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Namir  Aug 2014
~Maske?~
Namir Aug 2014
Is it a maske?
A front or illusion?
Is it fake? Maybe a little?
Was I wrong? A trick all along?
Im not sure. Because i was blind.
But its not there now. And i can see again.
So even though it lingers still. Goodbye maske.
Soo long and fairwell.
Take it how you will.
Ye learnèd sisters, which have oftentimes
Beene to me ayding, others to adorne,
Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes,
That even the greatest did not greatly scorne
To heare theyr names sung in your simple layes,
But joyèd in theyr praise;
And when ye list your owne mishaps to mourne,
Which death, or love, or fortunes wreck did rayse,
Your string could soone to sadder tenor turne,
And teach the woods and waters to lament
Your dolefull dreriment:
Now lay those sorrowfull complaints aside;
And, having all your heads with girlands crownd,
Helpe me mine owne loves prayses to resound;
Ne let the same of any be envide:
So Orpheus did for his owne bride!
So I unto my selfe alone will sing;
The woods shall to me answer, and my Eccho ring.

Early, before the worlds light-giving lampe
His golden beame upon the hils doth spred,
Having disperst the nights unchearefull dampe,
Doe ye awake; and, with fresh *****-hed,
Go to the bowre of my belovèd love,
My truest turtle dove;
Bid her awake; for ***** is awake,
And long since ready forth his maske to move,
With his bright Tead that flames with many a flake,
And many a bachelor to waite on him,
In theyr fresh garments trim.
Bid her awake therefore, and soone her dight,
For lo! the wishèd day is come at last,
That shall, for all the paynes and sorrowes past,
Pay to her usury of long delight:
And, whylest she doth her dight,
Doe ye to her of joy and solace sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Bring with you all the Nymphes that you can heare
Both of the rivers and the forrests greene,
And of the sea that neighbours to her neare:
Al with gay girlands goodly wel beseene.
And let them also with them bring in hand
Another gay girland
For my fayre love, of lillyes and of roses,
Bound truelove wize, with a blew silke riband.
And let them make great store of bridale poses,
And let them eeke bring store of other flowers,
To deck the bridale bowers.
And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread,
For feare the stones her tender foot should wrong,
Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along,
And diapred lyke the discolored mead.
Which done, doe at her chamber dore awayt,
For she will waken strayt;
The whiles doe ye this song unto her sing,
The woods shall to you answer, and your Eccho ring.

Ye Nymphes of Mulla, which with carefull heed
The silver scaly trouts doe tend full well,
And greedy pikes which use therein to feed;
(Those trouts and pikes all others doo excell;)
And ye likewise, which keepe the rushy lake,
Where none doo fishes take;
Bynd up the locks the which hang scatterd light,
And in his waters, which your mirror make,
Behold your faces as the christall bright,
That when you come whereas my love doth lie,
No blemish she may spie.
And eke, ye lightfoot mayds, which keepe the deere,
That on the hoary mountayne used to towre;
And the wylde wolves, which seeke them to devoure,
With your steele darts doo chace from comming neer;
Be also present heere,
To helpe to decke her, and to help to sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Wake now, my love, awake! for it is time;
The Rosy Morne long since left Tithones bed,
All ready to her silver coche to clyme;
And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed.
Hark! how the cheerefull birds do chaunt theyr laies
And carroll of Loves praise.
The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft;
The Thrush replyes; the Mavis descant playes;
The Ouzell shrills; the Ruddock warbles soft;
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,
To this dayes merriment.
Ah! my deere love, why doe ye sleepe thus long?
When meeter were that ye should now awake,
T’ awayt the comming of your joyous make,
And hearken to the birds love-learnèd song,
The deawy leaves among!
Nor they of joy and pleasance to you sing,
That all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring.

My love is now awake out of her dreames,
And her fayre eyes, like stars that dimmèd were
With darksome cloud, now shew theyr goodly beams
More bright then Hesperus his head doth rere.
Come now, ye damzels, daughters of delight,
Helpe quickly her to dight:
But first come ye fayre houres, which were begot
In Joves sweet paradice of Day and Night;
Which doe the seasons of the yeare allot,
And al, that ever in this world is fayre,
Doe make and still repayre:
And ye three handmayds of the Cyprian Queene,
The which doe still adorne her beauties pride,
Helpe to addorne my beautifullest bride:
And, as ye her array, still throw betweene
Some graces to be seene;
And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing,
The whiles the woods shal answer, and your eccho ring.

