Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson!
'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!
'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'
Fragmento de The Waste Land de T.S. Eliot (1922)
I Got Married in a Butcher's
My husband has Dutch teeth.
He found them in an Indian take-away.
Loren was in his heart.
Then he switched the fryer on and said...
My husband has Dutch teeth.
He found them in the shelves of Loren's heart.
Then I switched the fryer off
And he began to sweat and say...
Please, don't take my nice teeth before the film's over.
Tell Sophia my liposuction was free.
Please, don't take nice Sophia before I wake up.
Tell the Dutch the old-fashioned ether is free.
He will donate his skin
To the map factory of doctor Sterne.
So our dog Tristram feels
Like he's running out of B.A.'s.
Please, don't take my nice wellies 'cause it is raining.
Tell our Tristram I've got him under my skin.
Please, don't take Tristram's B.A.'s 'cause it is sterning.
Tell the maps I've lost Abyssinia in my skin.
And all our relatives brought their presents
Wrapped up in blue and inspired in red.
And all our friends played with calf and pork
While the priest Fred drank a Scotch on the rocks.
And me and my husband danced the waltz:
Flour in our hair and corn on the floor.
And I said yes.
And he said no.
He found them in an Indian take-away.
Loren was in his heart.
Then he switched the fryer on and said...
My husband has Dutch teeth.
He found them in the shelves of Loren's heart.
Then I switched the fryer off
And he began to sweat and say...
Please, don't take my nice teeth before the film's over.
Tell Sophia my liposuction was free.
Please, don't take nice Sophia before I wake up.
Tell the Dutch the old-fashioned ether is free.
He will donate his skin
To the map factory of doctor Sterne.
So our dog Tristram feels
Like he's running out of B.A.'s.
Please, don't take my nice wellies 'cause it is raining.
Tell our Tristram I've got him under my skin.
Please, don't take Tristram's B.A.'s 'cause it is sterning.
Tell the maps I've lost Abyssinia in my skin.
And all our relatives brought their presents
Wrapped up in blue and inspired in red.
And all our friends played with calf and pork
While the priest Fred drank a Scotch on the rocks.
And me and my husband danced the waltz:
Flour in our hair and corn on the floor.
And I said yes.
And he said no.
posted by Archibald Losenrú at 18:13
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Love Letter from Vostok I (04.12.1961)
Girl, in this old night
Just hold me tight;
In your soft arms I hope I’ll find some sweet delight.
And your blue eyes
Now seem so bright
That every moon and every sun reflect your mind.
Tonight your black long dress
Seems to caress
All my nightmares, all my long quests and all my prayers.
As I float by
This quiet Chagall
I catch stars gleams I use as ink to write these lines.
My Bolshevik queen,
No human being
Has ever loved you as I love you now from here.
Can see the rivers in your eyes,
Can see the mountains in your heart,
Can feel the oxygenating forests in your lips.
This fuselage will come to ash
But we’ll emerge from the huge steppe like phoenix birds.
Fifty minutes left to see you again:
From this whole dream I’ll surely bring you a souvenir.
Just hold me tight;
In your soft arms I hope I’ll find some sweet delight.
And your blue eyes
Now seem so bright
That every moon and every sun reflect your mind.
Tonight your black long dress
Seems to caress
All my nightmares, all my long quests and all my prayers.
As I float by
This quiet Chagall
I catch stars gleams I use as ink to write these lines.
My Bolshevik queen,
No human being
Has ever loved you as I love you now from here.
Can see the rivers in your eyes,
Can see the mountains in your heart,
Can feel the oxygenating forests in your lips.
This fuselage will come to ash
But we’ll emerge from the huge steppe like phoenix birds.
Fifty minutes left to see you again:
From this whole dream I’ll surely bring you a souvenir.
posted by Archibald Losenrú at 18:05
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Mock Turtle's Song
Beneath the waters of the sea
Are lobsters thick as thick can be.
They love to dance with you and me,
My own, my gentle Salmon!
Salmon, come up! Salmon, go down!
Salmon, come twist your tail around!
Of all the fishes of the sea
There's none so good as Salmon!
Letra original de Lewis Carroll (1862).
Are lobsters thick as thick can be.
