"narcissus" poems
(for Christopher Isherwood)
Seated after breakfast
In this white-tiled cabin
Arabs call the House where
Everybody goes,
Even melancholics
Raise a cheer to Mrs.
Nature for the primal
Pleasure She bestows.
*** is but a dream to
Seventy-and-over,
But a joy proposed un-
-til we start to shave:
Mouth-delight depends on
Virtue in the cook, but
This She guarantees from
Cradle unto grave.
Lifted off the *****
Infants from their mothers
Hear their first impartial
Words of worldly praise:
Hence, to start the morning
With a satisfactory
Dump is a good omen
All our adult days.
Revelation came to
Luther in a privy
(Crosswords have been solved there)
Rodin was no fool
When he cast his Thinker,
Cogitating deeply,
Crouched in the position
Of a man at stool.
All the arts derive from
This ur-act of making,
Private to the artist:
Makers' lives are spent
Striving in their chosen
Medium to produce a
De-narcissus-ized en-
During excrement.
Freud did not invent the
Constipated miser:
Banks have letter boxes
Built in their façade
Marked For Night Deposits,
Stocks are firm or liquid,
Currencies of nations
Either soft or hard.
Global Mother, keep our
Bowels of compassion
Open through our lifetime,
Purge our minds as well:
Grant us a king ending,
Not a second childhood,
Petulant, weak-sphinctered,
In a cheap hotel.
Keep us in our station:
When we get pound-notish,
When we seem about to
Take up Higher Thought,
Send us some deflating
Image like the pained ex-
-pression on a Major
Prophet taken short.
(Orthodoxy ought to
Bless our modern plumbing:
Swift and St. Augustine
Lived in centuries
When a stench of sewage
Made a strong debating
Point for Manichees.)
Mind and Body run on
Different timetables:
Not until our morning
Visit here can we
Leave the dead concerns of
Yesterday behind us,
Face with all our courage
What is now to be.
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The head losing itself
A rainforest
Lake in the heart
Hundred tombstones
Named Narcissus
They Echo
Icy, bluish lungs
Pallid violet nails
Lips still yet loving
Salty bamboos
Necrophilic whistles
Siren's footsteps
Illegal loggers
Burying selves alive
Love, love that is
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 8:29 AM UTC
Each lover has some theory of his own
About the difference between the ache
Of being with his love, and being alone:
Why what, when dreaming, is dear flesh and bone
That really stirs the senses, when awake,
Appears a simulacrum of his own.
Narcissus disbelieves in the unknown;
He cannot join his image in the lake
So long as he assumes he is alone.
The child, the waterfall, the fire, the stone,
Are always up to mischief, though, and take
The universe for granted as their own.
The elderly, like Proust, are always prone
To think of love as a subjective fake;
The more they love, the more they feel alone.
Whatever view we hold, it must be shown
Why every lover has a wish to make
Some kind of otherness his own:
Perhaps, in fact, we never are alone.
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The birch tree in winter
Leaning over the secret pool
Is Narcissus in love
With the slight white branches,
The slim trunk,
In the dark glass;
But,
Spring coming on,
Is afraid,
And scarfs the white limbs
In green.
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"...a frozen memory, like any photo,
where nothing is missing, not even,
and especially, nothingness..."
-- Julio Cortázar, "Blow Up"
Mirror-mad,
he photographed reflections:
sunstorms in puddles,
cities in canals,
double portraits framed
in sunglasses,
the fat phantoms who dance
on the flanks of cars.
Nothing caught his eye
unless it bent
or glistered
over something else.
He trapped clouds in bottles
the way kids
trap grasshoppers.
Then one misty day
he was stopped
by the windshield.
Behind him,
an avenue of trees,
before him,
the mirror of that scene.
He seemed to enter
what, in fact, he left.
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I sit by the window looking out
And see myself reflected
Outside the glass looking in.
Reality and illusion facing off -
Or is the window the only reality
Separating two ghosts;
Or perhaps imprisoning just the schizoid singularity
Of a self-absorbed existence?
A Rowlingesque Hogwartian mirror showing
My heart's deepest desire - myself -
A true inheritor
To the mantle of Narcissus
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 9:16 PM UTC
As a child, they could not keep me from wells
And old pumps with buckets and windlasses.
I loved the dark drop, the trapped sky, the smells
Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss.
One, in a brickyard, with a rotted board top.
I savoured the rich crash when a bucket
Plummeted down at the end of a rope.
So deep you saw no reflection in it.
A shallow one under a dry stone ditch
Fructified like any aquarium.
When you dragged out long roots from the soft mulch
A white face hovered over the bottom.
