"osman" poems
[Dedicated to Austin Osman Spare]
Have pity ! show no pity !
Those eyes that send such shivers
Into my brain and spine : oh let them
Flame like the ancient city
Swallowed up by the sulphurous rivers
When men let angels fret them !
Yea ! let the south wind blow,
And the Turkish banner advance,
And the word go out : No quarter !
But I shall hod thee -so !
While the boys and maidens dance
About the shambles of slaughter !
I know thee who thou art,
The inmost fiend that curlest
Thy vampire tounge about
Earth's corybantic heart,
Hell's warrior that whirlest
The darts of horror and doubt !
Thou knowest me who I am
The inmost soul and saviour
Of man ; what hieroglyph
Of the dragon and the lamb
Shall thou and I engrave here
On Time's inscandescable cliff ?
Look ! in the plished granite,
Black as thy cartouche is with sins,
I read the searing sentence
That blasts the eyes that scan it :
**** and SET be TWINS."
A fico for repentance !
Ay ! O Son of my mother
That snarled and clawed in her womb
As now we rave in our rapture,
I know thee, I love thee, brother !
Incestuous males that consumes
The light and the life that we capture.
Starve thou the soul of the world,
Brother, as I the body !
Shall we not glut our lust
On these wretches whom Fate hath hurled
To a hell of jesus and shoddy,
Dung and ethics and dust ?
Thou as I art Fate.
Coe then, conquer and kiss me !
Come ! what hinders? Believe me :
This is the thought we await.
The mark is fair ; can you miss me ?
See, how subtly I writhe !
Strange runes and unknown sigils
I trace in the trance that thrills us.
Death ! how lithe, how blithe
Are these male incestuous vigils !
Ah ! this is the spasm that kills us !
Wherefore I solemnly affirm
This twofold Oneness at the term.
Asar on Asi did beget
Horus twin brother unto Set.
Now Set and Horus kiss, to call
The Soul of the Unnatural
Forth from the dusk ; then nature slain
Lets the Beyond be born again.
This weird is of the tongue of Khem,
The Conjuration used of them.
Whoso shall speak it, let him die,
His bowels rotting inwardly,
Save he uncover and caress
The God that lighteth his liesse.
6k
Ey Devlet-i Aliye Osman'ın şairleri!
Sultanlar geldi gitti, ama sözünüz kaldı.
Ne ** ne şirin inceler döktünüz aleme,
Ne uzun ne uzak seneler geçmiş yazalı.
Gözüm bir divan görür, canım bir derya görür,
Gözüm baktı, okudu, canım sadece daldı.
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 8:52 AM UTC
For all these years,
One lesson learnt:
The Line:
Pioned.
The ethereal days:
Forgotten.
The stones and the grass:
Substantial.
Every vision, henceforth,
A mark.
You are a venerable student of The Line,
Why not see it as Peter Paul Rubens saw it?
Why not see it as Osman saw it?
Why not see it as Rembrandt saw it?
Why not see it as old Blake saw it?
Why not see it as Sandro saw it?
Why not see it as Hermes Trismegistus saw it?
Why not see it as old Palmer saw it?
Why not see it as Marc Chagall saw it?
Why not see it as Jackson ******* saw it?
Why not see it as Hiram Abiff saw it?
A vision of The Line,
As the old masters saw it.
Come,
Let us sit.
Let us burn firewood.
Let us practice The Line within chambers of the mind.
If you remain studious, deep into the night,
You shall hold the mark.
You shall part the waters.
You shall move between the swells.
You shall till the earth,
Striking iron against iron,
Creating new Lines!
And when you master the six realms of sight,
And wear the seven, sacred heads in the afterlife,
Remember Hermes Trismegistus
And those who stand at the centre of The Line.
Dec 2, 2022
Dec 2, 2022 at 8:13 PM UTC
(for Ifrah Osman Dahir)
The purposeful look, a passing smile--
My eyes fixed at a whole world all the
while--
A world of joy with your figure lean and
smooth,
And what a world you're for my cares
to soothe;
By a sudden turn you look at me with an
amused frown,
Caught me off-guard, my eyes hushed for
withdrawl:
Yet deep in me somewhere you caress
and touch,
Speechless,, I'm lost in your lean figure
maybe to match--
For you're to me of that indelible Dew
from Heaven:
No words need be said, you're my
beloved!
For I see scattered across your face,
For which with fiery desire I yearn to
gaze;
So if you sought to clasp a stretched
caring hand,
I need you, with my heart willing to
understand;
Your rosy cheeks, though you seem
not to care,
I have nothing to give but my heart---
all and bare!
You seem somewhat weary with this
indifferent, this uncaring world:
Yet I envision you up and happy, not as
cold;
We never grow sick and tired of love,
Yet the unrest in your face sighs for
a move
To come--the saving Knight on a
Horseback:
Can I be the lucky guy no less the worse?
-by
Hakim H. Kassim.
(-d.October 31, 2018)
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 5:08 PM UTC