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Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Musings at Giza
by Michael R. Burch

In deepening pools of shadows lies
the Sphinx, and men still fear his eyes.
Though centuries have passed, he waits.
Egyptians gather at the gates.

Great pyramids, the looted tombs
—how still and desolate their wombs!—
await sarcophagi of kings.
From eons past, a hammer rings.

Was Cleopatra's litter borne
along these streets now bleak, forlorn?
Did Pharaohs clad in purple ride
fierce stallions through a human tide?

Did Bocchoris here mete his law
from distant Kush to Saqqarah?
or Tutankhamen here once smile
upon the children of the Nile?

or Nefertiti ever rise
with wild abandon in her eyes
to gaze across this arid plain
and cry, “Great Isis, live again!”

Published by Golden Isis and The Eclectic Muse

Keywords/Tags: Ancient, Egypt, Giza, Sphinx, pyramids, tombs, sarcophagi, Cleopatra, pharaohs, Bocchoris, Kush, Saqqarah, Tutankhamen, Nile, Nefertiti, Isis



ANCIENT EGYPTIAN POETRY TRANSLATIONS

These are my modern English translations of ancient Egyptian poems, love lyrics and Harper's songs.

An Ancient Egyptian Love Lyric (circa 1085-570 BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Is there anything sweeter than these hours of love,
when we're together, and my heart races?
For what is better than embracing and fondling
when you visit me and we surrender to delights?

If you reach to caress my thigh,
I will offer you my breast also —
it's soft; it won't jab you or ****** you away!

Will you leave me because you're hungry?
Are you ruled by your belly?
Will you leave me because you need something to wear?
I have chests full of fine linen!
Will you leave me because you're thirsty?
Here, **** my *******! They're full to overflowing, and all for you!

I glory in the hours of our embracings;
my joy is incalculable!

The thrill of your love spreads through my body
like honey in water,
like a drug mixed with spices,
like wine mingled with water.

Oh, that you would speed to see your sister
like a stallion in heat, like a bull to his heifer!
For the heavens have granted us love like flames igniting straw,
desire like the falcon's free-falling frenzy!



Egyptian Love Song
(circa the 13th or 14th century BC)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Lover, let’s slip down to the pond;
I’ll bathe while you watch me from the nearest bank.
I’ll wear my sexiest swimsuit, just for you,
made of sheer linen, fit for a princess!
Come, see how it looks when it’s wet!
Can I coax you to wade in with me?
To let the cool water surround us?
Then I’ll dive way down deep, just for you,
and come up dripping,
letting you feast your eyes
on the little pink fish I’ve found.
Then I’ll say, standing there in the shallows:
"Look at my little pink fish, love,
as I hold it in my hand.
See how my fingers caress it,
slipping down its sides, then inside!
See how it wiggles?"
But then I’ll giggle softly and sigh,
my eyes bright with your seeing:
It’s a gift, my love, no more words!
Come closer and see ...
it’s all me!



Ancient Egyptian Harper’s Songs

The first carpe diem or "seize the day" poems may be the various versions of the ancient Egyptian "Harper's Song" (or "Song of the Harper"). These may also be the oldest "ubi sunt" or "where are they now" poems. Such poems were inscribed in Egyptian tombs along with the image of a blind man playing a harp. Thus it is believed these were songs performed during funeral services for the deceased. Versions of the "Harper's Song" found in tombs of the Old Kingdom (c. 2686-2181 BC) tend to be short and traditional in regard to the afterlife (i.e., affirmative). Middle Kingdom (c. 2055-1786 BC) and New Kingdom (1539-1075 BC) versions tend to be longer and sometimes encourage listeners to "seize the day" while rejecting the more traditional Egyptian view of eternity (for instance, satirizing large funerary monuments and saying possessions cannot be taken into the afterlife). Such updated versions of the "Harper's Song" include "Harper's Song: Tomb of Neferhotep" and " Harper's Song: Tomb of Inherkhawy." These are my personal favorites of both genres ...

