2017. szeptember 22., péntek

Gregory Corso: The Whole Mess … Almost

I ran up six flights of stairs
to my small furnished room  
opened the window
and began throwing out
those things most important in life

First to go, Truth, squealing like a fink:
“Don’t! I’ll tell awful things about you!”
“Oh yeah? Well, I’ve nothing to hide … OUT!”
Then went God, glowering & whimpering in amazement:  
“It’s not my fault! I’m not the cause of it all!” “OUT!”  
Then Love, cooing bribes: “You’ll never know impotency!  
All the girls on Vogue covers, all yours!”
I pushed her fat ass out and screamed:
“You always end up a bummer!”
I picked up Faith Hope Charity
all three clinging together:
“Without us you’ll surely die!”
“With you I’m going nuts! Goodbye!”

Then Beauty … ah, Beauty—
As I led her to the window
I told her: “You I loved best in life
… but you’re a killer; Beauty kills!”  
Not really meaning to drop her
I immediately ran downstairs
getting there just in time to catch her  
“You saved me!” she cried
I put her down and told her: “Move on.”

Went back up those six flights
went to the money
there was no money to throw out.
The only thing left in the room was Death  
hiding beneath the kitchen sink:
“I’m not real!” It cried
“I’m just a rumor spread by life … ”  
Laughing I threw it out, kitchen sink and all  
and suddenly realized Humor
was all that was left—
All I could do with Humor was to say:  
“Out the window with the window!”

2017. szeptember 21., csütörtök

David Shumate: A Hundred Years from Now

I’m sorry I won’t be around a hundred years from now. I’d like to
see how it all turns out. What language most of you are speaking.
What country is swaggering across the globe. I’m curious to know
if your medicines cure what ails us now. And how intelligent your
children are as they parachute down through the womb. Have
you invented new vegetables? Have you trained spiders to do your
bidding?
Have baseball and opera merged into one melodic sport?
A hundred years….My grandfather lived almost that long. The
doctor who came to the farmhouse to deliver him arrived in a
horse-drawn carriage. Do you still have horses?

2017. szeptember 20., szerda

Skobrák Máté: ameddig várlak

az éjszakába kavicsokat dobálok
figyelem ahogy a zavar
egyre táguló
körökben terjed
magamban rakom össze
ameddig várlak
az arcod

de bizonytalan
hogy hol kezdődik a sötét

hogy létezik-e többféle fekete

2017. szeptember 19., kedd

Charles Bukowski: Raw with Love

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won’t flinch and
i won’t blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won’t blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won’t use it
yet.

2017. szeptember 18., hétfő

Szolcsányi Ákos: Segélykérés

Ülök, térdemet ölelve,
mint egy tojásdad nyakéken
a domború ábra.
Érzem a földet alattam és egy szúnyogot,
külön-külön, mint apám kedvenc fűszereit.
A harsány autók távolodnak.
Innen mindent látni,
hullámokat: a térdeim,
a dombtetők, a felhők vonalát.
Jó hely ez, uram. Ne add másnak.

2017. szeptember 17., vasárnap

Pál Dániel Levente: Ki viszi át a geekeket?

Gépem ha végleg lemerült,
hogy írok utolsó betűt?
Áramot ki ad, ha nincs áram?
Ha a törlést nem bírja már RAM?
Ki frissíti a jelszót, lángot?
És ki hoz újra biztonságot?
Ki szerel falban elégett
drótokat és vezetéket?
S versblogomnak kicsoda állít
retweetjeivel katedrálist?
Gépem ha végleg lemerült,
mi rajta volt, mind elmerült?
S ki viszi át a tartalmat metve
az adatbázist emlékezetbe?

2017. szeptember 16., szombat

Nyírfalvy Károly: Szélkelep

Az utca ma is megvan, tán csak a
neve más, hol apám kalapja
végigtáncolt az őszi szélben, sápadt
napfény csillant olykor a karimán, s
a fuldokló kacajjal, ahogy a
nemes főfödőt kergette jól indult
a reggel.
A kalap eltűnt az idő és a tér
selyemtengelyében, én pedig nem
hordok kalapot. Kalapban én nem
én vagyok. De apám sem lehetek.