Now is my love all ready forth to come:
Let all the virgins therefore well awayt:
And ye fresh boyes, that tend upon her groome,
Prepare your selves; for he is comming strayt.
Set all your things in seemely good aray,
Fit for so joyfull day:
The joyfulst day that ever sunne did see.
Faire Sun! shew forth thy favourable ray,
And let thy lifull heat not fervent be,
For feare of burning her sunshyny face,
Her beauty to disgrace.
O fayrest Phoebus! father of the Muse!
If ever I did honour thee aright,
Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight,
Doe not thy servants simple boone refuse;
But let this day, let this one day, be myne;
Let all the rest be thine.
Then I thy soverayne prayses loud wil sing,
That all the woods shal answer, and theyr eccho ring.

Harke! how the Minstrils gin to shrill aloud
Their merry Musick that resounds from far,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling Croud,
That well agree withouten breach or jar.
But, most of all, the Damzels doe delite
When they their tymbrels smyte,
And thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet,
That all the sences they doe ravish quite;
The whyles the boyes run up and downe the street,
Crying aloud with strong confusèd noyce,
As if it were one voyce,
*****, iö *****, *****, they do shout;
That even to the heavens theyr shouting shrill
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill;
To which the people standing all about,
As in approvance, doe thereto applaud,
And loud advaunce her laud;
And evermore they *****, ***** sing,
That al the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring.

Loe! where she comes along with portly pace,
Lyke Phoebe, from her chamber of the East,
Arysing forth to run her mighty race,
Clad all in white, that seemes a ****** best.
So well it her beseemes, that ye would weene
Some angell she had beene.
Her long loose yellow locks lyke golden wyre,
Sprinckled with perle, and perling flowres atweene,
Doe lyke a golden mantle her attyre;
And, being crownèd with a girland greene,
Seeme lyke some mayden Queene.
Her modest eyes, abashèd to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,
Upon the lowly ground affixèd are;
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold,
But blush to heare her prayses sung so loud,
So farre from being proud.
Nathlesse doe ye still loud her prayses sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Tell me, ye merchants daughters, did ye see
So fayre a creature in your towne before;
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,
Adornd with beautyes grace and vertues store?
Her goodly eyes lyke Saphyres shining bright,
Her forehead yvory white,
Her cheekes lyke apples which the sun hath rudded,
Her lips lyke cherryes charming men to byte,
Her brest like to a bowle of creame uncrudded,
Her paps lyke lyllies budded,
Her snowie necke lyke to a marble towre;
And all her body like a pallace fayre,
Ascending up, with many a stately stayre,
To honors seat and chastities sweet bowre.
Why stand ye still ye virgins in amaze,
Upon her so to gaze,
Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing,
To which the woods did answer, and your eccho ring?

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see,
The inward beauty of her lively spright,
Garnisht with heavenly guifts of high degree,
Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,
And stand astonisht lyke to those which red
Medusaes mazeful hed.
There dwels sweet love, and constant chastity,
Unspotted fayth, and comely womanhood,
Regard of honour, and mild modesty;
There vertue raynes as Queene in royal throne,
And giveth lawes alone,
The which the base affections doe obay,
And yeeld theyr services unto her will;
Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may
Thereto approch to tempt her mind to ill.
Had ye once seene these her celestial threasures,
And unrevealèd pleasures,
Then would ye wonder, and her prayses sing,
That al the woods should answer, and your echo ring.

Open the temple gates unto my love,
Open them wide that she may enter in,
And all the postes adorne as doth behove,
And all the pillours deck with girlands trim,
For to receyve this Saynt with honour dew,
That commeth in to you.
With trembling steps, and humble reverence,
She commeth in, before th’ Almighties view;
Of her ye virgins learne obedience,
When so ye come into those holy places,
To humble your proud faces:
Bring her up to th’ high altar, that she may
The sacred ceremonies there partake,
The which do endlesse matrimony make;
And let the roring Organs loudly play
The praises of the Lord in lively notes;
The whiles, with hollow throates,
The Choristers the joyous Antheme sing,
That al the woods may answere, and their eccho ring.