This song comes from a tomb which contains an image of Djehutiemheb and Hedjmetmut seated at an offering table while their son, dressed as a priest, pours libations and burning incense before them. It seems the song may be a blessing being voiced by the son, as the text appears before his representation.

Harper's Song: Tomb of Djehutiemheb
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

... The sky is opened for you,
the earth opened for you,
for you the good path leads into the Necropolis.
You enter and exit like Re.
You stride unhindered like the Lords of Eternity ...



This song from the funerary stela of Iki depicts the deceased sitting at an offering table with his wife, with the rotund harpist Neferhotep sitting on the other side of the table. Neferhotep was one of the earliest known Egyptian singer/harpists. His portrait and his song were included on the stela of a man named Iki.

Harper's Song: Tomb of Iki
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

O tomb, you were prepared for a festival,
your foundations anchored in happiness!
The harpist Neferhotep, son of Henu.

*

The stela of Nebankh from Abydos contains a Harper's Song with the deceased depicted sitting at an offering table with the harpist squatting before him:

Harper's Song: Tomb of Nebankh
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Tjeniaa the singer says:
Now you are seated securely in eternity,
in your eternal monument!
Your tomb is filled with food-offerings
and complete with every fitting thing.
Your soul is with you
and will never desert you,
Royal Treasurer and Seal-Bearer, Nebankh!
The sweet north wind is now your breath!
So says the honorable singer Tjeniaa,
whom he loved and who keeps his name alive
by singing to his soul every day.



Interestingly, the three Harper's songs found in the tomb of the priest Neferhotep seem to display very different viewpoints about the afterlife, if we can take the first two to be saying that death is peaceful because no one is doing anything ...

Harper's Song: Tomb of Neferhotep
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I.
I have heard songs inscribed in ancient tombs,
extolling earth-life while belittling the Beyond ...
but why condemn the kingdom of Eternity,
the just and the fair,
which holds no terrors?

II.
Death abhors violence: no man there arms himself against his brother.
No one rebels in that peaceful kingdom.
All our ancestors rest there, since man’s earliest days;
the multitudes assemble there, every one,
for none may tarry overlong in the land of Egypt.
There is no one who will not cross over.

III.
Earth-life is no more than the span of a dream,
but fair welcomes are given when one reaches the West.



Harper's Song: Tomb of Intef
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

(from the tomb of the Pharaoh Intef)

Here lies a happy prince
because death is the kindest fate.

One generation passes, another remains:
so it has been since our eldest ancestors.

Now those who were once "gods" rest in their sepulchers
along with other nobles
and those who built their tombs.

Their palaces are gone,
and what has become of them?

What of the words of Imhotep and Hardedef,
whose sayings are still recited entire?

What of their palaces?
Their walls have collapsed into ruins,
their halls have vanished
as if they never existed!

And no one returns from that realm
to inform us of their state
or to calm our fears.
We remain in the dark until we join them ...

Hence, rejoice with happy hearts!
It is best to forget: heedlessness is happiness!
Humor your hearts as long as you live!

Perfume your hair with myrrh,
adorn yourself in your finest linens,
anoint yourself with the costliest oils, fit for a god,
heap up your treasures here on earth!

Let your heart remain buoyant! Don't let it sink!
Humor your heart and find happiness!
Here on earth, do as your heart demands!

What use is mourning,
when weary-hearted Osiris pays tears no heed?

Weeping and wailing spares no man from the grave,
so make every day your holiday. Never tire of joy's pursuits!
Because no one is allowed to take his possessions with him
and none who departs ever returns!

This song, also known as “The Lay of the Harper,” appears in the tomb of Paatenemheb, where the introductory line says it was copied from the tomb of a King Intef (a name used by several kings from 11th and 17th dynasties). The poem is also preserved in the Ramesside New Kingdom Harris 500 papyrus. These works are accepted by scholars as being a copy of a genuine Middle Kingdom text.

