Κοινότητα - Πύλη - Περιοδικό Φοιτητών Πανεπιστημίου Αιγαίου -- Πρωτοβουλία MyAegean

*πετάει το κλειδί του κλουβιού στη Estella

Βγες η ζωή είναι ωραία.
Και άμα δε σου πάνε όλα καλά,
και άμα η λύπη σου είναι πολύ μεγάλη
και πάει να σε πνίξει,
όταν οι αναποδιές πάνε να σε καταπιούνε...

Εσύ λες:"Και δε γα***αι..."

Ο ουρανός είναι γαλάζιος.
Καλό είναι αυτό.Αρκεί.
Οχι παρομοίωση.Απλά μου αρέσει.

Είναι ωραίο χρώμα το γαλάζιο.
Το αγαπημένο μου.

Κάποιοι λένε οτι η ζωή είναι άδικη.
Λάθη.
Η ζωή είναι ζωή.
Η δική σου ζωή.
Οι ανόητοι προσωποποιούνε τη ζωή
ή για να την κάτηγορούσουν κάποιον άλλον.
Κάποιον άλλον για τις δικές τους επιλογές.
Αμα η ζωή πάει να σου τη φέρει
εσύ με ένα γέρό χέρι ξύλο απάντάς.

Και μετά "ψόφος" της αποκρίνεσαι.

Εχουμε δουλειές κυρία ζωή.
Με σένα αλλο δε θα ασχολούμαστε.

Αμα η ζωή είναι που***α...
εγώ ποτέ δε πήγα στο μπουρδέλο της.
Και δε σκοπεύω.
Περνάω απέξω την ακούω να πηδιέται
και την χαιρετάω.

Με κολοδάχτυλο.

Viva Piniata.
By mystery_orange

δεν τραγουδω παρα γιατι μ'αγαπησες
στα περασμενα χρονια
και σε ηλιο,σε καλοκαιριου προμαντεμα
και σε βροχη, σε χιονια,
δεν τραγουδω παρα γιατι μ'αγαπησες

μονο γιατι με κρατησες στα χερια σου
μια νυχτα και με φιλησες στο στομα,
μονο γιαυτο ειμαι ωραια σαν κρινο ολανοιχτο
κι εχω ενα ριγος στη ψυχη μου ακομα.
μονο γιατι με κρατησες στα χερια σου.

μονο γιατι τα ματια σου με κοιταξαν
με την ψυχη στο βλεμμα,
περηφανα στολιστηκα το υπερτατο
της υπαρξης μου στεμμα
μονο γιατι τα ματια σου με κοιταξαν

μονο γιατι οπως περναγα με καμαρωσες
και στη ματια σου να περναει
ειδα τη λιγερη σκια μου ως ονειρο
να παιζει, να ποναει
μονο γιατι οπως περναγα με καμαρωσες

γιατι δισταχτικα σαν να με φωναξες
και μου απλωσες τα χερια
κι ειχες μεσα στα ματια σου ματια σου θαμπωμα
-μια αγαπη πλερια,
γιατι δυσταχτηκα σαν να με φωναξες

γιατι, μονο γιατι σε σεναν αρεσε
γι αυτο εμεινεν ωραιο το περασμα μου
σα να μ'ακολουθουσες οπου πηγαινα
σα να περουσες καπου εκει σιμα μου
γιατι, μονο γιατι σε σενα αρεσε

μονο γιατι μ'αγαπησες γεννηθηκα
γι αυτο η ζωη μου εδωθει
στην αχαρη ζωη την ανεκπληρωτη
μενα η ζωη πληρωθει
μονο γιατι μ'αγαπησες γεννηθηκα

μοναχα για τη διαλεχτη αγαπη σου
μου χαρησε η αυγη ροδα στα χερια
για να φωτισω μια στιγμη το δρομο σου
μου γεμισε τα ματια η νυχτα αστερια
μοναχα για τη διαλεκτη αγαπη σου

μοναχα γιατι τοσο ωραια μ'αγαπησες
εζησα, να πληθαινω
τα ονειρατα σου, ωραιε, που βασιλεψες
κι ετσι γλυκα πεθαινω
μοναχα γιατι τοσο ωραια μ'αγαπησες