Behold, whiles she before the altar stands,
Hearing the holy priest that to her speakes,
And blesseth her with his two happy hands,
How the red roses flush up in her cheekes,
And the pure snow, with goodly vermill stayne
Like crimsin dyde in grayne:
That even th’ Angels, which continually
About the sacred Altare doe remaine,
Forget their service and about her fly,
Ofte peeping in her face, that seems more fayre,
The more they on it stare.
But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,
Are governèd with goodly modesty,
That suffers not one looke to glaunce awry,
Which may let in a little thought unsownd.
Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand,
The pledge of all our band!
Sing, ye sweet Angels, Alleluya sing,
That all the woods may answere, and your eccho ring.

Now al is done: bring home the bride againe;
Bring home the triumph of our victory:
Bring home with you the glory of her gaine;
With joyance bring her and with jollity.
Never had man more joyfull day then this,
Whom heaven would heape with blis,
Make feast therefore now all this live-long day;
This day for ever to me holy is.
Poure out the wine without restraint or stay,
Poure not by cups, but by the belly full,
Poure out to all that wull,
And sprinkle all the postes and wals with wine,
That they may sweat, and drunken be withall.
Crowne ye God Bacchus with a coronall,
And ***** also crowne with wreathes of vine;
And let the Graces daunce unto the rest,
For they can doo it best:
The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroll sing,
To which the woods shall answer, and theyr eccho ring.

Ring ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne,
And leave your wonted labors for this day:
This day is holy; doe ye write it downe,
That ye for ever it remember may.
This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight,
With Barnaby the bright,
From whence declining daily by degrees,
He somewhat loseth of his heat and light,
When once the Crab behind his back he sees.
But for this time it ill ordainèd was,
To chose the longest day in all the yeare,
And shortest night, when longest fitter weare:
Yet never day so long, but late would passe.
Ring ye the bels, to make it weare away,
And bonefiers make all day;
And daunce about them, and about them sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

Ah! when will this long weary day have end,
And lende me leave to come unto my love?
How slowly do the houres theyr numbers spend?
How slowly does sad Time his feathers move?
Hast thee, O fayrest Planet, to thy home,
Within the Westerne fome:
Thy tyrèd steedes long since have need of rest.
Long though it be, at last I see it gloome,
And the bright evening-star with golden creast
Appeare out of the East.
Fayre childe of beauty! glorious lampe of love!
That all the host of heaven in rankes doost lead,
And guydest lovers through the nights sad dread,
How chearefully thou lookest from above,
And seemst to laugh atweene thy twinkling light,
As joying in the sight
Of these glad many, which for joy doe sing,
That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring!

Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights fore-past;
Enough it is that all the day was youres:
Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast,
Now bring the Bryde into the brydall boures.
The night is come, now soon her disaray,
And in her bed her lay;
Lay her in lillies and in violets,
And silken courteins over her display,
And odourd sheetes, and Arras coverlets.
Behold how goodly my faire love does ly,
In proud humility!
Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took
In Tempe, lying on the flowry gras,
Twixt sleepe and wake, after she weary was,
With bathing in the Acidalian brooke.
Now it is night, ye damsels may be gon,
And leave my love alone,
And leave likewise your former lay to sing:
The woods no more shall answere, nor your echo ring.

Now welcome, night! thou night so long expected,
That long daies labour doest at last defray,
And all my cares, which cruell Love collected,
Hast sumd in one, and cancellèd for aye:
Spread thy broad wing over my love and me,
That no man may us see;
And in thy sable mantle us enwrap,
From feare of perrill and foule horror free.
Let no false treason seeke us to entrap,
Nor any dread disquiet once annoy
The safety of our joy;
But let the night be calme, and quietsome,
Without tempestuous storms or sad afray:
Lyke as when Jove with fayre Alcmena lay,
When he begot the great Tirynthian groome:
Or lyke as when he with thy selfe did lie
And begot Majesty.
And let the mayds and yong men cease to sing;
Ne let the woods them answer nor theyr eccho ring.

Let no lamenting cryes, nor dolefull teares,
Be heard all night within, nor yet without:
Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden feares,
Breake gentle sleepe with misconceivèd dout.
Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadfull sights,
Make sudden sad affrights;
Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helpelesse harmes,
Ne let the Pouke, nor other evill sprights,
Ne let mischivous witches with theyr charmes,
Ne let hob Goblins, names whose sence we see not,
Fray us with things that be not:
Let not the shriech Oule nor the Storke be heard,
Nor the night Raven, that still deadly yels;
Nor damnèd ghosts, cald up with mighty spels,
Nor griesly vultures, make us once affeard:
Ne let th’ unpleasant Quyre of Frogs still croking
Make us to wish theyr choking.
Let none of these theyr drery accents sing;
Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho ring.

