Horizon seethed with demons of the night,
thin smell of fish, raw cries of gulls, disoriented
wind winding hopelessly among the scented
half-sunken rocks, with their bleak foresight
transforming space to time, and depth to height,
arranging, rearranging what has melted
within yourself - forsaken, accidented,
but persevering doggedly, despite
this rage, and salt, and howling of the waves,
saxe locks of algae tossed upon the shore,
abyss that fulminates, explodes and cleaves:
I only wish it cancelled me, before
I turn myself into a schist, a shell
shaken by breakers like a tongueless bell.
On My 37th Birthday
© Copyright: Vlanes, 2006
Свидетельство о публикации №106092800369
Свидетельство о публикации №106092800369
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Dear Vlanes,
I am so sadden by your "37 Birthday" mood, and in my mind your poem has rearranged itself into this:
Oh demons, seethe but fizzle in the night
Among half-sunken rocks, disoriented
By smell of fish, raw cries of gulls, the scented,
forsaken skies, with their bleak foresight.
But sounds, but words that measure depth and height,
arranging, rearranging what has melted
within the souls of poets so unsheltered,
but persevering doggedly, despite
this rage, and salt, and howling of the waves,
thick locks of algae tossed upon the shore,
abyss that fulminates, explodes and cleaves:
let them be blessed, proclaim peace before
they turn themselves into a schist, a shell,
shaken and weeping like a tongueless bell.
I wish you a few :}}}
Your friend
Борис Старосельский 04.10.2006 13:08 • Заявить о нарушении
I am so sadden by your "37 Birthday" mood, and in my mind your poem has rearranged itself into this:
Oh demons, seethe but fizzle in the night
Among half-sunken rocks, disoriented
By smell of fish, raw cries of gulls, the scented,
forsaken skies, with their bleak foresight.
But sounds, but words that measure depth and height,
arranging, rearranging what has melted
within the souls of poets so unsheltered,
but persevering doggedly, despite
this rage, and salt, and howling of the waves,
thick locks of algae tossed upon the shore,
abyss that fulminates, explodes and cleaves:
let them be blessed, proclaim peace before
they turn themselves into a schist, a shell,
shaken and weeping like a tongueless bell.
I wish you a few :}}}
Your friend
Борис Старосельский 04.10.2006 13:08 • Заявить о нарушении
Ha-ha. Funny. Well, I was indeed in a bad mood, but now I feel much better. Thank you for this re-arrangement!
Vlanes 04.10.2006 14:40 Заявить о нарушении
Vlanes 04.10.2006 14:40 Заявить о нарушении