απτην Ιθάκη του Καβάφη... ".........Πάντα στο νου σου ναχεις την Ιθάκη. Το φτάσιμο εκεί ειν ο προορισμός σου. Αλλά μη βιάζεις το ταξίδι διόλου. Καλλύτερα χρόνια πολλά να διαρκέσει και γέρος πια ν'αράξεις στο νησί, πλούσιος μ'όσα κέρδισες στο δρόμο, μην προσδοκώντας πλούτη να σε δώσει η Ιθάκη. Η Ιθάκη σ'έδωσε το ωραίο ταξίδι. Χωρίς αυτήν δε θα βγαινες στο δρόμο. ¶λλα δεν έχει να σε δώσει πια. Κι αν πτωχική τη βρείς, η Ιθάκη δεν σε γέλασε. Έτσι σοφός που έγινες, με τόση πείρα, ήδη θα το κατάλαβες οι Ιθάκες τι σημαίνουν. "

ΜΠΕΡΤΟΛΤ ΜΠΡΕΧΤ - ΑΚΟΥΜΕ: ΔΕΝ ΘΕΛΕΙΣ ΠΙΑ ΝΑ ΔΟΥΛΕΨΕΙΣ ΜΑΖΙ ΜΑΣ

Α΄
Ακούμε: δεν θέλεις πια να δουλέψεις μαζί μας.
Γονάτισες. Δεν μπορείς άλλο να τρέχεις.
Κουράστηκες. Δεν μπορείς πια να μαθαίνεις καινούργια.
Ξόφλησες.
Κανείς δεν μπορεί να σου ζητήσει να κάνεις πια τίποτα.

Μάθε λοιπόν:
Εμείς το ζητάμε.

Σαν κουραστείς κι αποκοιμηθείς
Κανείς δεν θα σε ξυπνήσει πια να πει:
Σήκω, το φαΐ είνΆ έτοιμο.
Γιατί να υπάρχει έτοιμο φαΐ;
Σαν δεν θα μπορείς άλλο να τρέχεις,
Θα μείνεις ξαπλωμένος. Κανείς
Δεν θα σε ψάξει για να πει:
Έγινε επανάσταση. Τα εργοστάσια
Σε περιμένουν.
Γιατί να Άχει γίνει επανάσταση;
Όταν πεθάνεις θα σε θάψουν
Είτε φταις που πέθανες είτε όχι.

Λες:
Πολύν καιρό αγωνίστηκες. Δεν μπορείς άλλο πια
νΆ αγωνιστείς.
¶κου λοιπόν:
Είτε φταις είτε όχι:
Σαν δεν μπορείς άλλο να παλέψεις, θα πεθάνεις.


Β΄
Λες: Πολύν καιρό ήλπιζες. Δεν μπορείς άλλο πια
να ελπίσεις.
Ήλπιζες τι;
Πως ο αγώνας θα Άναι εύκολος;

Δεν είνΆ έτσι.
Η θέση μας είναι χειρότερη απΆ όσο νόμιζες.

Είναι τέτοια που:
Αν δεν καταφέρουμε το αδύνατο
Δεν έχουμε ελπίδα.
Αν δεν κάνουμε αυτό που κανείς δεν μπορεί να μας ζητήσει
Θα χαθούμε.

Οι εχθροί μας περιμένουν να κουραστούμε.

Όταν ο αγώνας είναι στην πιο σκληρή καμπή του,
Οι αγωνιστές έχουν την πιο μεγάλη κούραση.
Οι κουρασμένοι, χάνουν τη μάχη.


Υ.Γ.: Μας είχε δώσει ο μαθηματικός που είχα στην Γ' λυκείου απόσπασμα του ποιήματος για να μας ενθαρρύνει. Είχε βοηθήσει...