Others had echoes, gave back your own call
With a clean new music in it. And one
Was scaresome, for there, out of ferns and tall
Foxgloves, a rat slapped across my reflection.
Now, to pry into roots, to finger slime,
To stare, big-eyed Narcissus, into some spring
Is beneath all adult dignity. I rhyme
To see myself, to set the darkness echoing.
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It is a passing love affair
The black thorny rose
Thin stemmed
Bleeding nightmare
Beauty bathed in darkness
Like a black cat
Sleek feline queen of Sheba
Narcissus and Nefertiti
Persephone
Eyes open no final reflection in death
Just peace from life’s pain
Not a mistress I would pursue for a kiss
But one that one day I might not resist
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 1:11 PM UTC
Teri Payal Agar Chhanak Jaye*
Gardish-e-Asmaan Titthak Jaye
If your anklets, made a sound
Spinning of heavens, would pause
Tere Hansne Ki Kaifiyat Tauba
Jaise Bijli Chamak Chamak Jaye
Nature of your laughter, God forbid!
Like bolts and flashes, lightning draws
Teri Gardan Ka Tazkira Sun Kar
Jo Surahi Hai Woh Chhalak Jaye
Hearing, portrayal of your neck
Even a goglet, overflows
Le Agar Jhoom Kar Tu Angrai
Zindagi Daar Par Latak Jaye
Twirling, if you pandiculate
Existence, would hang by the ropes
Choor Hai Aise Paakpan Tera
Jaise Das Das Ke Saamp Thak Jaye
Broken to atoms is your innocence
Like once bitten fatigue a snake shows
Teri Ankhoon Ko Dekh Paiye Agar
*Jo Farishta ** Woh Bahak Jaye*
If one wins to see your eyes
Even an angelic, deluded grows
✒ Translated by ℐamil Hussain , Sung by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 5:40 AM UTC
Lost in the land
Of pretending to be grand
Saving their conceit
For their nearest and dearest
Every malignant narcissist
Has two middle names:
One is "Abuser"
The other is "Slanderer"
And they live in the shadow
Of a deep, unbearable shame
That makes them shameless.
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 1:47 PM UTC
.
*Gaze ye not
'pon the misfortune
of the Harlequin,
his dead eyes
will see nothing
of your heart.
Pity ye not
the clown 'pon
his misery bed
of Narcissus petals.
Emotion has thieved
its own fortune,
carrying the weight
of bitter experience.
The furnace, long cold.
Never the embers
glow in his soul,
trapped in a world
when life cares not,
nor matters to the afflicted,
who is mocked
by thy Gaze.*
© Pagan Paul (11/11/18)
Nov 13, 2018
Nov 13, 2018 at 1:02 PM UTC
*i hate to break it to you kid,
i'm not mindful of narcissus'
economics that's all oh so very modern...*
but women are their own orbit,
more chance to find a single mother
than a single father...
it's against nature to make the man
without god,
as it's against nature to make the woman
with god...
thus we have the tectonic plates
making man with god, accepting
or doubting, church or laboratory...
and woman... an eroticism of jaw eaten
faces... but a kiss to be a fingerprint
likened to erasing the dangling of the bitten
jaw... erased only once by the aphrodisiac of sirens'
wail of aquatic opera so damnable that only
one man heard it, while others scolded
being in audience with beeswax...
and by second chance, erased, indeed,
but only by the suffragettes as the new nuns...
as the new nuns dare comply to change,
like every male become female and
vice versa,
and the popes disclose their continual
loss of matrimony in their misogynistic
involvement in ****** if i'm not the pope
and do no encounter such practices,
i'm not a pope at all!
*only a ninth spoke as the necromancer,
and of the nine spoke clearest,
as it spoke, it dawned on me
that sauron was invisible for the sword
to strike, a gravity enveloping,
a gravity envelope, rather than a skin
of infinite diadem sharpenings,
for nine rigs unto men,
seven unto dwarfs, three unto elves,
but none unto the orcs... strange....
ORC ARKHAN MORDOR ARRAC!*
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 10:36 PM UTC
Spring is the season of new beginnings.
Surrounded with beauty that energizes you.
Green meadows , cool breeze , the purple moors,
Lush blooms that take away the winter glooms.
Enticing you in an array of colours,
Narcissus ,Hyacinths ,lilacs, Irises and Freesia ,
present a string of floral amnesia.
Like a pollywog when you are scampering through,
Oh ! dear spring you are a welcome view.
Wear your gadoshes ,
head to where the valleys and the skies meet,
robin's and swallow's tweet,
The bright rays of the sun spread the warmth and rainbows present a colourful greet.
