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a bilingual rensaku

       1

píosa eile coiréil
            caite i dtír:
                        bhog sé – portán sligreach



another piece of coral
            washed up on the beach:
                        it moves – hermit crab





            2

spéir gan teimheal –
            ar aghaidh leis arís
                        ag máirseáil, portán sligreach



cloudless sky –
            off again on his marches
                        hermit crab



            3

tost ... airgeadaíonn an ghealach
            an gaineamh faoina luíonn
                        na huibheacha turtar

silence ... the moon silvers
            the sand that hides
                        turtle eggs



          







            4

iompaíonn a lí
            ar an ré chródhearg
                        teitheann na réaltaí



a blood-red moon
            changes colour
                        putting all the stars to flight



            5

cruth an choiréil ******>            cruth réaltbhuíne
                                                            i gcéin



the shape of this coral
            shape of a distant
                                                            galaxy



            6

oileáin á nochtadh
            is ag leá
an mar seo a cruthaíodh an domhan?



islands coming
            and going
is this how the world was made?













            7

ní gá iarraidh orthu –
            seolann na crainn phailme
                        bríos chugainn



cooling breeze
            from palm trees –
                        without asking



            8

an féileacán fiú
            glacann scíth
                        san ámóg



even the butterfly
            takes a rest
                        in the hammock





            9

taoi foirfe, i ngach slí,
a mhuiscít; mar sin féin
fan amach uaim



you are perfect in every way
mosquito; nonetheless
buzz off







            10

spléachadh ar thurtar
            a shúile
is a bhfuil feicthe acu



glimpse of a turtle
            his eyes
and what they have seen



            11

lorg bídeach chosa an éin
            ag díriú de shíor
ar ghaineamh gan chríoch



faint imprint of a bird’s feet
            pointing                       pointing
towards infinite sands





            12

isteach i bpoll sa ghaineamh
            rud a bhí róthapaidh
                        le hainmniú



into a hole in the sand
            something  too quick
to be named





            13

níl faic ar na gaobhair
ach brostaíonn an chearc a hál
an cosán anonn





nothing in sight
yet the hen bustles her clutch
across the path





            14

féar mara
            itheann na turtair é
                        seachas sin, n’fheadar



sea grass
            turtles eat it
                        apart from that, who knows















            15

linnte geala
            domhainchiúnais
                                    a réaltaí, na himíg’!



bright pools
            of deep silence –
                        no, stars, don’t go!



            16

nach toilltach!
            ar luas an tsolais, nach mór,
                        scairt an choiligh



how penetrating!
            almost at the speed of light
                        **** crow





            17

an lá á ghlaoch
            chun beochta acu
                        coiligh nach bhfeictear



calling the day
            to life –
                        invisible cockerels









            18
          
domhan fo thoinn
            cruinniú gearr
                        leis an mballach Napoléon



underwave world
            short meeting
                        with the Napoleon wrasse





            19

guth dearg an choiligh
            dathaíonn spéir
                        na maidine



a ****’s red voice
            painting
                        the morning sky





            20

coiréal inchinne cnapánaí
            gealas na réaltaí-
                        gan smaointe



knobby brain coral
            starglow -
                        no thoughts





            21



coiligh ag freagairt dá chéile
            eatarthu leátar
                        an ré



***** echoing one another
            between them they dissolve
                        the moon





            22

cos léi amuigh –
            tá an chuileog rómhór
                        do bhéal an gheiceo





one leg hangs out –
            the fly is too big
                        for the gecko’s mouth



            23



anáil chiúnaithe
            na cruinne: is ansin
                        scairt an choiligh





the stilled breath
            of the universe: then
                        cockcrow