elpizw na sas aresei:
ΟΤΑΝ ΟΛΑ ΠΑΝ Τ ΚΑΚΟΥ ΟΠΩΣ ΚΑΘΕ ΤΟΣΟ ΠΑΝΕ,ΣΑΝ ΟΙ ΔΡΟΜΟΙ ΠΟΥ ΒΑΔΙΖΕΙΣ ΤΝ ΑΝΗΦΟΡΟ ΤΡΑΒΑΝΕ,ΟΤΑΝ ΟΙ ΕΓΝΟΙΕΣ ΓΙΝΟΥΝ ΤΟΣΕΣ ΠΟΥ ΚΟΝΤΕΥΕΙΣ ΝΑ ΛΥΓΙΣΕΙΣ ΞΕΚΟΥΡΑΣΟΥ ΑΝ ΕΙΝ'ΑΝΑΓΚΗ ΟΜΩΣ ΜΝ Τ ΠΑΡΑΤΗΣΕΙΣ...Κ ΠΟΛΛΕΣ ΑΠΟΤΥΧΙΕΣ ΔΝΝ Θ Σ ΕΙΧΑΝΕ ΦΑΝΕΙ ΑΝ ΚΡΑΤΟΥΣΕΣ ΛΙΓΟ ΑΚΟΜΗ Μ ΤΝ ΙΔΙΑ ΥΠΟΜΟΝΗ,ΜΗΝ ΑΦΗΣΕΙΣ ΤΝ ΑΓΩΝΑ Κ ΑΣ ΚΟΝΤΕΥΕΙΣ Ν ΛΥΓΙΣΕΙΣ ΟΤΑΝ ΟΛΑ ΠΙΑ ΧΑΜΕΝΑ ΜΟΙΑΖΟΥΝ ΕΣΥ ΜΝ Τ ΠΑΡΑΤΗΣΕΙΣ!!!

Αυτο που εδειξε το η συζήτηση για την αποποινικοποίηση της κανναβης ειναι το θλιβερό ¨ΟΙ ΠΕΡΙΣΣΟΤΕΡΟΙ ΑΠΟ ΕΜΑΣ ΔΕΝ ΕΙΝΑΙ ΕΤΟΙΜΟΙ ακόμη για τέτοιες συζητήσεις..
Ποσο μαλλον να προχωρήσουμε προς την αποποινικοποίηση.
Κιαι κατι ακομα …..το φόρουμ έκλεισε τελείως δημοκρατικά…..

Echo

I asked of Echo, t'other day
(Whose words are often few and funny),
What to a novice she could say
Of courtship, love, and matrimony.
Quoth Echo plainly,--"Matter-o'-money!"

Whom should I marry? Should it be
A dashing damsel, gay and pert,
A pattern of inconstancy;
Or selfish, mercenary flirt?
Quoth Echo, sharply,--"Nary flirt!"

What if, aweary of the strife
That long has lured the dear deceiver,
She promise to amend her life,
And sin no more; can I believe her?
Quoth Echo, very promptly,--"Leave her!"

But if some maiden with a heart
On me should venture to bestow it,
Pray, should I act the wiser part
To take the treasure or forego it?
Quoth Echo, with decision,--"Go it!"

But what if, seemingly afraid
To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter,
She vow she means to die a maid,
In answer to my loving letter?
Quoth Echo, rather coolly,--"Let her!"

What if, in spite of her disdain,
I find my heart intwined about
With Cupid's dear delicious chain
So closely that I can't get out?
Quoth Echo, laughingly,--"Get out!"

But if some maid with beauty blest,
As pure and fair as Heaven can make her,
Will share my labor and my rest
Till envious Death shall overtake her?
Quoth Echo (sotto voce),--"Take her!"

John. G. Saxe ( The Blindmen and the Elephant )


To παραπάνω είναι σαφώς επηρεασμένο από το Α Gentle Echo on Woman in the doric manner του Swift.

Say, what can keep her chaste whom I adore?
..A door.
Then teach me, Echo, how shall I come by her?
..Buy her.
If music softens rocks, love tunes my lyre.
..Liar.
Is there no way to moderate her anger?
..Hang her.

Επιχειρώ να προσθέσω εδώ ένα ποίημα που θα μπορούσε από μόνο του να είναι και βιβλίο...
ο λόγος για το Howl του Allen Ginsberg. Συγγνώμη για το μακροσκελές, ελπίζω να φανεί ενδιαφέρον στην ολική του μορφή για αρκετούς. Για εμένα είναι ίσως η επιτομή όχι μόνο της Beatnik ποίησης αλλά μια ωδή για την Counterculture γενικότερα.









