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Lavinia Amaldi

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  • 1 month later...

majčin primerak majakovskog baca dosta u retro

 

fgtdhzju.jpg

 

 

posle desetina, stotina stranica preporuka za biosafety procedures, nemam koncentraciju za pesme

smirujem se poznatim crticama iz života u briljantnom prevodu bore ćosića

 

sdhuasi.jpg

 

 

fghjp-lkj.jpg

 

 

fghj.jpg

(moram da primetim da je dragi genije ovde ipak u krivu)

 

 

pred mene

ko gola kurva

stoi zbunet

siot svet

 

dramatična (a kakva bi bila) posveta pesnika vrteva

 

 

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  • 4 weeks later...

25702

dan

mog

života

 

36

pismo

 

boginjo

moja

voljena

ti

si

 

majka

boga

 

žena

boga

 

ćerka

boga

 

muza

boga

 

drug

boga

 

boginjo

ti

si

majka

i

otac

svakom

biću

i

svim

bićima

 

boginjo

ti

si

sve

ono

za

čim

žudi

i

svaka

žena

i

svaki

muškarac

 

boginjo

ti

si

sve

devojčice

mog

detinjstva

 

 

boginjo

ti

si

venčanje

pičke

i

kurca

u

meni

 

boginjo

ti

si

moj

zanos

ushićenje

ekstaza

trans

 

boginjo

ti

si

sve

ono

što

me

izvodi

iz

sebe

drugom

i

istom

 

 

boginjo

ti

si

moja

žudnja

za

bogom

 

boginjo

bivajući

u

tebi

sebe

sam

otkrio

u

bogu

kao

boga

 

 

boginjo

ti

si

svaka

devojčica

sa

kojom

sam

se

družio

 

boginjo

ti

si

svaka

devojka

sa

kojom

sam

se

družio

ili

bio

sa

njom

 

boginjo

ti

si

svaka

žena

sa

kojom

sam

se

družio

ili

bio

sa

njom

ili

bio

u

njoj

jer

mi

svaka

bila

vlat

trave

i

bogu

me

vodila

i

svaka

je

na

trenutak

božiji

bila

boginja

 

boginjo

ti

si

drugo

ime

za

podavanje

 

 

podavanje

je

najčudesnija

molitva

bogu

 

podavanje

je

jebanje

 

jebanje

je

molitva

dvoje

bogu

da

ponovo

budu

jedno

 

boginjo

u

životu

najviše

volim

pičku

kurac

i

jebanje

 

 

pička

kurac

i

jebanje

su

jedini

izvor

života

 

pička

kurac

i

jebanje

su

najbolji

čuvari

života

 

 

zato

mi

je

boginjo

u

životu

najvažnije

da

budem

dostojan

pičke

kurca

i

jebanja

 

boginjo

samo

ti

znaš

da

jedno

je

jebanje

 

da

jedno

jedino

jebanje

nije

život

nego

je

jedno

jedino

jebanje

ljubav

 

da

je

jedna

jedina

ljubav

bog

 

 

bog

boginji

bog

 

boginjo

ti

nežno

nežno

nežno

nežno

nežno

nežno

nežno

ljuljaš

boga

na

svojim

grudima

 

 

boginjo

ti

si

svako

ti

kome

se

obraćam

svim

srcem

celog

mog

života

a

pogotovo

od

kraja

prve

godine

prvog

mog

desetogodišnjeg

hodanja

ruže

lutanja

 

ti

 

ti

ti

si

moja

boginja

 

 

ti

ti

si

druga

moja

 

ti

ti

si

prvi

poljubac

moj

 

 

ti

ti

si

prvo

jebanje

moje

 

ti

ti

si

prva

najlepša

moja

 

ti

ti

si

prva

koja

me

je

volela

 

 

ti

ti

si

prva

žena

moja

 

ti

ti

si

prva

koja

čudo

svake

žene

proslavljaš

 