            24

éisc ar crochadh
            faoin ngrian –
                        muir gan mhonabhar



fish hung out
            to dry
                        murmurless sea





            25

ina gceann is ina gceann
ciúnaíonn tonnta
                        roimh réaltaí



one by one
            waves become placid
                        for the stars





            26

scáil an turtair
            nó féar mara
                        b'fhéidir



turtle shadow
            or sea grass
                        maybe





            27

línte reatha -
an t-iasc séabrach
ag scríobh ar uisce



fleeting lines -
the zebra fish
writing on water











            28

hurlamaboc

            francach

                        in airde sa chrann cnó cócó



hullabaloo

            a rat

aloft in the coconut tree
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2018
.****... who came first... ol' Jim or ol' Jack? well i know that Jim began his stature of being the marquees de bourbon in 1795... but Jacky boy? personally i can't tell the difference between two... it's not like i'm drinking whiskey... the differences are so much more subtle... and every time i crack open a bottle... brothel perfumery comes to mind... that's what bourbon feels like: if you've ever visited a brothel... the scent in the air is filled with sweet sweet bourbon and soap and tender skins: no latex, no leather.

the day began with me having a cigarette,
and admiring rain drops hanging off
the washing line...
    oh... like that flock of birds...
that sit on a roof in rows...
it might have been the European starlings,
but, my guess is just as good as yours...
so let's say... a row of ~starlings...

now for the sentence...
no... wait...
a side-note addition postscriptum
of working from
a sample of a cultural exhange
program from Cold War II
,
                  circa? now.

synthetic a priori is
actually synthetic a- priori,
there's no knowledge involved...
   hence the a- hyphen being
     added to denote: without...
only chance, a curiosity,
a haphazard...
   a genius invention,
a "mistake"...
   take champagne
or L.S.D., these are examples
of a case of synthetic a- priori,
i.e. they they take a concept
of synthesis, and apply it to:
with a prior to, said example...
a discovery!

now for trying to write that sentence
using 7 variant dialects...
mind you...
i think i figured out the circumflex
over the omicron
in the Kashubian word for boy:
knôp...
             see... the linguistic explanation
is a tongue tied /uo/
doesn't work for me...
i found a better depiction...
      of ô:
i.e. kno'op - the apostrophe better
explains the circumflex hanging over
the omicron...
   it's... such an outdated linguistic
system...
to explain a diacritical mark in a word
with merely more letters,
i.e. ô (circumflex,
   which will not appear
in commaful's html) = /uo/
   i prefer the new method i conjured...
use the whole word
so? the ô in the word knôp = kno'op...
or at least... look here,
there's a U in there, oddly enough,
using the apostrophe you can
create a U shape with this "x-ray":

                kno   op
                       U
                                     but saying:
knuop?
                  well, my taste is different...
oh... and... today i watched a scary video...
people were giving out their D.N.A.
details out for free..
saliva swabs...
                     that bothers me...
so... you think these ancestry companies...
will not pass the data
to crime prevention agencies?
   you don't think they're creating
a database... not that you might commit
a crime... but if you were to...
isn't this... minority report?

anyway... looking at these dialects...
oh... look...
     an overring... which is typical
for Scandinavian languages...
  notably in the chemical constant
of the å (ångström)...
     well... that **** wasn't invented
by the Masovians...
  it had to come with the Vikings,
passing down the Vistula to found
Kiev...

(you know you're writing something
difficult to read...
when even you experience... tedium)...
you just know it...

now, the sentence...
utilizing (in no particular order):
Kurpian, Kashubian, Silesian,
Gaelic, Pict Gaelic, Cymru and Cornish...
oh ****... revising the Book of Revelation's
seven headed beast...
i.e. "revising"... I, V, X, L, C, D, M...

now for some more brothel
perfume... to think of a decent sentence...