But let stil Silence trew night-watches keepe,
That sacred Peace may in assurance rayne,
And tymely Sleep, when it is tyme to sleepe,
May poure his limbs forth on your pleasant playne;
The whiles an hundred little wingèd loves,
Like divers-fethered doves,
Shall fly and flutter round about your bed,
And in the secret darke, that none reproves,
Their prety stealthes shal worke, and snares shal spread
To filch away sweet snatches of delight,
Conceald through covert night.
Ye sonnes of Venus, play your sports at will!
For greedy pleasure, carelesse of your toyes,
Thinks more upon her paradise of joyes,
Then what ye do, albe it good or ill.
All night therefore attend your merry play,
For it will soone be day:
Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing;
Ne will the woods now answer, nor your Eccho ring.

Who is the same, which at my window peepes?
Or whose is that faire face that shines so bright?
Is it not Cinthia, she that never sleepes,
But walkes about high heaven al the night?
O! fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy
My love with me to spy:
For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought,
And for a fleece of wooll, which privily
The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought,
His pleasures with thee wrought.
Therefore to us be favorable now;
And sith of wemens labours thou hast charge,
And generation goodly dost enlarge,
Encline thy will t’effect our wishfull vow,
And the chast wombe informe with timely seed
That may our comfort breed:
Till which we cease our hopefull hap to sing;
Ne let the woods us answere, nor our Eccho ring.

And thou, great Juno! which with awful might
The lawes of wedlock still dost patronize;
And the religion of the faith first plight
With sacred rites hast taught to solemnize;
And eeke for comfort often callèd art
Of women in their smart;
Eternally bind thou this lovely band,
And all thy blessings unto us impart.
And thou, glad
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Die Maske des Bösen (“The Mask of Evil”)
by Bertolt Brecht
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A Japanese woodcarving hangs on my wall—
the mask of an ancient demon, limned with golden lacquer.
Not unsympathetically, I observe
the forehead’s bulging veins,
the strain
such malevolence requires.

Original German text:

Die Maske des Bösen

An meiner Wand hängt ein japanisches Holzwerk
Maske eines bösen Dämons, bemalt mit Goldlack.
Mitfühlend sehe ich
Die geschwollenen Stirnadern, andeutend
Wie anstrengend es ist, böse zu sein.

Bertolt Brecht [1898-1956] was a major German poet, playwright, novelist, humorist, essayist, theater director and songwriter. Brecht fled Germany in 1933, when ****** assumed power. A number of Brecht's poems were written from the perspective of a man who sees his country becoming increasingly fascist, xenophobic and militaristic. Keywords/Tags: Bertolt Brecht, German, translation, Holocaust, poem, Japanese, carving, mask, demon, evil, malevolence, sympathy, compassion, understanding, feeling, forehead, veins, swollen, bulging, effort, strain, exhausting, concentration, suggest, suggesting, suggestive, demonstrating, revealing, showing, wall, gold, golden, lacquer, paint, woodwork, totem, malice, hatred, enmity, spite, spitefulness, animosity, anger, maliciousness, malignancy, venom, spleen, viciousness

Bertolt Brecht Epigrams and Quotations

These are my modern English translations of epigrams and quotations by Bertolt Brecht.

Everyone chases the way happiness feels,
unaware how it nips at their heels.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The world of learning takes a crazy turn
when teachers are taught to discern!
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Unhappy, the land that lacks heroes.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Hungry man, reach for the book:
it's a hook,
a harpoon.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Because things are the way they are,
things can never stay as they were.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

War is like love; true ...
it finds a way through.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

What happens to the hole
when the cheese is no longer whole?
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

It is easier to rob by setting up a bank
than by threatening the poor clerk.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Do not fear death so much, or strife,
but rather fear the inadequate life.
— loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Keywords/Tags: Bertolt Brecht, translation, translations, German,  modern English, epigram, epigrams, quote, quotes, quotations
Bertolt, Brecht, German, translation, Holocaust, poem, Japanese, carving, mask, demon, evil, malevolence
Rani jutarnji intervjui
#1 Dok grad spava uz cvrkut ptica koje niko ne osluskuje.