Keywords/Tags: Egypt, Egyptian, poem, poems, poetry, translation, translations, English, harper, harpers songs, love poems, love songs, love lyrics
Muzaffer Feb 2019
lâtin
steplerinde doğarken iki cümle
logo’ya adam asıyordu
gözlüklü tilki federasyonu
ben de
aynı ilacı yazıyordum kendime
vitamin niyetine
aç karnına düzenli
düzenliydim
hatta düzenliydik ercan’la
çıktı konusunda

tanrı şahittir
gripli resim asmadık gökyüzüne
delisin oğlum derdi
maximum olanından hem de
prezentabl bulutlardık
tepeden tırnağa manikürlü ufukta
kızıl bir şal yolladık nihayet
dank etti tilkinin kafasına

gözüpek aslanlardık ya
saldırıp antilop sürüsüne
meyle günahlandık
kimi
kimiyse eksildik bir savaşta

şimdiler’de
deri işinde ercü
bense sökemedim
türkçe’yi henüz
geniş
plâtolu steplerde
kimse bilmedi
kim oldugumuzu
nerde
ve nasıl solduğumuzu
adımıza
curriculum vitae
soyadımıza yok yazdı
ceo’lar
Vierra Apr 2017
Light will give way to darkness, ever challenging for the attention of mere mortals.

The dark will be thick and comforatable. A dim ahi flickers in pō and ka noe. It will be delightful when ke ahi make.

Lā will return and the shade will be the only cool the natives will have.

The gods smile in the background, ever watchful of the dance.

Lono and Pele dance in rythem, while Kūkailimoku kahea with Hi'iaka.

It rains here in Waianae because she loves me, the one from yellow and red. Bird feathers are her drapes of honor and bloodline. The anae will run again as the rivers open because of the ua. Her particular nature revolves around the seasons of unordinary times when plants are fed and coffee is feasted.

I am a drunkard of blood that does not belong to me. She is the one whom I yearn to taste. The blood of Royalty above Royalty.

Please hear my words that I cannot speak of.

He mea iki, Ka ikaikakapu. I am of Oahu and she is of Hawai'i.
Only a sea's voyage away.
ruby stains Dec 2014
she was like the
{puddles of water} that
kiss summer rays;
*vibrant.
o iki numaralı olsaydı : if she was number two in turkish form
The Good Pussy May 2017
.                     D
                          N
                         C
                     E
                       M
                           Wiki
                     LeaksWiki
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Muzaffer Apr 2019
iki kartal
geceyarısı
gece karası
içimiz’deki parıltı

elmas göz
İnce bel
iki benzemez
kanat aralığı

ertelenmez gözenek
ve nemli tahıl ambarı
kızıl bir yangın başlatır
şeytanın sırtladığı

kendi gölgesi ay’ın
dolaşan sus, pus koyları
taşar gümüş ibrikten

boşalır göğün kızları ve
renk cümbüşünde gece
ve titrek dudağı yaprağın
öp beni çiçeği gibi
açar koynuna sabahın..
Euphrosyne Mar 2020
Iki
I'm not trying to be pretentious
But for me your simplicity makes it very contagious
So I try to impress you with my own inventions
And shower you with all of my good intentions

I ain't tryna give you complications
I just want our us to have good foundations
So no one will motivate us to have fluctuations
And because of your simplicity I'll love you for generations
Iki means simplicity and Diane you are simple and I love that you are being simple in every way.
DC raw love Jan 2015
ini mini miny moe
this girl ****** me she's got to go