( cicha woda, brzegi rwie
   - the silent water tears away
     at the edges -
so much for the freedom of speech,
so much said, and yet,
silence... eats away the fringes
of society, while the majority,
are fathomed, to be subdued
by a lullaby...

  a liar does not walk
on stilts - i.e. a liar is no
             longshank (edvard) -


       yr łgårz a 'dèanamh nynj
          ar hir giry
      
- a łżélc je chan eil
                   hir-aranau -

certainly not:
Eideard Fadacasan.
bheith acu:
             déanta úsáid roinnt
   Gaelach,
however much broken.
                                                         ­          )

p.s. if you're not in some way intoxicated,
or in a "schizoid" state of mind,
invoking ciphers and metaphors...
how the hell do you know you're
writing poetry?
is reading the book a revelation
something to be taken...
literally, or with a grain of cipher?
who the hell writes poetry
like its some reply to a company memo?
who makes poetic language
authoritarian,
giving out commands,
or worse still: advice?
     who makes the art of poetry
less than a hallucination of language,
of phonetic encoding that
transcends, phonetic encoding?!
poetry is bound to an inherent
incoherency, because it does not
translate into rhetoric...
it is a fascination with the elevation
of autism into the realm
of the demigod Solipssus...
it can't be coherent,
it cannot be found to not be teasing
the para-schizoid dimension
of the reality of language...
listen...
  i'm not giving you sentences,
i'm not spewing the lawyer gerbil
language of... god prevent us
using the dictionary,
and direct meaning...
we all know that lawyers
have not knowledge of the existence
of the dictionary...
they skipped that part...
and went straight for the thesaurus...
******* weasels...
poetry is the ultimate authority
of language...
if it's confusing,
it's supposed to be confusing...
how can you expect to say:
a square is a square is a square...
how can a poet be poet...
when he hasn't experienced
an auditory hallucination...
you trip on psychoactive substances...
you become a painter...
but people are afraid of what they
might "hear" compared to
something they might, "see"...
the eye is an enthralling palace...
but the ear?
     ah... the scary place...
how would i ever write poetry,
to the coherency standards of
sane people literature?!
   can anyone even comprehend
the mundane reality of
writing sane people literature?!
of course they can...
most of that literature is adopted
into movies...
or, whatever translates the x-ray
into muscles, body, flesh...
you can't be expected to write sane poetry...
you're already dealing
with the metaphysical...
   which implies:
that, which translates
the transcendence of the physical
into the meta- realm...
   of language...
  the, literally is the one poison
arrow that kills the art of poetry...
poetry is, by far,
the best translation of philosophy...
whereas the far *******,
sorry, darker aspect of poetry,
is the, "translation" of sophistry...
but that aspect of "poetry" is
a lesser form of sophistry...
esp. within the realm of populist
poetics...
it's called: latching onto the bandwagon
of what was already said,
and emphasizing a partisan
language of appeasement...
no, philosophy is not a pretentious
genre in literature...
it's just ******* difficult...
plain and simple...
   for a philosophy book,
to be translated into a poem...
5 years, and the greatest aspect of
this scenario?
   it'... inexhaustible...
who the hell expected for poetry
to be a sanity bastion for those
who do not have enough *******
in them to write fictional narrations,
and character plots of expansion?!
        
to end? my fetish for the deutschezung:
   ein steinherz,
                ein leeren verstand:
         ein eisenwerden -
              und die vergessene welt:
wohnte im durch eisen sein.
C S Cizek Dec 2014
Keep-A-Breast
                                 Apple
             OtterBox
                                                    Acu-Rite
    Dial                                                                Aquafresh
                        Oral-B
        ACT                                Garnier                                           Equate
    Hanes
On the Byas  
                            Rude
                                                        Toms
                                Dakine
                                                                 Acu-Vue  
Ponds                                                                                         Degree
  Preferred Stock    
                                    Mighty Wallet
                                              Hot Topic
                     Keurig                                        Dixie
                                                                                               Donut Shop
Domino

International Delight

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Best Yet                                                            Great Value

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FSC                                     Bic                 The Poetry Foundation
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The Norton Anthology
  

                                                         Toshiba            Dell          Expo
Lipton  
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Anti Hero                                MOB                   Shorty's

               Bones               Thunder  
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Tommy Hilfiger