M: Sta za tebe znaci cvrkut ptica?

mh: Za nekog ko zivi citav zivot pored ulice, tacnije u nivou ulice, gde me od trotoara deli nekih 25-35 cm zida, a od vozila  1.5 -2 m, priguseni zvuk vozila koji se postepeno pojacava i postepeno gubi u kracim ili duzim intervalima uz onaj huk u trenutku prolaska kao i govor prolaznika, urezao se u mene i postao deo mog zivota.

Retko uhvatim sebe kako slusam te zvukove sem kada mi se neki bas nametne i to onaj ljudski u duzini jedne recenice koja moze da se izgovori prolaskom pored par metara zida. Iz te jedne recenice koja ima svoj zvuk i tematiku profil prolaznika je vrlo lako zamisliti. Ponekad mi izmame osmeh, a ponekad uznemirenost, pa i strah.

Tematika tih recenica mogla bi se podeliti u zavisnosti od doba dana kada su prolaznici aktivni. Od onih dnevnih tema najglasnije su vaspitno-obrazovne gde se dete uci kako da ne ide ni slucajno pored ivicnjaka, a od onih nocnih, najglasnije su one ljubavne gde tacno znam da u narednih sto metara sledi raskid ili strastven ***.

Ima i onih tema gde ti se smuci i gde sam u fazonu “hajde bre vise” a to su naravno komsijske, koje kad krenu znam da ce trajati bar pola sata ili u kasnim nocnim satima taxi teme, ko koga ceka i ko gde ide.

Ponekad znam da provirim kroz roletne i zateknem vrlo kreativne scene, recimo kreativno iscrtavanje kruga sto mi zene ne bismo mogle.

Vikend je predvidjen za vristanje zena koje pokusavaju da prekinu tucu pijanih iz kafica gde kako se otvaraju vrata treste narodnjaci, a ima i onih koje vole da bacaju veliko kamenje na takve kafice i onda brzim trcecim koracima prodju pored mog prozora.

mh: uh, sto meni ne idu ove duge forme

M: pa zasto ih onda koristis?

mh: Ma ne znam, dosadno mi, a i znam nekog ko voli glupe textove.

mh: Dakle, gde sam ono bese stala. A da, zasto volim cvrkut ptica.

Pa, tokom studija najvise mi je prijalo da u nocnim satima, kad se sve primiri, kad svi polegaju i saobracaj se razredi i kad se moje telo zagreje, da krenem sa radom na studentskim zadacima. Iz dana u dan ritam bi se menjao i ja bih sve kasnije i kasnije odlazila u krevet i tako sve dok nije pocelo da svice.

U tom pomeranju pocela sam da uocavam kad se sta desava na ulici i polako prestajala da gledam na sat. Djubretari bi bucno prosli u 4am a negde izmedju 4:30 - 4:45 bi nastao muk, noc bi pocela da prelazi u dan i tada bi krenulo oglasavanje ptica.

I dan danas ne znam koja ptica je u pitanju jer sa prozora se nije dalo videti ali nije, vrabac, nije golub, nije lasta, ne kresti ko vrana, svraka, nije gugutka sa svojim”dugo spiš”, ne znam, ali znam da je pesma lepa i da dolazi od nekog ko zeli da privuce paznju na sebe. I taj osecaj da priroda opstaje medju ovim betonom mi je bila bas lepa i zanimljiva jer su ptice pronasle rupu u buci i koristile taj momenat da komuniciraju daleko od usiju mnogih.

Te ptice su u stvari bas pametne i prakticne, kad stigne jesen, a one lepo na jug, tamo gde je prijatnije, a ne da se smrzavaju, budu sumorni sve do proleca kao “mi ljudi iz gradova” - Milan Mladenovic

Ptice bi oznacavale tada i pocetak tv emisije nekog kuvara koji bi parlao na spanskom onako kako to samo oni umeju i ja bih sa zamisljenim ukusom polako uranjala u san.

mh: Vreme mi je da uronim u san, zato Laku noc do sledeceg intervjua.

