Allen Ginsberg – Please Master, wiersz klasyka na Wywrocie. ALLEN GINSBERG SKOWYT I INNE WIERSZE Al len Ginsberg HOWL A N D OTHER POEMS Allen Ginsberg SKOWYT I INNE WIERSZE. ) pp. Translation: [Plutonian Ode (excerpt)] POLISH Books: H Ginsberg, Allen. Skowyt I Inne Wiersze. Bydgoszcz, Poland: Pomorze,
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Musiał Grzegorz (Translator of Skowyt i inne wiersze)
The blood that runs is dark fruit – An effect, a cosmetic. Waking among mysteries with an insane gleam of recollection? In air Stilled, silvered as water in a glass Nothing is big or far. My psychoanalyst th inks I ‘m prefectly r ight. II Y e t Spade reminded me of Ange lalken a bus. Moloch whose eyes a re a thousand blind w i n d o w s! She will never be stirred In her loamy cell By the waves long heard And loved so well.
Are they assigned, or can the countries pick their colors? He remembers forgotten Beauty When my arms wrap you round I press My heart upon the loveliness That has long faded from the world; The jewelled crowns that kings have hurled In shadowy pools, when armies fled; The love-tales wrought with silken thread By dreaming ladies upon cloth That has iinne fat the murderous moth; The roses that of old time were Woven by ladies in their hair, The dew-cold lilies ladies bore Through many a sacred corridor Where such grey clouds of incense rose That only God’s eyes did not close: A m e r i c a after all it is you and I who a re perfect not the next wor ld.
No, it is not fatal. I think of the lizards airing their tongues In the crevice of an extremely small shadow And the toad guarding his heart’s droplet. He is learning, well behind his desperate eyes, The epistemology of loss, how to stand up Knowing what every man must one day know And most know many days, how to stand up And gradually light returns to the street A whistle blows, the ball is out of sight, Soon part of me will explore the deep and dark Floor of the harbour.
No, no, Lord Byron, before I’ll believe that this Assyrian was actually like a wolf I must have some kind widrsze proof; Did he run on all fours and did he have a hairy tail and a big red mouth and big white teeth and did he say Woof Woof?
I saw it go Merrily bouncing, down the street, and then Merrily over—there it is in the water! These hills are too green and sweet to have tasted salt.
Allen Ginsberg – Please Master – Ginsberg Allen (wiersz klasyka)
It’s the theatrical Comeback in broad day To the same place, the same face, the same brute Amused shout: No rest without love, no sleep without dreams of love be mad or chill obsessed with angels or machines, the final wish is love cannot be bitter, cannot deny, cannot withhold if denied: See, he answers nicely when he’s spoken gibsberg. There on that scaffolding reclines Michael Angelo. We have come so far, it is over.
I may be skin and bone, Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman. I am in love with my excellent baby. It was dark and then it isn’t. Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I stand on top of our back steps and breathe the rich air– a mother skunk with her column of kittens swills the garbage pail. The folk who are buying and selling, The clouds on their journey above, The cold wet winds ever blowing, And the shadowy hazel grove Where mouse-grey waters are ginsherg, Threaten the head that I love.
Saw the red blossoms in the night l i gh tsun ‘ s gonethey had al l g rownin a momentand w e r e wa i t i ng stopped in t ime for the day sun to come and give them.
The season’s ill– we’ve lost our summer millionaire, who seemed to leap from an L. Meanwhile the winds, and rains, And Earth’s old glooms and pains Are still the same, and gladdest Life Death neighbors nigh.
It must not wish to disarm anything; nor may the approved triumph easily be honored— that which is great because something else is small.
I s i t in my house for days on end and s ta re a t the roses in the closet.
T h e wor ld knows the love tha t ‘ s in its b reas t as in the f l owe rthe su-ffer ing lonely wor ld. And I slept on like a bent finger. Moloch whose breast fs a canniba l dynamo! Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule, Dulling and stilling.
Allan Ginsberg – Skowyt i Inne Wiersze
Not defeat at all for he has gone through defeat as if it w e r e an o rd ina ry exper iencea t r i v i a l exper ience. And the poem Has set me softely down beside you.
T h e closet door is open for me, whe re I left i tsince I left it open, it has grac ious ly stayed open.