one potato, two potato
three potato, four
someone told me that girl was a *****

ika, ika, iki
my grandma told your grandma
that the girl has aids

hot potato, hot potato
what do i do

3, 6, 9
i'll go drink wine

i'll go lay my body
on the street car line

and hope i go to heaven
in a little row boat
Muzaffer Feb 2019
Bu sabah
ne kadar
sıkıcı pencereden bakmak
midesi bulanık hava
hamile martılar
siren sesi
ve yağ kokusu komşuda
sıkıcıyız bu sabah
kibirli ve kızgın
ve ağlamak üzere aynı anda
aynı anda düzüşmekte kediler
cünup akmakta trabzandan
merdiven
viskiyle yıkanmalı artık
ve
infial mevzubahis parkta
iki ergen
dudak dudağa öpüştü önce
sonra gülüştüler
erkek olan tokatı patlattı
diğer erkek ağlamadı bile
ne tuhaf
sosyalleşemiyoruz artık
yarıçıplak kadın resimleri
her yerde var onlar
radyo, televizyon
ve gazeteler
işkence gibi sıkıcı hayat
fasikülleniyor ruhuma
leş kokuyor ağzım
oral faaliyetten
kıçı açık
uyuyor gina yatakta
ve
ve
pembe ceket
almalıyım kendime
ve pamuk şeker geceye
sevişmek istiyorum yine
ve içmek
şarap
sigara
ve yumruk atmak
göğün taşaklarına
işe ve rahatla!
yazmak camın buğusuna
ne kadar sıkıcı bu sabah
ve hayat ona keza
aldanış ve faturası
ipine
güven olmaz kuyular
boşanan çiftler
ve
boşalamayanlar
hırsızlar, pezevenkler
ve cinayet skeçleri

ve çocuklar
dahi planı yaradanın
bi’ onlar geliyor hakkından tanrının...



Vaha
Muzaffer Apr 2019
intihara zorladığım
kaçıncı şiir bu asu
kaçını bıçakladım
güzden bu yana
güz vakti doğmuştu sahi
gitarı vurmuştum
gözü karartıp
naaşı yükledi omzuma
çantada iki ceset
vurduk kendimizi dalgalara
kız kulesini görmeliydin
nasıl da süzüyordu acınası
silikonlu göz parıltımı
of be asu
yorma beni
kader miydi
kurbanı seçen
ne bileyim
bilmeyi de istemem
scarlet gibi delip geçti işte
Muzaffer May 2019
paraftan ziyade
ıslak imzalarınız mutlu ediyor beni
o yüzden
kırmızı öpücükler bırakıyorum
banyo aynasına rujunuzdan
her sabah

ve geceden kalma
açık, saçık sözleri
düzenlice katlayıp
hafızamda ütülüyorum
buruştukça günboyu

seviyorum ıslak imzalarınızı
elimde değil
aç parmak uçlarınız
dolanıyor boynuma
saçımda daireler çiziyor
dikkatim dağıldığında
yıldırım düşmesi gibi sıcaklık
kaskatı kesiliyor
döner koltuğumda
ayağa kalkamıyorum
Pierre’den

ıslak imzalarınız hep aklımda
hız limiti veriyor
eve dönüş yolları
mil çekiyor dudaklarıma
kapıda karşılamanı
umud ediyorum dün gibi
her akşamın tadı
dünden başka

ıslak olan herşeyinizi
seviyorum aslında
heyelana kapıldığınızı mesela
ve şiddetle boşaldığınızı
yükseklerden
derin ormanlarıma

durdurmak büyük haz veriyor sizleri
bir çınar gibi
iki pembe dudak aranızda...

sımsıkı sarılıyorum
savurdukça kırbaç gibi
sadakat saçlarınıza..
Muzaffer Oct 2019
arz-ı podyum
etmeyi özledim dudak kıvrımında Emma

volta atmayı
aşağı yukarı
sağdan sola, soldan gerdana

gergedan burcuna aitmiş gibi
dolaşmayı zodyak kıyısında

sallanmayı mesela terazide bi süre
düşsem de kovaya yüksünmem
düşünselliğin asil dükalığında

Yorkshire sembolik olsa da
boyunbağı sıkınca nefes alamıyor
rengarenk ölüyor insan
iki yaka arasında