They love to dance with you and me,
My own, my gentle Salmon!
Salmon, come up! Salmon, go down!
Salmon, come twist your tail around!
Of all the fishes of the sea
There's none so good as Salmon!
Letra original de Lewis Carroll (1862).
posted by Archibald Losenrú at 18:00
0 comments
Autopsy of Ether
It took me thirty-four centuries to tour your smile
From Amarna’s dream to the spires of Mars.
It took me thirty-four hearts to override your tide
And to place every dot in every fucking question mark.
It took me thirty-four tempests to learn how to accept
The brilliance of my failures as Faulkner said.
So I confine myself to seize your cells by chance
And to lit thirty-four moons in what they...
Call the night when two lovers
Would play beneath the electric lights.
But I know we’re not lovers,
We’re just strangers in the night.
Strangers in the night, exchanging glances.
Cold as fire brands with no matches.
Strangers in the light of mesmerism sham,
Stranglers in the stars, wandering the streets of what they...
Call the night when two lovers
Would play beneath the bright crossfire.
But I know we’re just soldiers
Chasing dragon teeth, will-o’-the-wisps
By bus in the winter. Numb in the winter.
Quite stuck in the winter and all matches damp.
In the winter, my killer and my psalm.
Took me thirty-four centuries to tour your smile.
Took me thirty-four hearts to override your tide.
Took me thirty-four tempests to learn how to accept
The brilliance of my failures in the impossible chase.
From Amarna’s dream to the spires of Mars.
It took me thirty-four hearts to override your tide
And to place every dot in every fucking question mark.
It took me thirty-four tempests to learn how to accept
The brilliance of my failures as Faulkner said.
So I confine myself to seize your cells by chance
And to lit thirty-four moons in what they...
Call the night when two lovers
Would play beneath the electric lights.
But I know we’re not lovers,
We’re just strangers in the night.
Strangers in the night, exchanging glances.
Cold as fire brands with no matches.
Strangers in the light of mesmerism sham,
Stranglers in the stars, wandering the streets of what they...
Call the night when two lovers
Would play beneath the bright crossfire.
But I know we’re just soldiers
Chasing dragon teeth, will-o’-the-wisps
By bus in the winter. Numb in the winter.
Quite stuck in the winter and all matches damp.
In the winter, my killer and my psalm.
Took me thirty-four centuries to tour your smile.
Took me thirty-four hearts to override your tide.
Took me thirty-four tempests to learn how to accept
The brilliance of my failures in the impossible chase.
posted by Archibald Losenrú at 17:42
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Amusia
I’ve bought you azaleas,
I’ve sent you a sonnet,
I’ve sketched two morning stars
On your brand new Volvo
So that you’d be informed
That you’re adored.
But as you turn it on
You and I’ll have vanished ‘cause the dust floats.
So I’ve decided
To write this song;
I’ll drop it in your letterbox
Full of brochures
So that you’d be informed
That you’re adored.
But as you play it on
You and I’ll be mere semiquavers breathing in a lake
Where my infinitesimal heart floats.
Dreamt of azaleas,
You saw a G flat;
I whispered these two morning stars
You turned into a coda.
I’ve sent you a sonnet,
I’ve sketched two morning stars
On your brand new Volvo
So that you’d be informed
That you’re adored.
But as you turn it on
You and I’ll have vanished ‘cause the dust floats.
So I’ve decided
To write this song;
I’ll drop it in your letterbox
Full of brochures
So that you’d be informed
That you’re adored.
But as you play it on
You and I’ll be mere semiquavers breathing in a lake
Where my infinitesimal heart floats.
Dreamt of azaleas,
You saw a G flat;
I whispered these two morning stars
You turned into a coda.
posted by Archibald Losenrú at 11:23
0 comments
Death at the Circus
The red bulbs jabber in the dark
In the old corner of the Kit Kat Klub.
She drinks her sad tea as she thinks
Of all the people that she didn’t meet.
While Weimar explodes like an eyeball
Her short heels echo in the lonely walk.
Two pictures crumple in her purse:
Chris is in Rome. Schultz died in Heidelberg.
And all the girls they sing “Mein Herr”
And all the boys say “enchanté”
And all the poets drink the verses
Whispered to the policegirls.
