa mislish, taj pijani hod nas doista
Cini dvorskom ludom,
A zglobovi nam promrzli od pustanja balona
I nema vise mesta u venama
Za parcice svoda;
Sve to nashe ruke pretvaraju u dim.
Sami smo, srasli u opeku,
Nista do dva prodavca magle,
Pred nama su se prljave zvezde sagle
Da se operu,
I grad u nama mirishe na paljevinu I trulez,
A tebi se uchini da vidish neki pun red
Gde se deli sreca I renoviraju snovi,
A sve sto imash da das su dronjci
Od ruzinih latica;
Oni hoce pune tanjire,
Mandoline, senzafine,
Bljutave suve scene I navalentnog boga,
A istina ko opium
Ti se prikrade I pokrije ti hladan bok,
Pa ja za nju moram da lazem,
A boli me sto ne znam
Kako da ti kazem
Da je to sve ista nema pesma
Sto se pod iglom surovo vrti,
Da se britve prave od slatke,
Nedostizne smrti
I da je nema za nas,
Kako da ti kazem da se das u kas otvorenih grudi,
Da nema ni zverinja ni ljudi ni u tebi ni u meni
Ni kojekudi, sve dok smo budni,
Svi su gladni I skrti;

Kako da ti kazem da smo vec odavno
Mrtvi.

 

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~ by Oloriel on April 13, 2014.

16 Responses to “How do I tell you?”

  1. Girl!!!!! How i missed your words! Its like an elixir of youth to come back and see you at your full glory. Beautiful. Just beautiful.

  2. Listen, little one, you’re too young for such verses… there are here, nevertheless. So, they are strong, they are full of emotions. Every row carries meanings.

    Maybe because only young human can create it something like that… and survive.

    • I think Mr. Edgar said it best, in this case, in mine and those similar to me. I find it hard to think and believe that these things change after they have been spreading roots so deep for so long. Anyways, here is his poem, titled “Alone”:
      From childhood’s hour I have not been
      As others were; I have not seen
      As others saw; I could not bring
      My passions from a common spring.
      From the same source I have not taken
      My sorrow; I could not awaken
      My heart to joy at the same tone;
      And all I loved, I loved alone.
      Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
      Of a most stormy life- was drawn
      From every depth of good and ill
      The mystery which binds me still:
      From the torrent, or the fountain,
      From the red cliff of the mountain,
      From the sun that round me rolled
      In its autumn tint of gold,
      From the lightning in the sky
      As it passed me flying by,
      From the thunder and the storm,
      And the cloud that took the form
      (When the rest of Heaven was blue)
      Of a demon in my view.

  3. You have a habit of playing with untold emotions, don’t you?

  4. Ima momenata koji ubijaju snagom. 🙂

  5. A soulful piece. Your magnifying glass and telescope are strong in this one. 🙂

  6. Deep and provocative as always. A world in every line. x

  7. Tonight, these words hit the hardest…dead…long before we could ever live…dead…to strive and fight as corpses…dead…all alone…dead….

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