Bid goodbye's to winter blue's ,
Welcome the "VERNAL EQUINOX" hues.
©Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 7:52 AM UTC
O fair Helena descending-
How could you not look at me?
You were once Narcissus in the meadow;
Kissing the soil-
Blooming with lavenders-
Basking in the afternoon sun-
Where did all your sunshine go?
Your blurry reflection-
of somberness;
heavy eyes;
calloused hands;
disheveled hair;
timid air-
Dismayed the goddess in you.
Faded golden lyre;
Withered Pierian roses;
Crushed altar of flame;
Mortal madness!
Ascend back to the divines-
Depart from this mortal coil;
Be the Narcissus in the meadow.
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 11:35 PM UTC
Minha mãe sempre me contou a mesma história
De como Narcissus quebrou Drinick
Porque nem sempre o amor é suficiente
Ás vezes ele só causa dor
Narcissus foi o primeiro amor de Drinick
A primeira verdadeira paixão
Drinick foi o único amigo de Narcissus
Durante longos verões e todo o resto do tempo
Narcissus nunca chorou
Nem quando sentiu dor
Drinick nunca desacreditou
Nem quando chegou ao fundo do poço
Então Narcissus quebrou Drinick
Em pedaços tão pequenos
Que ninguém seria capaz de consertá-lo
E ninguém nunca consertou
Minha mãe sempre me contou a mesma história
De como Narcissus quebrou Drinick
Porque nem sempre o amor é suficiente
Ás vezes ele só causa dor
Narcissus se foi e nunca mais voltou
Drinick ficou e nunca mais correu
A história dos dois morreu
No dia em que Narcissus quebrou
Minha mãe sempre me disse
Nunca seja como Narcissus
Que perdeu tudo o que tinha
E nunca seja como Drinick
Que foi deixado sem nada
Minha mãe sempre me contou a mesma história
De como Narcissus quebrou Drinick
Porque nem sempre o amor é suficiente
Ás vezes ele só causa dor
Eu já fui Narcissus
E já tive meu Drinick
Mas a história se repetiu
Minha mãe sempre me disse
Quando Narcissus quebrou Drinick
Uma jovem lua pairava no céu
Naquela noite as estrelas não apareceram
E todas elas se apagaram do olhar de ambos
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 8:27 AM UTC
{Chorus.} Come praise Colonus' horses, and come praise
The wine-dark of the wood's intricacies,
The nightingale that deafens daylight there,
If daylight ever visit where,
Unvisited by tempest or by sun,
Immortal ladies tread the ground
Dizzy with harmonious sound,
Semele's lad a gay companion.
And yonder in the gymnasts' garden thrives
The self-sown, self-begotten shape that gives
Athenian intellect its mastery,
Even the grey-leaved olive-tree
Miracle-bred out of the living stone;
Nor accident of peace nor war
Shall wither that old marvel, for
The great grey-eyed Athene stareS thereon.
Who comes into this countty, and has come
Where golden crocus and narcissus bloom,
Where the Great Mother, mourning for her daughter
And beauty-drunken by the water
Glittering among grey-leaved olive-trees,
Has plucked a flower and sung her loss;
Who finds abounding Cephisus
Has found the loveliest spectacle there is.
because this country has a pious mind
And so remembers that when all mankind
But trod the road, or splashed about the shore,
Poseidon gave it bit and oar,
Every Colonus lad or lass discourses
Of that oar and of that bit;
Summer and winter, day and night,
Of horses and horses of the sea, white horses.
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Lips like bloodlines,
Carmilla kisses her mirror
and calls herself dangerous
Naming myself for dead things,
for ruinous things;
fire,
the ash that drank Pompei,
the ivy that made your walls cave,
Was Lady Macbeth sweeping her hair in braids
to nest her crown?
Or Nefertiti painted gold to reclaim God?