Westside değil şüphesiz
Bestside şüpheliyim tren garında

oysa
eşleşmiyor mor yüzler
yanımdan gelip geçerken

mütemadiyen ümitliyim yine de
elevermek istemiyorum kendimi

o yüzden elimde eski bir mecmua
karanfil klasik olur düşüncesi işte
afili bir mendil yakamda

ama neden gelmez bu trend
zaman bozduruyor müstakbel raylara

yeni değil
kendimi kandırmak farkındayım

fakat olağan şüpheli olduğum kesin

işte bu veçhile
tüm kompartıman rehine ağzımda

ya da
bir meczubum aşktan muzdarip
delilik trend garında..
Muzaffer Mar 2019
cangıldan
akar nehire su
saplanır budak
ıslak dudaklarına
sabahın
uykusunda yay
kemansız dans
doyumsuz iki şavk...
Muzaffer Jun 2019
gözlerimde
yüzme kararınız
şimdiye dek
hiç olmadığım kadar
mutlu hissettiriyor

*** tepelerinde oynayan
bir çocuk gibi
küçük çakıllar diziyorum
bikini izlerine

dudak kesimlerim
güncelleniyor böylece
daha fit bir dikişe

yeni moda değil
tanrı vergisi meleke
çok iyi bir
terzi olduğum söyleniyor
birkaç yabancı dilde

ve şilebezi akşamlar
işin sırrı
çepeçevre
memnuniyet çitlerinde

ve
dans ederken
duble beyazın içinde
çakır olacaksınız siz de

başın göğsüm
gövdem
inmeyen asansör zirvede

iki maviyiz
bir kavanozda artık
ve hazırsınız
boşalmak için gökyüzüne

her zamanki gibi
önce siz lütfen..
Muzaffer Feb 2019
Alta Gracia’da akşam oluyor
ve hala gitarımda bir telim eksik
Adabel’de kesti veresiyeyi
kapısına tekme attığım için
son paramla mama almıştım Lorenzo’ya
kafayı bulmadan önce azgın kedime
kim bilir nerde düzüşüyor bunak
bense pinekliyorum küf kokan pencerede
Mercedes geçse bir ıslık çalmam kafi
ama o’da geceleri çıkıyor işe
evi beş blok ötede gitsem
ama ya müşteri varsa içerde
Mercedes bir fahişe
aseksüel arkadaşız
yani ilişkimiz o minvalde
üfleyip püflüyorum son sigaramı
kafam karışık
bir G teli yüzünden
gitarı mı vursam
kolundan savurup duvara
küçük Miguel nerdesin velet
onun zulası vardır keman sepetinde
Miguel oniki yaşında benim öğrencim
Pado çalıyor beynimde her gece
oysa ben Blues üstü Jazz severim
çöküyorum olduğum yere
bir iki damla kalmış
dün geceki şişede
dikiyorum kafaya
ilk defa geç kalıyorum işe
Si’yi Sol’a
tak diyor temiz ruhlar
E’yi B’ye
üst perde’den çal
kleptoman şarkıları
sabahta vur tekmeyi kapısına
say eline mangırları...



Vaha
Sam Mar 2020
You know those days --
those sad, miserable, sucker-punched in the heart, sort of days --
when all you want, is for the tears to well out of you?
for your tears to flow, so that at least something comes out?
But it's as though you have no more tears left in you.
Your well is all dried up.

It's a bit like my heart, actually,
The way it's dropping,
so
     far
           down
                       in my chest.
(I'm almost worried it'll disappear.)

And I have friends.
I have these wonderful, beautiful, friends of mine -- I have people.
But it feels
                     as though
I am glass.
                     fragile.
                     see-through.

And no matter how I want
                                                   to scream, "HELP!"
the words stay sticky, stuck,
                                                   in my throat.
And in the end, well.
I'm back all alone.

But I am still breathing.
       I am still living.
                still wanting to keep on doing those things.
More than anything, I want to push
that darkness,
that fear,
that lingering sadness, swallowing me whole into its abyss --
I want to push it far, far, away.

But all I can do now, is ask:
"How do I get out of here?"
Like that little lost child, whom I have not been in so long.
And hope
for an answer
that will not come.