And all the guns stuck to the hearts
And all the hearts stuck to desire;
The whole desire stuck to the night
Ruled by the smiling policeguys.
The night masts get gloved in glossy red.
The spinning sun proclaims that the rain will bring the reign
Where fierce and seductive and starving violent femmes
Will bite the womb of History while the reporters say…
That all the girls they sing “Mein Herr”
And all the boys say “enchanté”
And all the poets drink the verses
Whispered to the policegirls.
And all the guns stuck to the hearts
And all the hearts stuck to desire;
The whole desire stuck to the night
Ruled by the smiling policeguys.
And all the boys march through the streets
And all the Jews get drunk with tea
And all the doves fly to the sea
And silly Sally drops her wings.
The red bulbs sing…
In the old corner of the Kit Kat Klub.
She drinks her sad tea as she thinks
Of all the people that she didn’t meet.
While Weimar explodes like an eyeball
Her short heels echo in the lonely walk.
Two pictures crumple in her purse:
Chris is in Rome. Schultz died in Heidelberg.
And all the girls they sing “Mein Herr”
And all the boys say “enchanté”
And all the poets drink the verses
Whispered to the policegirls.
And all the guns stuck to the hearts
And all the hearts stuck to desire;
The whole desire stuck to the night
Ruled by the smiling policeguys.
The night masts get gloved in glossy red.
The spinning sun proclaims that the rain will bring the reign
Where fierce and seductive and starving violent femmes
Will bite the womb of History while the reporters say…
That all the girls they sing “Mein Herr”
And all the boys say “enchanté”
And all the poets drink the verses
Whispered to the policegirls.
And all the guns stuck to the hearts
And all the hearts stuck to desire;
The whole desire stuck to the night
Ruled by the smiling policeguys.
And all the boys march through the streets
And all the Jews get drunk with tea
And all the doves fly to the sea
And silly Sally drops her wings.
The red bulbs sing…
posted by Archibald Losenrú at 11:16
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Why
Tell me why on a night like this
Moon’s so high and there is such wild breeze;
Tell me why it’s so dark the sky,
Tell me why, babe, you are by my side.
Tell me why you hate the pink clocks,
Why you swim, why you love the blue flocks;
Tell me, babe, don’t you know what to hide?
Tell me why, babe, why you don’t escape from the light.
Why don’t you tell me why?
Please, honey, tell me why;
Why don’t you tell me why?
Why don’t you tell me why?
Please, lady, tell me why;
Why don’t you tell me why?
Tell me why the green sea’s so dark,
Why people lie, why people bark.
You look so pretty, you know you look so fine,
And all I want is you could, babe, tell me why
Why you can writhe and I can fly.
Tell me why the sadness insides
Spread like grubs over the South.
You are so nervy; you know you are so bright...
Why don’t you tell me why?
Please, honey, tell me why;
Why don’t you tell me why?
Why don’t you tell me why?
Please, lady, tell me why;
Why don’t you tell me why
Why I am a man and you’re a fly.
Moon’s so high and there is such wild breeze;
Tell me why it’s so dark the sky,
Tell me why, babe, you are by my side.
Tell me why you hate the pink clocks,
Why you swim, why you love the blue flocks;
Tell me, babe, don’t you know what to hide?
Tell me why, babe, why you don’t escape from the light.
Why don’t you tell me why?
Please, honey, tell me why;
Why don’t you tell me why?
Why don’t you tell me why?
Please, lady, tell me why;
Why don’t you tell me why?
Tell me why the green sea’s so dark,
Why people lie, why people bark.
You look so pretty, you know you look so fine,
And all I want is you could, babe, tell me why
Why you can writhe and I can fly.
Tell me why the sadness insides
Spread like grubs over the South.
You are so nervy; you know you are so bright...
Why don’t you tell me why?
Please, honey, tell me why;
Why don’t you tell me why?
Why don’t you tell me why?
Please, lady, tell me why;
Why don’t you tell me why
Why I am a man and you’re a fly.
posted by Archibald Losenrú at 11:14
0 comments
My Grandmother's Gramophone
Hi, granny. How are your legs today?
It’s been a long time since... uhm... well, you know.