HOWL By Allen Ginsberg


I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machin-
ery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and
saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene-
ment roofs illuminated,
who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes
hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy
among the scholars of war,
who were expelled from the academies for crazy &
publishing obscene odes on the windows of the
skull,
who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burn-
ing their money in wastebaskets and listening
to the Terror through the wall,
who got busted in their pubic beards returning through
Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,
who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in
Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their
torsos night after night
with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, al-
cohol and cock and endless balls,
incomparable blind; streets of shuddering cloud and
lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of
Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the mo-
tionless world of Time between,
Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery
dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops,
storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon
blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree
vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brook-
lyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless
ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine
until the noise of wheels and children brought
them down shuddering mouth-wracked and
battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance
in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's
floated out and sat through the stale beer after
noon in desolate Fugazzi's, listening to the crack
of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,
who talked continuously seventy hours from park to
pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brook-
lyn Bridge,
lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping
down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills
off Empire State out of the moon,
yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts
and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks
and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,
whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days
and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the
Synagogue cast on the pavement,
who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a
trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic
City Hall,
suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grind-
ings and migraines of China under junk-with-


drawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,
who wandered around and around at midnight in the
railroad yard wondering where to go, and went,
leaving no broken hearts,
who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing
through snow toward lonesome farms in grand-
father night,
who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telep-
athy and bop kabbalah because the cosmos in-
stinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,
who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking vis-
ionary indian angels who were visionary indian
angels,
who thought they were only mad when Baltimore
gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,
who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Okla-
homa on the impulse of winter midnight street
light smalltown rain,
who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston
seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the
brilliant Spaniard to converse about America
and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship
to Africa,
who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving
behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees
and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fire
place Chicago,
who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the
F.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist
eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incom-
prehensible leaflets,
who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting
the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,
who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union
Square weeping and undressing while the sirens
of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed
down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also
wailed,
who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked
and trembling before the machinery of other
skeletons,
who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight
in policecars for committing no crime but their
own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,
who howled on their knees in the subway and were
dragged off the roof waving genitals and manu-
scripts,
who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly
motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,
who blew and were blown by those human seraphim,
the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean
love,
who balled in the morning in the evenings in rose
gardens and the grass of public parks and
cemeteries scattering their semen freely to
whomever come who may,
who hiccuped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up
with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath
when the blond & naked angel came to pierce
them with a sword,
who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate
the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar
the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb
and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but
sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden
threads of the craftsman's loom,
who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of
beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a can-
dle and fell off the bed, and continued along
the floor and down the hall and ended fainting
on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and
come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,
who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling
in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning
but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sun
rise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked
in the lake,
who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad
stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these
poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver-joy
to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls
in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses'
rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with
gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely pet-
ticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station
solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too,
who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in
dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and
picked themselves up out of basements hung
over with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third
Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemploy-
ment offices,
who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on
the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the
East River to open to a room full of steamheat
and opium,
who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment
cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime
blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall
be crowned with laurel in oblivion,
who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested
the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of
Bowery,
who wept at the romance of the streets with their
pushcarts full of onions and bad music,
who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the
bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in
their lofts,
who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned
with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded
by orange crates of theology,
who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty
incantations which in the yellow morning were
stanzas of gibberish,
who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht
& tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable
kingdom,
who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for
an egg,
who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot
for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks
fell on their heads every day for the next decade,
who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccess-
fully, gave up and were forced to open antique
stores where they thought they were growing
old and cried,
who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits
on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse
& the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments
of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the
fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinis-
ter intelligent editors, or were run down by the
drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,
who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually hap-
pened and walked away unknown and forgotten
into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alley
ways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,
who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of
the subway window, jumped in the filthy Pas-
saic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street,
danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed
phonograph records of nostalgic European
1930s German jazz finished the whiskey and
threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans
in their ears and the blast of colossal steam
whistles,
who barreled down the highways of the past journeying
to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude
watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,
who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out
if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had
a vision to find out Eternity,
who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who
came back to Denver & waited in vain, who
watched over Denver & brooded & loned in
Denver and finally went away to find out the
Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,
who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying
for each other's salvation and light and breasts,
until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,
who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for
impossible criminals with golden heads and the
charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet
blues to Alcatraz,
who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky
Mount to tender Buddha or Tangiers to boys
or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive or
Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the
daisychain or grave,
who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hyp
notism & were left with their insanity & their
hands & a hung jury,
who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism
and subsequently presented themselves on the
granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads
and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding in-
stantaneous lobotomy,
and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin
Metrazol electricity hydrotherapy psycho-
therapy occupational therapy pingpong &
amnesia,
who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic
pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,
returning years later truly bald except for a wig of
blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible mad
man doom of the wards of the madtowns of the
East,
Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid
halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rock-
ing and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench
dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a night-
mare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the
moon,
with mother finally ******, and the last fantastic book
flung out of the tenement window, and the last
door closed at 4. A.M. and the last telephone
slammed at the wall in reply and the last fur-
nished room emptied down to the last piece of
mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted
on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that
imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of
hallucination
ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and
now you're really in the total animal soup of
time
and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed
with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use
of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrat-
ing plane,
who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space
through images juxtaposed, and trapped the
archangel of the soul between 2 visual images
and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun
and dash of consciousness together jumping
with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna
Deus
to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human
prose and stand before you speechless and intel-
ligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet con-
fessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm
of thought in his naked and endless head,
the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown,
yet putting down here what might be left to say
in time come after death,
and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in
the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the
suffering of America's naked mind for love into
an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone
cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio
with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered
out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand
years.