M: Laku noc tebi i svim citaocima

__________
#2 Iskrenost - veoma skup poklon

M: Kako tumacis ove recenice koje smo pronasli na jednom zidu, moglo bi se reci jednu pored druge?
- "Iskrenost je veoma skup poklon, ne ocekuj ga od jeftinih ljudi"
- "Nije vazno da li je skupo, nego da li se isplati"

mh: Nek odgovor ostane za neku drugu priliku.

Prosao je sajam knjiga pa bih volela da podelim sa citaocima jednu pesmu inspirisanu knjigama, zove se "Neizreceno"

NEIZRECENO

Lagano je
prelazila
prstima
preko korica
u ritmu
sto neznost
izaziva

Pogled
mi se usmerio
na pokret
na zelju
stajala je pored
primetila je
izgovorila je

Ja tako
kada mi se
svidjaju
korice

Uzvratih joj
da volim
u muzejima
preko skulptura
da predjem
dodirom
dozivim oblik
osetim teksturu

Znas li ti da je to zabranjeno?
Rece ona
ozbiljno

Tu sam zastala
a u glavi je
odzvanjalo

E jbg
kad volim
ono sto je zabranjeno

E jbg
kad volim
ono sto je zabranjeno

E jbg
vise nije bila tu
vise nije bila pored
ali je i dalje odzvanjalo

mh, Novembar 2016

M: Danas si okrenula novi list?

mh: Today is the day :D

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#3 Koja je tvoja maska?

M: Evo posle relativno duge pauze konacno smo uhvatili mh da nam kaze par reci o tome sta se desava i zasto je nema, da li sprema nesto novo...

mh: Dobro vece svim citaocima i tebi M posebno. Evo samo par reci o tome da se priprema program naucno -obrazovnog karaktera za sledecu 2017 godinu. Bice tu dosta toga sto ce iziskivati da citaoci udju u sebe i potraze neke odgovore.
Jedna od prvih tema bice maske, kako nastaju, njihova uloga i podela.

M: Ja se posebno radujem znajuci da vec dugo radis na tome i verujem da ce sve maske pasti :)

mh: Pa eto nadam se da sam citaocima vec zagolicala mastu i da ce biti tu da isprate program koji sledi.

M: btw. Imali smo jednog citaoca iz unutrasljosti sa komentarom na pesmu "Neizreceno" kaze, u pesmi se navode "korice kao predmet svidjanja" da li to oznacava neku povrsnost ili...?

hm: ne, ne , ne cak naprotiv, sasvim suprotno, oznacava jednu otvorenost da se zaviri i pronadje nesto dublje ispod raznoraznih korica, sem knjige, postoje tu i recimo modni casopisi, ili katalozi o uredjenje enterijera... Tako da mislim da je rec sasvim na svom mestu.

M: Hvala ti mh, ne bi te vise zadrzavali. Vidimo se uskoro :)
mh: vidimo se, pozdrav svim citaocima :)



NASTAVICE SE...
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2016
Aniu,

dostałem słuchy na temat grafiki - nie jestem Surrealist'ą z poprzedniego wieku (tzn. dwudziestego), to już mineło... może i też miałbym pozory sfobody by skrytką zza popularną sztuką miałbym brać jakiegoś malarza na front jak by to było wydanie Ortodoksji zwane Penguin Publishing House, ale wolałbym mieć pod uwage geneze, tzn. kompromis braku koloru i tą nadrentą komplikacje modernizacji na tle "programming" szyfrem komputera - a ten kompromis? szyfr chemika... wiem że to może brzmić zbyt contra idei ładnego obrazka czy tez ikonoklazm'u wedle sukcesu sprzedarzy książki - ale jak orginał to orginał, bez kiszeczki, bo kto tak naprawde chce pokazać tważ niechaj pokarze ją niż maske pierw - wiec myśle o notatkach z sfer chemii w goły-trakt poezji. przesyłam jeden przykład, trzymam notatki inne takrze gotowe, ale to jeden przykład; nie chce sie chować pod skórą innych artystycznych wybryków - szczegółowo poza gruntem orginału pisma jako malunek pierw, a pismo po (ksiązka to nie Boeing 747: obraz pierw a dzwięk po - tzn. dzwięk pierw, a obraz po) - a więc i też skreślam zaufanie co do piękna malowidła jako przeciw tego samego niby ambasador'a dającego ochrone pod tytułem: brzydastwo wiersza konieczne; wole by jedno z drugim miało zaufanie, czy też wpomnienie obojga na począt i na koniec:  na trasie wątpień i zarysów warte twarzy w publicznym miejscu poza oh ah ah oh galerii. a więc zakończe - inne e.g. prześle jutro - ten jako prolog w temacie: o co mi chodzi.