Yeah, I’ll have another cup of tea while you wind the old gramophone Uncle Tizzie stole from that Syrian tavern.
Oooh, I love its tunes...
Little Bulbul has a bell which only sounds at night (just at night).
Every morning she asks her mum: “Why does it only sound just at night?”
In the evenings at the lake she sings songs as she waits for the night.
And when darkness falls from west, the bell sounds and sounds till she gets strained
and returns home completely wet.
D’you know what?
The Donovans have moved to Wexford or somewhere.
Yeah, I know you’ll miss little Emily so much.
She was so sweet... So clever...
I used to sing those old melodies for her while Mrs. Donovan cooked the biscuits.
Little Aziz has a boat which only sails at night (just at night).
Every morning he removes the leaves which fell at night (just at night).
In the evenings at the lake he sings songs as he waits for the night.
And when darkness falls from west, the boat sails and sails till he gets strained
and returns home completely wet.
It happened one evening.
We sat on the carpet practicing the multiplication table.
Some logs were burning in the chimney,
As well as the Scrabble letters Emily had thrown.
It was very hot. The gramophone played very loudly.
Emily laughed and cried the numbers out.
The rain hit the windows furiously. It was so hot.
The Scrabble letters exploded like thunders. Emily shouted.
It was very hot. A car engine was heard. Emily didn’t stop shouting.
It was then that Mr. Donovan opened the door.
And she shouted, and she shouted, and she shouted...
Two times one is two.
Two times two is four.
Two times three is six.
Two times four is eight.
Two times five is ten.
And she shouted, and she shouted, and she shouted...
Bye, granny. Got to leave to clean my speedboat. See you.
posted by Archibald Losenrú at 11:11
0 comments
domingo, octubre 29, 2006
Woman Hitler
I have erased this Saturday night fever with the waves
Of the dirty aftershave gun your mother designed that sleepless night.
I know she paid for this dormitory but you hate that smell of naphthalene;
So get her out this dirty room 'cause it’s me that plays the bridegroom.
Juliet, nice love may be turned into purple violence
When Woman Hitler haunts the place.
So hail to adult novels reign of love and lust.
They’ll dominate moon starers astronomers.
I’ll have to move to the country side; they advise: “Here no city dust”.
As William Shakespeare said: Maybe I’ll make a wise phrase.
Juliet, nice love may be turned into purple violence
When Woman Hitler haunts the place.
So hail to adult novels reign of love and lust.
They’ll dominate moon starers astronomers.
Sit, chat, pay, sir. Funeral fair.
Desperation makes us brave.
A psychiatrist. Real fun to wish.
Girl, let me tell you a rope ends it.
A psychiatrist. Real fun to wish.
Girl, let me tell you a rope ends it.
Sit, chat, pay, sir. Funeral fair.
And DNA...
Evil’s agents, all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy “Man” and its heroes, the Evangelists.
And DNA, and DNA, and DNA...
Los versos en cursiva son un fragmento adaptado de Ligeia de Edgar A. Poe.
Of the dirty aftershave gun your mother designed that sleepless night.
I know she paid for this dormitory but you hate that smell of naphthalene;
So get her out this dirty room 'cause it’s me that plays the bridegroom.
Juliet, nice love may be turned into purple violence
When Woman Hitler haunts the place.
So hail to adult novels reign of love and lust.
They’ll dominate moon starers astronomers.
I’ll have to move to the country side; they advise: “Here no city dust”.
As William Shakespeare said: Maybe I’ll make a wise phrase.
Juliet, nice love may be turned into purple violence
When Woman Hitler haunts the place.
So hail to adult novels reign of love and lust.
They’ll dominate moon starers astronomers.
Sit, chat, pay, sir. Funeral fair.
Desperation makes us brave.
A psychiatrist. Real fun to wish.
Girl, let me tell you a rope ends it.
A psychiatrist. Real fun to wish.
Girl, let me tell you a rope ends it.
Sit, chat, pay, sir. Funeral fair.
And DNA...
Evil’s agents, all pallid and wan, uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy “Man” and its heroes, the Evangelists.
And DNA, and DNA, and DNA...
Los versos en cursiva son un fragmento adaptado de Ligeia de Edgar A. Poe.
posted by Archibald Losenrú at 10:51
0 comments