 

ti

ti

si

prva

jer

si

prva

ljubav

za

sve

jedine

prve

 

ti

ti

si

prva

koja

si

boginja

 

ti

me

boginjo

činiš

 

ti

me

boginjo

pevaš

 

ti

me

boginjo

stvaraš

 

ti

me

boginjo

hodaš

 

ti

me

boginjo

ljubiš

 

boginjo

ti

si

moj

život

 

boginjo

moja

ti

me

oslobaćaš

od

sebe

jer

ti

si

sebe

već

od

sebe

i

od

boginje

oslobodila

i

zato

si

ti

boginjo

boginja

moja

19:51

17

april

2020

trenutak

u

kome

si

ti

boginjice

boginjice

boginjice

svet

učinila

besmrtnim

 

 

miroslav mandic

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  • 3 months later...
  • 3 weeks later...

ODA KOMARCIMA

(Bogomil Đuzel)

 

Na, sisajte! nekako vrlo darežljivo
ponudi se, na primer, samo moja koža,
pa me napade u sobi iz mraka
bez najavljenog zujanja, ceo oblak komaraca

 

jedva da stigoh da prepokrijem
razgoljene podlaktice i potom lice
preko kog se stuštiše krvožedno
takođe i na čelo i ćelu

 

no oni su se već bešumno upili
evo, ispod leve ušne školjke –
eno, desno, ispod vrata, drugi –
čak i ispod nogavica jedan sisa krvavo!

 

Naglo se stušti k nama cela rajska bašta
sa široko otvorenim cvetovima pora
toliko zanosno mirisnim i opojnim

 

pa iz ćoškova gde smo se ljubili
jedne iza drugih, s adamom-komarcem
popadasmo zapaljeni po čašicama opojnim

 

šmukali smo i sisali, da, oh koliko strasno i slasno
iz te bujne potkožne plavne reke
(kao da smo ponovo kod praroditelja dunava)

 

nektar i ambrozij za krvožednu našu boginju
i opšte naše samožrtve radi jedinog potomstva
dok nas sve do jednog ne smoždi i sprži Mač-Plamen!

(Čortanovci, septembar 2005)

 

 

 

kad sam već na strani sa celanom, samo da potvrdim da ni gadna boleština ne može da pobedi njegovo sunce

 

Corona

 

Autumn eats a leaf from my hand: we are friends.
From the nuts we shell time, and we teach it to walk:
time returns to the shell.

 

In the mirror it’s Sunday,
in the dream there will be sleeping,
the mouth speaks the truth.

 

My eye descends to the sex of my lover:
we look at each other,
we speak darkly,
we love one another like the poppy flower and memory,
we sleep like wine does in mussels,
as the sea in the bloody light of the moon.

 

We stand embracing in the window, people see us from the street:
it is time that they knew!
It is time that the stone consented to bloom,
that a heart beat with restlessness.
It is time that the time come.

 

It is time.

 

 

 @I*m with the pilots

 

Spoiler

Corona

 

Aus der Hand frißt der Herbst mir sein Blatt: wir sind Freunde.
Wir schälen die Zeit aus den Nüssen und lehren sie gehn:
die Zeit kehrt zurück in die Schale.

 

Im Spiegel ist Sonntag,
im Traum wird geschlafen,
der Mund redet wahr.

 

Mein Aug steigt hinab zum Geschlecht der Geliebten:
wir sehen uns an,
wir sagen uns Dunkles,
wir lieben einander wie Mohn und Gedächtnis,
wir schlafen wie Wein in den Muscheln,
wie das Meer im Blutstrahl des Mondes.

 

Wir stehen umschlungen im Fenster, sie sehen uns zu von der Straße:
es ist Zeit, daß man weiß!
Es ist Zeit, daß der Stein sich zu blühen bequemt,
daß der Unrast ein Herz schlägt.
Es ist Zeit, daß es Zeit wird.

 

Es ist Zeit.

 

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On 5.9.2020. at 21:57, beyoncé said:

 

 @I*m with the pilots

 

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Corona

 

Aus der Hand frißt der Herbst mir sein Blatt: wir sind Freunde.
Wir schälen die Zeit aus den Nüssen und lehren sie gehn:
die Zeit kehrt zurück in die Schale.

 

Im Spiegel ist Sonntag,
im Traum wird geschlafen,
der Mund redet wahr.