-- original, typed in romaji --




Korewa,
Nakitakutemo, nakitakutemo,
Ikiru kotoga zenzen mazushikutte,
Mou, namidawa nai.
tte iu kannji.

Nannka, kokoro ga sukoshi zutsu
"chi-nn" to ochiterumitai.
Soshite, tomodachi ga donnani itemo
Jibunnwa fuyou no gurasu
Mou, toumei mitai ni natte
[Tasukete] to iitakutemo
Kotobawa nodo ni tsuikotte,
Owariniwa mata hitoribochida.

Demo, mada ikiterushi,
             mada ikitai****,
Kono kurosa, kono nayamiwa,
Tookuni oshitai.
Daga, maigo no kodomo no youni,
[Douyatte kokokara deruno?]
toshika kikenai.
The English is a translation of something I wrote a little less than a month ago, other title suggestions welcome. I was having a not fantastic day, so the original was in Japanese. As Hello Poetry doesn't yet allow for kanji characters, I've typed it here using romaji.
Muzaffer Apr 2019
veremsel
yazı yığınlarını ayinleştiren
vajinal tapınaktaki zavallının
toksik atıkları

II
fragmandan
mütevellit eski bir hikaye
ve yeni versiyon düşlerin
geceleri aydınlatan kristalize
sanal cazibesi

III
geveze
kuşla balinanın
okyanus dansı ve ahengi bozan
geyşada illegal kasık keyfi

IV
aşkı
aldatmaya yönelik hareket
gargat ağacından "bana ne" tavrı
anadan üryan, uluorta rezalet...

V
üniter
kalp süikastı sonrası
hareme monte edilmiş
federe yapının çöküşü

VI
illüzyonun
metruk hüznü
iki şehir arası hardallı ayrılık
peygamber devesinin
hazin sonu

VII
ve
kızlarağasının
****’itik doygunluğu
tarafımdan...

bugün değilse, birgün mutlaka...
Eola Jan 2021
Žodis - užlūžęs internetas (Milda)

Internetas it aš pamokos metu:
Vėl užlūžo
Sunervavo iki negaliu
Gi tiek pinigų tėvai klojo

Tai vartau aš tą telefoną
Aukštyn, žemyn, šonu
Gal pabarškinus jį su kumščiu
Internetas atsiras savo noru

Pasirodo Balticum centras nebuvo atsakingas
Nes internetą vogė mano kaimynas

(arba)

Bet tas šiknius atsisako dirbti ir vėl
Dabar jau nežinau ką kaltinti: telia ar omnitel
i'm sitting in the bathroom at ul. Radwana 13 / 72,
i must say: a rather unusual place to start
my long awaited archaeology of the ego -
but long awaited for whom?
me or a readership...

               i have recently inherited a chrome book
with those old school protruding click click clickers
of QWERTY: protruding in that they are
easily found, almost like tickling newly sprouted
flowers from the ground...

i find myself in the form of: my and self
yet over psycholo-loco-gist...
of wording will not help:

the gents had their fun with the spirits...
they drank and drank and talked of plans for
their lives, they wasted good liquor on dressing up
on having fun:
they never took alcohol seriously...
now one of them: namely my uncle...
is a death within life, which is worse than death
itself...

i am so rigid from not trying
i am rigid from my former escapades with the allowances
of a good keyboard and a decent internet
connection...

what i am currently studying is the punctuation
of Frank Herbert...
it has been well over 4 years since i read any fiction
seriously...
bogged down in existential prose serious literature
i gave so much of my reading-time
to Knausgaard and his Mein Kampf
feigning defeat when life became as serious
that i had to find an alternative...
and yes... the new adaptations of the Dune books
put a negative indentation in my current reading
of the first book...
but lucky for me i'm picking up on certain
cinematic nuances... notably concerning Hawat
the Mentat who would roll his eyes back to
make calculations and who had a rectangular stain
on his lips from drinking the sapho juice...
cranberry stain...