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Judy
Bob
Janice                    
Shannon                                                                                   Kelly

Robert                                 Emily                  Jeremy      Darrin      Liza

Bill                Joe                         Dominic            Sean              James

Gav                             Jordan                   Tony              Eric


Christopher
A list of things I use everyday, including people I take for granted.
The Universe expands for ever
As does the Heart
Plunging these melting words
Into the Heart-Universe
They no longer have a centre
Burningly I desired Your Being
Now our nature is released throughout infinity

Eolaíocht (3)

Ag síorleathnú atá an Chruinne
Is amhlaidh don Chroí
Tumaimse na briathra leáite ******>Sa Chroí-Chruinne
Níl aon lár acu a thuilleadh
Bhí do Nádúrsa uaim
Go dóite is go hiomlán
Scaoiltear ár ndúchas ar fud na síoraíochta
Look at this old concrete wall
   Warmed by the sun.
   Soon the ants will come out
   To dance for You

   What would You like?
   Something rapid or languorous
   Or that they be perfectly still?

Seanfhalla

Féach an seanfhalla coincréite ******>Á théamh ag an ngrian.
Is gearr go mbeidh na seangáin amuigh
Chun damhsa Duit

Cé acu ab fhearr Leat é?
Gasta nó mall?
Nó iad a bheith ina stad?
Jonny Angel Aug 2014
When you sweep a village
for the first time
it's rather creepy.
Actually, it's pretty ******* scary,
your ******* gets tight
& it feels like your esophagus
is twisted up in your throat.
People seem to go about their business
as if nothing's wrong.
But there isn't anything right about it.
You can tell it by their eyes,
those vacant hollow eyes,
showing a blend of fear & hatred.
Needles burn through
your ACU's,
spelling "*******'s"
all over your sweaty skin.
Jesus, we carried enough firepower
to level the place
three times over,
**** every living thing,
including the pets & livestock.
We had helicopters and spooky
and artillery at our fingertips, too.
I tried to imagine the same ****
happening in my own city back home.
& it's definitely not
a comforting thought
to think about soldiers
disrupting your lifestyle.
I think I'd be ****** if a cobra
strafed my neighbor's house
or a 1-oh-5 leveled my local 7-11.
Deep thoughts like that
made me
miss my humble abode
even more.
But Christ,
this was war
& war is hell
& we were ****** for it.
Jonny Angel Aug 2014
I remember sitting outside
the steel-tracks,
hidden under the nets.
Stars would peek through
the fluttering radar-resistant leaves
& an occasional warthog
would do a flyby.
We'd smoke (not literally) & joke,
tell funny stories to keep our morale high.
Every now and then,
we'd talk about a dead comrade
or a lost sweetheart.
I never let them boys see me cry,
but I did,
usually in the bent arm
of my ACU's.
Sometimes my armor would catch a drop.
Wilhelm Feb 2019
I am from grey skies and blue clouds,
I am from a hundred different houses and not a single home,
I am from a drunken smile plastered over loss of future and hope,
I am from a fake smile hiding a cruel smirk,
I am from Fire and Brimstone turned to cowardice and weakness,
I’m from the cross turned to the hammer, Prayer into an angry chant to forgotten Gods,
I’m from a dozen dead memories of a dozen dead people,
I’m from a pickup truck covered in beer stains,
From packs of young men angry at the world lead by old men that are sad at the world,
I am from fistfights fought to the sound of marching songs,
From young men singing the anthems to countries and kings long gone,
I’m from the kicks to the ribs and harsh words telling me to get moving,
From boys dreaming about knights in shining armour as we shave our heads,
I am from angry curses in a handful of different languages,
From blue collars, ACU’s, leather jackets and stomping boots,
From old Russian grandmas giving half a dozen boys lunches as if we were her own grandsons,
I am from Jackboots and broken teeth and a bitten curb,
I'm from coffee and old bookshops,
I am from a home that doesn't remember me anymore.

— The End —