II

What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open
their skulls and ate up their brains and imagi-
nation?
Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unob
tainable dollars! Children screaming under the
stairways! Boys sobbing in armies! Old men
weeping in the parks!
Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the
loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy
judger of men!
Moloch the incomprehensible prison! Moloch the
crossbone soulless jailhouse and Congress of
sorrows! Moloch whose buildings are judgment!
Moloch the vast stone of war! Moloch the stun-
ned governments!
Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose
blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers
are ten armies! Moloch whose breast is a canni-
bal dynamo! Moloch whose ear is a smoking
tomb!
Moloch whose eyes are a thousand blind windows!
Moloch whose skyscrapers stand in the long
streets like endless Jehovahs! Moloch whose fac-
tories dream and croak in the fog! Moloch whose
smokestacks and antennae crown the cities!
Moloch whose love is endless oil and stone! Moloch
whose soul is electricity and banks! Moloch
whose poverty is the specter of genius! Moloch
whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen!
Moloch whose name is the Mind!
Moloch in whom I sit lonely! Moloch in whom I dream
Angels! Crazy in Moloch! Cocksucker in
Moloch! Lacklove and manless in Moloch!
Moloch who entered my soul early! Moloch in whom
I am a consciousness without a body! Moloch
who frightened me out of my natural ecstasy!
Moloch whom I abandon! Wake up in Moloch!
Light streaming out of the sky!
Moloch! Moloch! Robot apartments! invisible suburbs!
skeleton treasuries! blind capitals! demonic
industries! spectral nations! invincible mad
houses! granite cocks! monstrous bombs!
They broke their backs lifting Moloch to Heaven! Pave-
ments, trees, radios, tons! lifting the city to
Heaven which exists and is everywhere about
us!
Visions! omens! hallucinations! miracles! ecstasies!
gone down the American river!
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions! the whole
boatload of sensitive bullshit!
Breakthroughs! over the river! flips and crucifixions!
gone down the flood! Highs! Epiphanies! De-
spairs! Ten years' animal screams and suicides!
Minds! New loves! Mad generation! down on
the rocks of Time!
Real holy laughter in the river! They saw it all! the
wild eyes! the holy yells! They bade farewell!
They jumped off the roof! to solitude! waving!
carrying flowers! Down to the river! into the
street!

