PONEŠTO ZA PREVARANTE, OPATICE, PILJARE I TEBE



Mi imamo sve i mi nemamo ništa

A neki ljudi to rade u crkvi

A neki ljudi to rade kidajući leptire na pola

A neki ljudi to rade u Palm Springsu

Uvaljujući ga nespretnim plavušama sa “kadilak"-dušama

"Kadilaci" i leptiri

ništa i sve

to lice koje se rastapa do poslednjeg daha u podrumu u

Korpus Kristiju

Ima tu ponešto za prevarante, opatice, piljare, i tebe…



Nešto u 8 izjutra

Nešto u biblioteci

Nešto u reci

Sve i ništaa

U klanici to dolazi klizeći duž tavanice na kuki

I ti ga njišeš

Jedan

Dva

Tri

I onda ga imaš

Mrtvo meso u vrednosti od 200$

Njegove kosti uz tvoje kosti

Nešto i ništa

Uvek je isuviše rano da se umre i uvek je isuviše kasno

Brazda krvi u bazenskom belilu, to baš nista ne govori

A grobari igraju poker nad kafom u 5 izjutra

Čekajući na gras da bi se spasli od mraza…

Oni ti ništa ne govore

Mi imamo sve i nemamo ništa

Dani sa staklenim ivicama i nepodnošljivim smradom

Rečne mahovine

Gorim od onog od govana

Dani poput šahovske table sačinjeni od pokreta i

Protiv pokreta

Nabubana interesovanja u porazu kao i pobedi

Dani spori poput mazge koja vuče teret na leđima

Ljutita, mrzovoljna i zaslepljena suncem

Putem na kome neki ludak sedi čekajući

Među plavim sojkama i carićima upetljanim u mreže

I nagutanim ljuskavog sivila

Dani vina i vikanja

Tuča po sokacima

Debelih nogu žena koje se takmiče oko tvojih creva

Pokopanih u jaucima

Znakova u arenama za borbu s bikovima poput dijamanata

Koji urlaju od bola

Majko Kapri!

Ljubičica koja izlazi iz zemlje govoreći ti da zaboraviš

Mrtve armije i svoje ljubavi koje su te opljačkale

Dani kada deca govore smešne i genijalne stvari

Poput divljaka koji pokušavaju da ti prenesu poruku kroz

Svoja tela

Dok su im tela još dovoljno živa da prenose i

Osećaju, i trče gore-dole

Bez katanca, i plata, i ideala, i imovine, i

Bubama-nalik-uverenja

Dani kada možeš po ceo dan da plačeš u nekoj zelenoj sobi

Sa zaključanim vratima

Kada možeš da se smeješ svom pekaru jer su mu noge

Isuviše duge

Dani posmatranja žive ograde…

I ništa, i nista

Dani šefova, žutih ljudi sa zadahom iz usta i velikim

Stopalima

Ljudi koji liče na žabe, hijene

Ljudi koji hodaju kao da meldija nije nikada izmišljena

Ljudi koji smatraju da je mudro unajmljivati i otpuštati i

Profitirati

Ljudi sa skupim ženama koje poseduju po 60 jutara zemlje

Koju treba izbušiti ili se njome razmetati

Ili koju zidom treba odvojiti od nekompetentnih

Ljudi koji bi te ubili zbog toga što su ludi

I onda to opravdali jer je takav zakon

Ljudi koji stoje ispod prozora od 12 metara i ništa ne

Vide

Ljudi sa luksuznim jahtama koje plove oko sveta

A ipak ne izlaze iz džepova na svojoj odeći

Ljudi nalik puževima, ljudi nalik jeguljama, ljudi nalik

Puževima balavcima

I još gori

I ništa

Dobijanje poslednje plate u luci, u bolnici, u fabrici

Aviona,

U zabavnom salonu, u berbernici, na poslu koji ionako nisi

Želeo

Porez na prihod, bolest, servilnost, slomljene ruke,

Slomljene glave

Sav nadev ispada napolje poput perja iz starog jastuka

Mi imamo sve i nemamo ništa

Neki to rade dobro jedno vreme a onda popuštaju

Slava ih dokrajčuje ili gađenja ili starost ili nedostatak

Odgovarajuće ishrane

Ili crnilo preko očiju ili deca u koledžu ili novi

Automobili ili kičma slomljena na skijanju u

Švajcarskoj

Ili nova politika ili nove žene ili same prirodne

Promene i raspadanje

Čovek koga si do juše poznavao

S kojim si zajedno rasturio 10. turu

Ili pio 3 dana I 3 noći u podnožju planina Sotut

Koji je sada samo nešto pod carsavom ili krstom ili kamenom

Kako samo odlaze

Kako samo odlaze oni za koje si mislio da nikad neće doći

Dani kao ovaj

Kao tvoj tadašnji dan

Možda kiša pada po prozoru, pokušava da se probije

Do tebe?

Šta vidis danas?

Šta je to?

Gde se nalaziš?

Najbolji dani su ponekad oni prvi, ponekad oni srednji,

A nekad čak i oni poslednji

Prazni komadi zemlje nisu loši

Crkve u Evropi na razglednicama nisu loše

Ljudi u muzejima voštanih figura zamrznuti u svojoj

Najboljoj sterilnosti nisu loši

Užasni su ali nisu loši

Karambol u bilijaru, razmisli o karambolu u bilijaru

I tostu za doručkom, i kafi koja je dovoljno vrela da znaš

Da ti je jezik još uvek tu

Tri germanijuma ispred prozora pokušavaju da budu crveni

I pokušavaju da budu ružičasti

I pokušavaju da budu germanijumi

Nije čudo da žene ponekad plaču

Nije čudo da mazge ne žele da idu uzbrdo

Da li si sada u hotelskoj sobi u Detroitu tragaš za

Cigaretom?