 

Mein Aug steigt hinab zum Geschlecht der Geliebten:
wir sehen uns an,
wir sagen uns Dunkles,
wir lieben einander wie Mohn und Gedächtnis,
wir schlafen wie Wein in den Muscheln,
wie das Meer im Blutstrahl des Mondes.

 

Wir stehen umschlungen im Fenster, sie sehen uns zu von der Straße:
es ist Zeit, daß man weiß!
Es ist Zeit, daß der Stein sich zu blühen bequemt,
daß der Unrast ein Herz schlägt.
Es ist Zeit, daß es Zeit wird.

 

Es ist Zeit.

 

 

Lepse zvuci nemacka varijanta :) (na tom jeziku je i napisana, zar ne?) Hvala.

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  • 2 months later...
Quote

Razmišljao sam o godinama
kada je jezik bio virus
a ne o sadašnjosti
kada je virus postao jezik
anestezirane stvarnosti
o času kada je
u neočekivano izvedenoj petlji
lupingu vremena
prošlost postala romantična distopija.

 

I uzalud su bila pitanja
šta vetar čini srećnim
zašto snovi izmišljaju ljude
koje ne poznajemo
zašto u kabuki pozorištu
mladići igraju uloge devojaka.
To je bila poezija
nekog drugog doba

 

Ovo su stihovi Zvonka Karanovića, na koje ukazuje tekst koji se bavi poezijom domaćih autora u doba epidemije: Pet pesama domaćih pesnika koje opisuju 2020. (nova.rs)

 

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  • 5 weeks later...
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  • 4 weeks later...
On 6.9.2020. at 22:43, I*m with the pilots said:

 

Lepse zvuci nemacka varijanta :) (na tom jeziku je i napisana, zar ne?) Hvala.

da :) (da)

 

 

zakasneli pozdrav "vitmanovom detetu"

 

Слика

 

 

To Fuck Is To Love Again (Kyrie Eleison Kerista)

/The Situation in the West Followed by a Modest Proposal/

 

...

So kiss thy neighbor in another country
kyrie kyrie kyrie
exchange fucking populations
kyrie kyrie hallelujah
You send us all your women in babushkas
We'll send you all our men wearing neckties
Americans love travel
We love exotic places and people
We dig Chinese chicks we dig Cuban chicks we dig Arab boys
You'll think yours are exotic too
I'm tired of this climate anyway
you're tired of yours
so let's get together on this
let's get down to bare essentials
and have a mass exchange fuck
a fucking real exchange program
an enormous international hardcore Fuck Corps
And nevermind the protocol
and nevermind the quotas
We've all got our own passe-partout
if to fuck is to love again
And nevermind the overpopulation
Contraception can contain
all but love
And blessed be the fruit of transcopulation
and blessed be the fruit of transcopulation
and blessed be the fucking world with no more nations!
hosanna pulchrissima
kyrie kyrie kyrie kyrie hallelujah!
we'll all still have the sun
in which to recognize ourselves at last across the world
over the obscene boundaries!

 

Edited by beyoncé
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i nobelu za poeziju

 

Penelope's song

(Louise Gluck)

 

Little soul, little perpetually undressed one,
Do now as I bid you, climb
The shelf-like branches of the spruce tree;
Wait at the top, attentive, like

A sentry or look-out. He will be home soon;
It behooves you to be
Generous. You have not been completely
Perfect either; with your troublesome body
You have done things you shouldn't
Discuss in poems. Therefore
Call out to him over the open water, over the bright
Water
With your dark song, with your grasping,
Unnatural song--passionate,
Like Maria Callas. Who
Wouldn't want you? Whose most demonic appetite
Could you possibly fail to answer? Soon
He will return from wherever he goes in the
Meantime,
Suntanned from his time away, wanting
His grilled chicken. Ah, you must greet him,
You must shake the boughs of the tree
To get his attention,
But carefully, carefully, lest
His beautiful face be marred
By too many falling needles.