III

Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland
where you're madder than I am
I'm with you in Rockland
where you must feel very strange
I'm with you in Rockland
where you imitate the shade of my mother
I'm with you in Rockland
where you've murdered your twelve secretaries
I'm with you in Rockland
where you laugh at this invisible humor
I'm with you in Rockland
where we are great writers on the same dreadful
typewriter
I'm with you in Rockland
where your condition has become serious and
is reported on the radio
I'm with you in Rockland
where the faculties of the skull no longer admit
the worms of the senses
I'm with you in Rockland
where you drink the tea of the breasts of the
spinsters of Utica
I'm with you in Rockland
where you pun on the bodies of your nurses the
harpies of the Bronx
I'm with you in Rockland
where you scream in a straightjacket that you're
losing the game of the actual pingpong of the
abyss
I'm with you in Rockland
where you bang on the catatonic piano the soul
is innocent and immortal it should never die
ungodly in an armed madhouse
I'm with you in Rockland
where fifty more shocks will never return your
soul to its body again from its pilgrimage to a
cross in the void
I'm with you in Rockland
where you accuse your doctors of insanity and
plot the Hebrew socialist revolution against the
fascist national Golgotha
I'm with you in Rockland
where you will split the heavens of Long Island
and resurrect your living human Jesus from the
superhuman tomb
I'm with you in Rockland
where there are twenty-five-thousand mad com-
rades all together singing the final stanzas of the Internationale
I'm with you in Rockland
where we hug and kiss the United States under
our bedsheets the United States that coughs all
night and won't let us sleep
I'm with you in Rockland
where we wake up electrified out of the coma
by our own souls' airplanes roaring over the
roof they've come to drop angelic bombs the
hospital illuminates itself imaginary walls col-
lapse O skinny legions run outside O starry
spangled shock of mercy the eternal war is
here O victory forget your underwear we're
free
I'm with you in Rockland
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-
journey on the highway across America in tears
to the door of my cottage in the Western night

The Sun whose rays are all ablaze

The sun, whose rays
are all ablaze
with ever-living glory,
Does not deny his majesty
he scorns to tell a story
He don't exclaim,
"I blush for shame,
so kindly be indulgent."
But, fierce and bold,
in fiery gold,
his glories all effulgent
I mean to rule the earth,
As he the sky
We really know our worth,
The sun and I

Observe his flame,
that placid dame,
the moon's celestial highness;
There's not a trace
upon her face
of diffidence or shyness
She borrows light
that, through the night,
mankind may all acclaim her
And, truth to tell,
she lights up well,
so I, for one, don't blame her

Ah, pray make no mistake,
We are not shy;
We're very wide awake,
The moon and I

( Mikado )

Αλλά τα βράδια... Τάσος Λειβαδίτης

Και να που φτάσαμε εδώ
Χωρίς αποσκευές
Μα μ' ένα τόσο ωραίο φεγγάρι
Και εγώ ονειρεύτηκα έναν καλύτερο κόσμο
Φτωχή ανθρωπότητα, δεν μπόρεσες
ούτε ένα κεφαλαίο να γράψεις ακόμα
Σα σανίδα από θλιβερό ναυάγιο
ταξιδεύει η γηραιά μας ήπειρος…

Αλλά τα βράδια τι όμορφα
που μυρίζει η γη

Βέβαια αγάπησε
τα ιδανικά της ανθρωπότητας,
αλλά τα πουλιά
πετούσαν πιο πέρα

Σκληρός, άκαρδος κόσμος,
που δεν άνοιξε ποτέ μιαν ομπρέλα
πάνω απ' το δέντρο που βρέχεται…

Αλλά τα βράδια τι όμορφα
που μυρίζει η γη

Ύστερα ανακάλυψαν την πυξίδα
για να πεθαίνουν κι αλλού
και την απληστία
για να μένουν νεκροί για πάντα

Αλλά καθώς βραδιάζει
ένα φλάουτο κάπου
ή ένα άστρο συνηγορεί
για όλη την ανθρωπότητα

Αλλά τα βράδια τι όμορφα
που μυρίζει η γη

Καθώς μένω στο δωμάτιο μου,
μου 'ρχονται άξαφνα φαεινές ιδέες…
Φοράω το σακάκι του πατέρα
κι έτσι είμαστε δυο,
κι αν κάποτε μ' άκουσαν να γαβγίζω
ήταν για να δώσω
έναν αέρα εξοχής στο δωμάτιο

Αλλά τα βράδια τι όμορφα
που μυρίζει η γη

Κάποτε θα αποδίδουμε δικαιοσύνη
μ' ένα άστρο ή μ' ένα γιασεμί
σαν ένα τραγούδι που καθώς βρέχει
παίρνει το μέρος των φτωχών…

Αλλά τα βράδια τι όμορφα
που μυρίζει η γη!

Δος μου το χέρι σου..
Δος μου το χέρι σου..