I’m asking for the lavender girls
See, we do these things to be holy
to be myths in our skin
Tying feathers to our shoulders
and glitter to our tongues,
thinking
I can be gold if I want to
I can be thorn-tipped ugly
In pink fur, black lace, we kiss the toes
of Courtney Love and Venus in one breath
Cut back
to my blood-laced lips on the mirror
as though saying Narcissus is my idol
my skin placed above heaven
and I wish to love myself so much
I’d choke for it
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 4:59 PM UTC
#*you came bearing words
a transparent heart
you said
bombs of love
exploding my defenses
gifts i embraced until
you drifted
memories flooded in
of betrayals past
i'd been there before
drugging narcissus
you played
further on my resonant soul
strummed to fine pitch
your favorite guitar
till bored with the tune
you cut
all the strings
i adjusted to silence
relished my gains, but then
you returned
to play me some more
and that's why
you see
i've bolted this door*#
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 2:27 PM UTC
The word slithers from your mouth
Arsenic tone reverberating
Jumping on my eardrums and misting the fleshy insides of my skull
Dearest one, though unbeknownst to such a good intentioned heart
You are killing me
You lather onto her shame like oil
In your eyes she shines; epitome of all that you are not
Elusive seductress, skin tasting of intrigue
Entombment of that which lives in the blackest parts of you
Your brown eyes flashing ivy, becoming venomous,
Teeth sinking slowly with each syllable
****
Dearest deer eyes, open up
She dwells in your recesses but in my repressions as well
She is the 6 year old child emanating innocence
Closing her eyes to the fact that some parts may only be visible in the presence of Mama and Dr. Mallon
Mistaking foul play for dreams
She is the 13 year old not yet skinned of her baby fat
Caressed like the infant she most certainly is not
Lips glued with guilt and naivety
My dear, dear friend, please
You are killing me
The 16 year old girl whimpering no
Pomegranate lips pressed to the underside of Narcissus' hand
The other digging in between quivering thighs
***** you sigh
They're pathetic really
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 9:38 PM UTC
---
A nymph of the woodlands Echo ran
With huntress Dianna
With strength of man
Beautiful creatures
The nymphs were
Attracting Zeus, his heart stirred
Echo had a downfall
In her earthly walk
She had the last word
When she talked
Haughty Hera was Zeus's wife
Jealous women will cause strife
She went looking for her man
But clever Echo had a plan...
She drew the goddess to
Her verbal web
Had the last word to whatever said!
A vengeful god her anger licked
When she found that she was tricked
"You always wanted the last word?
Well, my dear, you
WILL BE HEARD.
*But evermore you'll have a lack
You'll not start conversing...
YOU'LL ANSWER BACK !!!"*
Poor Echo wandered
woodlands fair
In depression and despair
She was deep in love you see
With Narcissus, his great beauty
But she could never talk to him
So she was treated like the wind
Echo with her broken heart
In hills and caves began to haunt
'Til she simply faded away
These places she still haunts today.
As rock and stone she became
Call her, SHE WILL SAY HER NAME.
SoulSurvivor
(C) 7/28/2015
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 11:00 PM UTC
Narcissus gazed upon inky space,
dust reflecting golden starlight into his face,
and he sighed in discontent,
blowing air from his lips to disturb delicate ecosystems he had no place in.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 2:55 AM UTC
Narcissus
I see you everywhere
The train, the street, at home and abroad
If the world was a Greek legend
The earth would be covered in bright yellow flowers
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 5:00 AM UTC
CARNATION: Every frill in her dress is another piece of your heart broken. She withers in the winter but heaven forbid you see her at her loveliest in the spring.
VIOLET: Her voice sounds like steel cutting through velvet. You squeeze her tightly until she blooms in petals of blue and purple.
DAFFODIL: She's a field to run across but be careful that doesn't take you by surprise and lull you into daydreaming for the next 200 years.
SWEET PEA: By the time you lean close to her an inhale her scent, the sky will have already begun falling; she will have already transformed into vapor and taken refuge in your lungs.
LILY OF THE VALLEY: You'd expect to see her floating around in twos and threes, but she'd rather be hidden behind tangles of ivy, where you'd never find her.
ROSE: Be careful that when your hands are grazing her hips that you don't cut yourself because a woman hides her most important weapons under a layer of secrets and maybe there's more to the waistband of her skirt than you'd like to believe.
WATER LILY: A siren of the sea, she is lilting, singing a sad song and hypnotizing you, but you don't know any better and you want to see if she floats in your hands like she does in the water.
POPPY: Kiss her softly and when she collapses into pieces at your feet, scatter her in your bathwater and pull the drain plug and forget about her forget about her forget about her forget
MORNING GLORY: She stretches in the morning and sunlight rushes to touch her and the stripes of rays on her skin make you remember all the reasons why you woke up everyday for a reason other than habit.
MARIGOLD: Beware of the girl who covers her mouth when she smiles. Sometimes, it's because she doesn't want you to see that her heart is in her throat, but other times she's just trying to hide the fangs.
CHRYSANTHEMUM: Her clothes fall like petals in the depths of secrecy, but if you plucked them off the ground one by one, you'd still never know whether she loves you or loves you not.
NARCISSUS: You only love her because you see your reflection in her eyes and all she ever wanted to do was drown you gently.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 10:15 AM UTC