Edited by beyoncé
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  • 1 month later...

poem of the week (po guardian-u)

 

To Vladimir Nabokov on His 70th Birthday  

by Anthony Burgess

 

That nymphet’s beauty lay less on her bones
Than in her name’s proclaimed two allophones,
A boned veracity slow to be found
In all the chanting of recorded sound.
Extrude an orange pip upon the track,
And it will be a pip played front or back,
But only in the kingdom of the shade
Can diaper run back and be repaid.
Such speculations salt my exile too,
One that I bear less stoically than you.
I look in sourly on my lemon trees
Spiked by the Qs and Xes of Maltese
And wonder: Is this home or where is home?
(Melita’s caves, Calypso’s honeycomb).
I see a cue or clue. Just opposite,
The grocer has a cat that loves to sit
Upon the scales. Respecting his repose,
One day he weighed him: just two rotolos.
In this palazzo wood decays and falls;
Buses knock stucco from the outer walls,
Slam shut the shutters. Coughing as they lurch
They yet enclose the silence of a church,
Rock in baroque: Teresan spados stab
The Sacred Heart upon the driver’s cab,
Whereupon, in circus colours, one can read
That verbum caro factum est. Indeed.
I think the word is all the flesh I need –
The taste, and not the vitamins of sense
Whatever sense may be. I like the fence
Of black and white that keeps those bullocks in –
Crossboard or chesswood. Eurish gift of Finn –
The crossmess parzel. If words are no more
Than pyoshki, preordained to look before,
Save for their taking chassé, they alone
And not the upper house, can claim a throne
(Exploded first the secular magazines
And puff of bishops). All aswarm with queens,
Potentially, that board. Well, there it is:
You help me counter the liquidities
With counters that are counties, countries. Best
To read it: Caro Verbum Facta Est.

 

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Zahvaljujući Marianni Faithfull (i Warrenu Ellisu) upoznah se sa pesmom The Bridge of Sighs pesnika Thomasa Hooda. Iz 1844. je a opet zvuči skoro moderno (ja skoro da u glavi "čujem" nekog londonskog repera kako repuje ove u stvari veoma tužne reči, pošto u njima postoji takav neki ritam... Pohvale Marianni da je ona to ipak odrecitovala duševnije:))

 

The Bridge of Sighs
by Thomas Hood

 

 

One more Unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

 

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashion'd so slenderly
Young, and so fair!

 

Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements;
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.

 

Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her,
All that remains of her
Now is pure womanly.

 

Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny
Rash and undutiful:
Past all dishonour,
Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.

 

Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's family—
Wipe those poor lips of hers
Oozing so clammily.

 

Loop up her tresses
Escaped from the comb,
Her fair auburn tresses;
Whilst wonderment guesses
Where was her home?

 

Who was her father?
Who was her mother?
Had she a sister?
Had she a brother?
Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other?

 

Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
O, it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.

 

Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly
Feelings had changed:
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.

 

Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.

 

The bleak wind of March
Made her tremble and shiver;
But not the dark arch,
Or the black flowing river:
Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery,
Swift to be hurl'd—
Anywhere, anywhere
Out of the world!

 

In she plunged boldly—
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran—
Over the brink of it,
Picture it—think of it,
Dissolute Man!
Lave in it, drink of it,
Then, if you can!

 

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashion'd so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

 

Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen too rigidly,
Decently, kindly,
Smooth and compose them;
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly!

 

Dreadfully staring
Thro' muddy impurity,
As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
Fix'd on futurity.

 

Perishing gloomily,
Spurr'd by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,
Into her rest.—
Cross her hands humbly
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!

 

Owning her weakness,
Her evil behaviour,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour!

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  • 11 months later...

TOPLO JE SAD U NICI 

 

Toplo je sad u Nici
I sja Borneo.
Al ja sam u groznici 
I oboleo.

Trepere u mozgu samo
Daleka mesta: Antili...
Nikada ne biti tamo
Gde nismo bili?

Bliži su meni i raj i ad
No Ob, Jenisej, Lena.
A Tanganjika, Njasa, Čad
Samo su sena...

Jedan čun šiljato klizi:
Napušta Javu.
Ruši se toranj u Pizi:
Odande – na moju glavu...

 

Stevan Raičković, „Toplo je sad u Nici“

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  • 2 months later...

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