what are the chances to reach the same heights
of excavation i was familiar with,
perhaps if i write long enough i can bypass the initial
struggle: because i will not waste this little gush of
***** reaching my cheeks
having to substitute a chaser of Fanta
with some orange juice (half)
and half of Polish mineral water...
unlike any other mineral water i know...
for there are three gradations of it around here...

gazowana (sparkling)
nie-gazowana (still)
lekko-gazowana (slightly sparkling)...

this fun side of the tongue, the only instance
where there is a double consonant:

LEKI (medicine)
LEKKI (light, masculine)
LEKKA (light, feminine)
   light as in not heavy, not light as in darkness...

i have traveled across eons and sleep and haven't
slept a wink in the process...
now almost strange to have a washing machine as a writing
desk in the dim light...

perhaps spacing, not even the subject matter will suffice
to somehow give me escapism...
what "should" have taken place is the idea
of an uncle retiring in his 50s...
able to somehow come closer to his mother
in her 80s and with enough dough
to party via travel for the next 10 years
and spare for invest in at least 2 or 3 properties...

now i visit him in the house of cripples...
the once known jealous vitality from ***** house
to ***** house...
this juggernaut of virility reduced to a ******* zombie like
shadow...
bit lips, crooked teeth...
vague associations and even vaguer dissociations
on the word-logic spectrum as provided by the doctors...
not so much having drank himself to
a zombie body but no early grave
his inability to invoke the body to similitude with
iron vitamin D3...
a shell of a man... once clean shaven...
now mimic of grandfather...

and all this female warfare
this daughter against mother and grandmother against
mother all this
this scaffold and crows and rotting of meat...
but diligent i somehow trying to work my way around
the fatalism...
is it so wrong of me to go out of my way
to buy the old woman a few new books
some chocolate,
to cook her pork, pork meatballs in a tomato sauce
with a special mash potatoes...
infusing the meat with caraway seeds...
yes... because that's almost the distant cousing
of cumin seeds... at least around here...
around here, "here" being: ul Radwana 13 / 72
Ostrowiec Swietokrzyski...

           i used to spend so many joyful days in these
confines, yet now i itch with a feeling of being
the Grim Grey...
reading about melange, spice, cinnamon...
i conjure up a fusion of poetry and prose and think
about Caladan and i think about earth
and i think about the white gold that is salt...
i've choked on tears and i shed some tears
but for all the talk of water in the sands
there is little talk of salt in the dunes...
perhaps those equivalent to Arabs in the Dune universe
have no notion of taste when it comes
to the ingestion of food...

i hardly imagined myself to be a fan of any work...
i tried to be a fan of the Beatniks...
grew a beard, forgot i had toenails
later forgot i had toes...
therefore re-imagined my feet as twinkle axes...
chopping step with stomp and air...
oh this air in Poland...
when was the last time i visited Poland
near the time of birth, come May...
that is spring... when the violets started to bloom...
when the continent gave up her riches
of distinguishing seasons from
that Caladan damp of England...
how many of the past suppose summers have
i spent on that dreaded island of grot grit and grey?

thus this DUMP of lettering and spacing and
whatever other, "other" technicality might
be obstructive, obtrusive, ob- ob-:
signal one signifying beacon of obstruct for
for me to follow up with the right sort of juice:
because i am the one to have squandered
the... "ridicule of the use of words"?

seems like a fear of god is never enough
when justifying the games equivalent to the chess
people play with mortality...

just one fetish freer from the nearer,
some Novalis (von Hardenberg) -
as i very much like to name street names and places
in German,
because i find the Polacks neglecting their tongue
as much as they neglected their earth:
through the tribulations of a lackluster of attachments...

perhaps those Arabs and waiting for the dino-juice
to propel the locomotive bonanza
of the Lamborghini engine...
sand-worm earthworm ego sworn mouth agape
like sitting in a Turkish akimbo poise...

