"to the whore who took my poems
some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
my
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
here'll always be mony and whores and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry."
morao sam u kupatilo zbog nečega
i kucao na vrata
a ti si bila u kadi
prala si lice i kosu
video sam gornji deo tvoga tela
i osim sisa
izgledala si kao devojčica od pet
ili osam godina,
radosna si bila u vodi,
Linda Li.
nisi bila samo suština tog
trenutka
već svih mojih trenutaka
do tada
kupajući se u peni
pa ipak nije bilo ničeg
što bih ti rekao.
there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day
and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace
those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love
beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average
but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect
like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock
their finest art
Dopuna: 19 Apr 2009 22:12
Factotum - Henry Chinaski from Bukowski
"If you're going to try, go all the way. Otherwise don't even start. This could mean losing
girlfriends, wives, relatives, jobs. And maybe
your mind. It could mean not eating for three or four days. It could mean freezing on a park bench. It could mean jail. It could mean derision. It could mean mockery, isolation. Isolation is the gift. All
the others are a test of your endurance. Of how much you really want to do it. And you'll do it, despite rejection in the worst odds. And it will be better than anything else you can imagine. If you're going to try, go all the way. There is no other feeling like that. You will be alone with the gods. And the nights will flame with fire. You will
ride life straight to perfect laughter. It's the only good fight there is. "
Evo me spremnog da budem smatran velikim pjesnikom
a meni se poslijepodne spava
Evo me svjesnog smrti kao divovskog bika
što se zalijece na mene
a meni se poslijepodne spava
Evo me svjesnog ratova i covjeka što se bori u ringu
i svjesnog dobre hrane i vina i dobrih žena
a meni se poslijepodne spava
Svjestan sam ženine ljubavi
i poslijepodne mi se spava,
uranjam u suncevu svjetlost iza žute zavjese
pitam se gdje su otišle ljetne muhe
sjecam se najkrvavije Hemingvejeve smrti
i poslijepodne mi se spava.
Jednog dana necu željeti da mi se poslijepodne spava
jednog dana cu napisati pjesmu što ce donijeti vulkane
brdima tamo vani,
ali samda mi se poslijepodne spava
i netko me pita:"Bukowski,koliko je sati?"
i ja kažem: 3:16 i pola."
Osjecam se vrlo krivim,osjecam se da sam odvratan,beskoristan,
mahnit,osjecam
da mi se poslijepodne spava,
oni bombardiraju crkve,u redu,to je u redu,
djeca jašu ponije u parku,u redu,to je u redu,
biblioteke su ispunjene tisucama knjiga punih znanja,
velika muzika cuci u radiju što je tu pri ruci,
a meni se poslijepodne spava,
nosim u sebi taj grob koji kaže,
ah,pusti druge neka to naprave,pusti ih neka pobijede,
pustite me da spavam,
mudrost je u tami
i zamahuje po tami poput metle,
ja idem tamo gdje su otišle ljetne muhe,
pokušaj da me uhvatiš.