Mateusz.

p.s. oczywiście ominołem ę czasem, lecz jest zachowane w przykładach głębin - ale to nazwe proto-ortografia Polaka poza Polską, takie potrzebne lustro w Angielskim 's - czyli liczby mnogej co nawet tłumacz by powiedział: sprechen Deutsche?
sie wurde
zum alltagsgegenstand
geliebt und gehaßt
zeichen schlechter zeiten
und beschränkungen

von manchen
    gleichmütig angenommen
    als neues mode accessoir
für andere
     ein bedrohliches symbol
     für vorschriften von oben
für viele
     nur ein notwendiges übel
    das wieder verschwinden wird

wir müssen sicherlich
unsere reflexe
beim anblick maskierter personen
überdenken

   zumindest in unseren breiten
   waren masken meist kennzeichen
   von banditen und räubern

nun tragen sie die guten
und die bösen nicht
aber … wie sicher können wir sein?

es ist eine ernste herausforderung
aus den bewegungen der augenbrauen zu ermessen
ob du einem freund begegnest

oder nicht
Corona erfordert neue Interpretationen visueller Wahrnehmungen ...
Jonathan Dyhre  Jun 2013
Snøen
Jonathan Dyhre Jun 2013
Snøfnuggene faller i tette strømmer
det føles som om de prøver å kvele bakken
som en maske endrer det landskapet
vårt landskap
svøpt i snø
liksom et silkeslør
drapert elegant over moder jords fyldige kurver
slik at skjønnheten forenkles
alikevel er det noe
bare en tanke
som sier at *** nå er vakrere enn noen sinne
det er som om snøen har rafinert henne
min moder jord
svøpt i silkemyk sne
vakrere har *** aldri vært
Lian  May 2017
Hinter der Maske
Lian May 2017
I can't do this anymore
Waking up every single day
Doing the same routine over and over
Pretending that I am okay

Putting a big smile on my face
To cover up the pain I feel
Should I keep my life stuck in this phase
Or let all the thoughts in my head to spill

Aching for everyone to see
The wound inside starting to bleed
Struggling to be society's best rendition of me
Why can't anybody hear my scream?

Living became a constant nightmare
Fighting an endless battle that I can't quit
Lost in the midst of darkness and despair
Please find me, let me live
at totaludslette sig selv i krampagtige forsøg på at udvinde
      enhver dråbe af potentiale
i en udslukt flod, udtørret
    
          at dele sig selv op i procenter, prioriteret
   35,4% der, 100% der,
     indtil man pludselig er i minus
hvor er man så?
               (på bunden)

     kold klarsindethed

varm panik
   blodet strømmer til kinderne, stemningslæggende,

smilende rammer tvivlen
som en enkelt optrevlet maske i et udarbejdet system
    hold fingrende fra det, ubevidst pilfingret
gennemanalyseret
Corset Jul 2016
Feast Of Summer Moons
A Poem by Eve aka Corset


Tonight and all over the earth,
there is merriment.
Cocky birds will dance
at  maske and vest.,
and many times at best
I have dreamt of this
in sadness
still to awake with laughter
within my breast.
and yet
beyond these lids
and lashes,
the world is
still our oyster,
whether it be hailed
by sighing violins
or paired by
charmed footsteps.

Madame Butterfly;
my cupid kills in arrows
and so grieves her;
her Puccini,
should love speak
beyond a reasonable
torment of expectation.

Let her feast then
beneath the moons
soft with light and
with souls as bright
as sunlight, brilliant
upon the water
bound not
by counterfeits of passion,
having railed
so long at love,
that it does seem to
have become a habit.

Whisper again
to a ****** night,
that dreams with
eyes wide open,
sailing to a song within.

Love is ancient and ageless and
hearts will remain young
forever,
for which men and women
will hunger,
because,
amour sweet amour
is a  feast
and fit
for summer moons.
Annesofie Olsen May 2015
Hvad vil du gøre ?
Den dag du står der og er i tvivl
Der er intet du kan gøre for at sige det pænt !
Tag en ny maske på og flygt væk
Bare glem det siger de
**** dem
Gør det de ikke vil have du skal gøre
helt væk

— The End —