the sun was never going to lose a tooth:
let alone a golden one,
but by topic of grey in water
and white in metal
and green in mahogany...
a tease out of respect for the one handed clapping
like some inevitable "cultural appropriation"
from meditating the death of Christianity
in the European soul and the invitation toward
Buddhism, extrapolation...
because this half a liter of *****
will measure just fine when this washing mashine
is silent...
while the solace of orbits of the grand orbs
like mountains cradling deserts satisfies...
like the windless lights
and what is conversation? locum?

i find little gesticulation of comfort in people
who regurgitate sayings, supposedly wise on the onset,
with sensibility of perpetuating a humanism
of their otherwise deviant comfort
of sheltering in hubbub and commotion
and click-bait not-known-to-fish conundrums...

by now the eagerness of flying into a bed
on a half whim half dream,
like a parody of a blinking universe:
each to his own sorrows and intact:
ensuring these sorrows do not multiply...
but become these self-contained mechanisations
of self-digestion: to diffuse the anger and agony
of the shared experience...
some semblance of a collectivist effort
where the individual is sacrificed and not glorified
that this democratic beacon of vector
adamant force-hood falsehood is dried up
conquered and subsequently squandered on
readily imitable minds of the youth...
so that youthful fancies may pass and by the rigors of time
and matrimony of the geology in the air
become hard pressed to usher in the only known
individuation that's the citizen and with it
a necropolis of first reference: as mortal abiding
non coup...

through some prism of the elected editorial
staff of the newly arrived freedom of the flimsy:
wind without paper...
came a torrent of freely available voiced
concerns for what could be said: could be unsaid...
what a forlorn essential craft of
symbolism to be tortured thus by crucifix
and the faceless man of Islam...
at least the distinction ingrained...

keeping a jug of water in both desert and in sea...
to drink to waste...
perhaps a jug of ***** in the forests and hybrid
tundras of sloth and cold and
what other bouquet of the thus presented
entourage of immobility of parlance of formal
is: what more expected of me?!

no more hunger no more stealth and no more
Japanese encrypted borrowing of tongues...
to ****** a MA into a マ
    subsequently: ******* palindromes...
because Japanese might allow a MA but will not
allow an AM... unless it's: TENET, RADAR...
a palindrome...
thus listed:

                 アマ
                 オト          oto... here, thus...

ama                  well... given the English tong and tie and glue of T
that would invoke Anna...
and faTTer...
                not father, though...

i think it best to understand Japanese scribbles through
palindromes...
whether that's me excavating consonants from
elaborating vowels or what not...
my... at least i have retained a memory of my old
themes and hobbies...
notably these...
because i...

palindromes... yes... that's how to best discover
consonants as free standing
as vowels are in Japanese via palindromes...
given... my stay in Hawaii was peppered with the history
of the Polynesians...
who's origins began with the wild oar brigade second
not celebrated to the vikings
from the little island of Taiwan...
across the seas without sails
across like the Mongols across Siberia
and the Russians toward Alaska...

                     palindromes...

イキ (iki)
イシ         (isi)

          leo mai honua...

                                leo nui: mai hāmau wai...    

of no talk of science fiction and i can see the equivalent
of the Fremen in the Polynesians
and see this world as that of what happens
when the once former mountain range
of Sahara now is desert and
waiting for the desert of Himalaya
because then were the known mountains of Saharans
while the seas boiled and the ice caps melted
and we were dreaming a history
somehow inherited before the insomnia
of journalism and the **** of light brought down
with strobe amnesia and suffocation of the attractive
glittering half of halves...
while the litter of the brood of peoples
squabbled over the 7th October 20224...
without much squabble equivalent to the massacre
at the Bataclan attack in Paris...

do wiosł!
    to oars!
                                 i nā ***!

let us leave these superstitious people to their
magic stones their kippahs
their niqabs and their orientation with the stars
almighty as if... as if...
this orb might be ever displaced by their potent
numb **** and over-sized ego-*****
and clipped ***** of Egypt!

— The End —