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Mateuš Conrad Oct 2015
w sztuce musi trwać rzeka, bo kto chce sztuke, ten jeden raz, jakby brzeg morza z falami na re- re- re- repeat?*

i love arguing with my father and mother,
i get to give them a quick lecture concerning art
after i drank a quarter of their whiskey
and asked things softly before being prompted to anger
and the now famous quote i have concerning western society:
but you know i shouldn’t have been prescribed anti-psychotic
medication, that **** is prescribed in prisons
where prisoners smash their ******* against the walls...
you have a toothache? go see a psychiatrist!
you have knee pains? go see a psychiatrist!
you’re ******* with some blood? go see a psychiatrist!
so i says to them... i may look like a *****
but my art will not become a *****,
look at what happened to led zeppelin,
four great albums in a space of 3 / 4 years and then nothing...
crap...
that’s what happens when you write great stuff and then
take the stage to entertain... you loose the plot of creativity...
oh yeah you get an audience, but you forget the little genius (
wingless angels, ugly *******)
that crafted living loving maid (she’s just a woman)...
‘but you’re a puff pastry with your drinking, you’re drunk 24 / 7.’
‘i sleep, that’s hardly 24 / 7, plus i couldn’t find
a better sedative than alcohol, it’s not like i drink to party.’
well, the argument ends with: i forgot palm trees grow on the maldives...
i heard the maldives have bigger ambitions than venice;
well no, it ends with my father giving me a can of wd-40
to oil up the squeaky chair i'm sitting on.
sowa Mar 2020
49.

Men, Niemen?
most, rzeka i autobus
zatacza się w pagórki
          Wilia?
          w upale budzą się Suwałki
          Memel zaciąga brzeg lasem
          znużoną powieką
Memelland ist abgebrannt
          mury
          pagórki
          coraz to milej do ciebie
          miłe miasto

https://yandex.ru/collections/card/5e6f063db651624b1a7fd6ad/


53.

NA ANTOKOLU


na Antokolu
barok wkoło
stiukowi święci
w plafony wzięci
królowie
            żyd jak żywy
            w peruce na głowie
            triumfuje w purpurze
nad ołtarzem w górze
zaś przy drzwiach
z krzyża zdejmowany
nie baczy na rany świeże
dłoń składa na grzbiecie
na nowym habicie
w ofierze
wpółobjęty
z jednego gwoździa zdjęty
ledwo, a już łaskawie
nad mieczykami z ogrodu
błogosławi płotu
regina pacis
dwa bębny tureckie
zdobyte pod  Chocimiem
milczą w kruchcie nad Wilią


60.

JAK WILENKA

spóźnimy się na wieczór Alicji Rybałko
jak Wilenka po Zarzeczu kluczymy; mosty
w zaułki - miasto dla nas na trzy klucze
zamknięte, jak bajka o spiżowym wilku

w Pikieliszkach za dworem księżyc studzi jezioro
para łabędzi przy brzegu - tak prosto romantycznie
i książki w bibliotece dla dzieci tu
nadal dostać można jedynie po rosyjsku

a poezja Alicji, jak gotyk św. Anny
na palach olchowych i workach piasku
w płomienistym po wielokroć łuku
przenoszę na dłoni ten kościół



Stefan Kosiewski; OBY DO WILNA. Wiersze. Wstęp: Dr Romuald Cudak: Na marginesie. Redakcja: Barbara Jędrzejczak. Opracowanie, korekta: Tadeusz Adam Knopik. Łamanie: Robert Kosek. Wydawca: Stowarzyszenie Europejskie PONS GAULI; współwydawca: Radio PLUS Katowice Sp. z o.o. Drukarnia im. K. Miarki w Mikołowie. Katowice 2000 ISBN 83-914127-0-9
OBY DO WILNA
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2023
before i sit down to the... how (is it)
   how my mother usually
words it: pięknie, ślicznie, prozaicznie...

  beautifully, beautifully, prosaically...    

