beyoncé Posted March 25, 2020 Posted March 25, 2020 majčin primerak majakovskog baca dosta u retro posle desetina, stotina stranica preporuka za biosafety procedures, nemam koncentraciju za pesme smirujem se poznatim crticama iz života u briljantnom prevodu bore ćosića (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 2
nezvanova Posted April 18, 2020 Posted April 18, 2020 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 1
Indy Posted August 17, 2020 Posted August 17, 2020 Da je malo manje potezao iz boce, možda bi Buk i danas bio tu, da proslavi svoj 100. rođendan... S druge strane, ne bi bio Buk. 1 1
beyoncé Posted September 5, 2020 Posted September 5, 2020 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.
I*m with the pilots Posted September 6, 2020 Posted September 6, 2020 On 5.9.2020. at 21:57, beyoncé said: @I*m with the pilots Hide contents 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.
Ras Posted November 30, 2020 Posted November 30, 2020 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)
bradilko Posted December 29, 2020 Posted December 29, 2020 stih: "lokalni kasapin predsednik kluba ljubitelja zivotinja" zna li ko iz koje je ovo pesme? mislio sam da je vasiljev a onda drainac ali izgleda da nije. da nije bojic?
beyoncé Posted March 21, 2021 Posted March 21, 2021 (edited) 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" 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 March 21, 2021 by beyoncé
beyoncé Posted March 21, 2021 Posted March 21, 2021 (edited) 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 March 21, 2021 by beyoncé 1
beyoncé Posted April 24, 2021 Posted April 24, 2021 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.
Indy Posted May 2, 2021 Posted May 2, 2021 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! 1
Sandens Posted April 14, 2022 Posted April 14, 2022 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“ 1 1
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