            (how how = howl)

śliniak - baby bib...
  ślimak - snail: a garden essential
if cabbages get chopped on the guillotine...

etymology or rather: the similarity of spelling
of words...

piekło - hell...

                      i'm thinking hard about soft machines,
i was trying to find william burroughs'
the soft machine
    in my library, stashed it somewhere deep
so had to resort to mind-bending alterations
to cite his style:

but not yet...
    from the river Jordan to the Mediterranean sea...
of what is known at least i know
a Palestinian is a Philistine is a Philistine
  
geb nodrap, nodrap, said watt, geb nodrap
dis yb, nem owt. yad la...

        such is Beckett...

thinking about the soft machines in hard machines:
about algorithms in computers
no modern novelist with a clue
as to programming, coding...
   bullet shining and diamond biting quality testing

a hack in googlewhacking and
years ago i hacked an iPod the wrong way...
had a bunch of scratched CDs... copied them
into an mp4 format, shoved them into the iPod
and what happened?

the iPod crashed... ****** it right there
right done and proper...
did the same with some lesser known player
with an mp3 format... scratches audible
but the hardware was intact...

like now, hacking my samsung s8....
   get frequent messages about moisture getting into
my USB port... hardly...
the phone is old and by "capitalistic" standards
of new **** newer **** newest ****
"needs" replacement... no... it doesn't...

(all misnomers in "quotes": have to air them out
like ***** sheets)

hit the restart button and once the the second
loading screen comes on
plug in the USB and the phone recharges just fine...
but (i) still have to hack the hardware
while the soft machines update themselves: pronto...

i'm using chatGPT to do the custard churning
of content for me...
and i use sololearn for stretching
punctuation marks
into flying paper rides into 3D...
like so:

<p>paraphrasing</p>
<button>grease</button>
    {else
/^exchanging results>/
            ]wormholes[
but that's still basic trimming:
i'd rather be in the garden
doing so autumnal cleaning -
spring cleaning in the house
while the garden requires autumnal cleaning:
pretty neat...

             oh the joy of knowing a slavic language
and a germanic language: perfect fusion...
for nuancing furthest apart, historically speaking:
borrowing from the 20th century...

щ is szcz is also šč
  (******* pressed on qwerty s then
ring finger pressing down on 3
index finger pressing down on
c and the ring finger again pressing down on 3
for the crowns)

    the only languages where these sounds
couple together (or at least, that i know of) -
дeщ - deszcz -
but there's something inherently wrong with
the Russian script -
you actually want for the transliteration
to be complete...
as was the case with the transliteration
of Greek into Latin...

namely the following letters:
a e m
              i mean: kudos on transliterating
iota into и...
      
but a bit lazy, drunk almost,
          having left a and e intact... and m (μ)
α ε.

       evidently you wouldn't use ε if you already
used it for з ζ (zet o zet)
and i understand that O is infinitely
un-transliterate-able...

л λ...

             sore sight for sore eyes... this unfinished
Russian script...
it could be finished like so:

    ɐ ǝ         borrowing from я

which would leave m in the hands of...
well...

if not the myslite or something akin...
given the mu is hμ

hunch: i.e. hmm...
                ღ           (georgian ghani
or ო            oni
     or even ლ    lasi)

then again... how about armenian?
ah... borrowing the armenian π:

պ...

   boy...

  мальчик could become

պɐльчик

                        all hypothetical stuff...

դեշճ

                   or via mkhedruli (st. george)
ᲓᲔᲷ (schva - ooh... ease in a sh for heaven's sake,
welcome the reaper) -

which is still rain... implying it was a happy sunny
day in England and i'm scribbling this down

brzeg: the shoreline.... a marriage of george
and armenia...

                                                      բᲯեᲒ

so much for ceasefires and fanatical marches
with ******* star of david "transliteration"
placards are brandished by supposedly very sensible
people...

to alleviate my confusion i had to watch a historical
programme on t.v. about the history of the ᛋᛋ
because i'm quite frankly a little confused
like i might be with a quiet quite...
                                                  easy mistake...
oh yes, i do mean the glam black Hugo Boss ᛋᛋ...

but still in some wintry part of the world
a journalistic yawn:
                                   a bit like the narrative structure
is awry or the wrong sort of gambling
with memory
given the fright of pan am flight 103, 1988...
in the same year
       iran air flight 655...

                                           it's only a question of:
as a people with what narratives do we go forward,
i'm thinking of what narratives i keep...
clearly memory is a fickle beast
and eroded by memorising spelling
and basic arithmetic from an early age
my personal memory hoard is limited
as it should be: or shouldn't?

                    absolutely zero imagination...
   so switched from watching history to watching
charlie and the chocolate history
and became flooded with the memory of
Samuel - how we used to walk to school
almost every single day for a year or so...

how he loved Roald Dahl and how reading
really wasn't my thing...
maybe i was neglected as a child for not reading
books for children: out of self-neglect
because i passed straight into the minds
of Stendhal and Marquis de Sade...
                                and Plato... oddly enough...

ah... it would appear i'm ready:
to sit down to the mind-custard of prosaic
NVQ level 3 coursework in
spectator safety... officially supervising teams:
on paper... since technically already doing
the practice.

— The End —