Još jedan dobar dan

Jedan njegov mali deo

I dok bolničarke izlaze sa različitim imenima i različitim

Mestima na koja idu – prelaze preko travnjaka

Neke od njih žele kakao i novine

Neke od njih žele topao tuš

Neke od njih žele muškarca

Neke od njih jedva da uopšte i razmišljaju

Dovoljno i nedovoljno

Svodovi i hodočasnici, pomorandže, slivnici, paprat

Anti-tela, kutije s maramicama…



U najčednijem negdašnjem suncu postoji osećaj nežnog

Dima iz urni

I konzervisanog zvuka starih ratnih aviona

I ako uđeš unutra i pređeš prstom preko nadboja prozora

Pronaći ćeš prljavštinu

Možda čak i zemlju

A ako pogledaš koz prozor

Biće opet neki dan

I kako stariš i dalje ćeš gledati

I gledati

Usisavajući pomalo svoj jezik

Aaa-aaa

Nee-nee

Možda

Neki to rade prirodno

Neki opcesno

SVUDA.

SMRT PUŠI MOJE CIGARE



Znaš: Ponovo sam ovde

I pijan

I slušam Čajkovskog na radiju .

Isuse , čuo sam ga pre 47 godina

Kada sam bio izgladneli pisac

I sada evo ga

Ponovo

Sada kada sam stekao delimičnu slavu

Kao pisac

I smrt šeta ovom sobom

Gore-dole

Pušeči moje cigare

Cirkajući moje vino

Dok Čajk uporno odrađuje

Svoju Pathetique ,

Kakav je to samo put bio

I sva sreća koja me je zadesila bila je

Samo zato što sam kockice bacio

Kako treba:

Ginuo sam za svoju umetnost,

Ginuo sam da se dokopam

5 prokletih minuta, 5 sati

5 dana -

Sve što sam želeo bilo je da izbacim

Reč iz sebe

Slava, novac nisu bili važni:

Ja sam želeo da izbacim tu reč iz sebe

A oni su me želeli za štanc-presom ,

Fabričkom trakom

Želeli su da budem magacioner u

Robnoj kući .

Pa, kaže smrt, prolazeći sobom,

Svejedno ću te ščepati

Ma šta bio:

Pisac, taksista, svodnik, kasapin,

Padobranac, ščepaću te .

Važi srce, kažem joj .

I sada pijemo zajedno

Dok jedan po ponoći polako prelazi u dva

Po ponoći i

Samo ona zna pravi trenutak

Ali sam je ipak zajebao:

Izvukao sam svojih

5 prokletih minuta

i još mnogo

preko toga.

ZA STARU KRNJAVU



Poznajem ženu

Koja stalno kupuje slagalice

Kineske

Slagalice

Pločice

Žice

Deliće koji se na kraju sklope

U neku celinu.

Ona matematički

Rešava sve svoje

Slagalice

Živi pored mora

Iznosi šećer za mrave

I veruje

Iz dna duše

U bolji svet.

Njena kosa je seda,

Retko se češlja.

Zubi su joj krnjavi.

I nosi široke, bezoblične, radne

kombinezone na telu koje bi

Većina žena volela da ima.

Godinama me nervirala

Onim što sam smatrao njenim

Hirovima

Kao što je potapanje ljuski od jaja

u vodu (da njom zaliva biljke

kako bi dobile kalcijum)

Ali, kad na kraju razmislim o njenom

Životu

I poredim ga sa drugim životima

Blještavijim, originalnijimi

Lepšim

Shvatim da je povredila

Manje ljudi nego iko koga znam

(a pod povredila mislim samo to,

ništa više.)

Prošla je kroz teške periode

Kada je možda trebalo

Više da joj pomognem

Jer ona je majka mog jedinog deteta

I nekad smo se mnogo voleli

Ali prošla je kroz to,

Kao što sam rekao,

Povredila je manje ljudi

Nego iko koga znam

I ako se tako gleda,

Eto,

Stvorila je bolji svet.

Pobedila je!

Frensis, ova pesma je za tebe.

Beer

from: Love is A Mad Dog From Hell

I don't know how many bottles of beer
I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I dont know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
"what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can fuck me!"
the female is durable
she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.
while we are going mad
they are out
dancing and laughing
with horney cowboys.
well, there's beer
sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
rolling
clanking
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.
beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is.
AS CRAZY AS I EVER WAS
from: Love is A Dog From Hell
drunk and writing poems
at 3 a.m.
what counts now
is one more
tight pussy
before the light
tilts out
drunk and writing poems
at 3:15 a.m.

some people tell me that I'm
famous.
what am I doing alone
drunk and writing poems at
3:18 a.m.?
I'm as crazy as I ever was
they don't understand
that I haven't stopped hanging out of 4th floor
windows by my heels-
I still do
right now
sitting here
writing this down
I am hanging by my heels
floors up:
68, 72, 101,
the feeling is the
same:
relentless
unheroic and
necessary
sitting here
drunk and writing poems
at 3:24 a.m.


p.s. može li na Engleskom uopšte?

To the whore who took my poems

some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
my
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
here'll always be mony and whores and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry.

My Father

(from "Septuagenarian Stew" 1994)

was a truly amazing man
he pretended to be
rich
even though we lived on beans and mush and weenies
when we sat down to eat, he said,
"not everybody can eat like this."
and because he wanted to be rich or because he actually
thought he was rich
he always voted Republican
and he voted for Hoover against Roosevelt
and he lost
and then he voted for Alf Landon against Roosevelt
and he lost again
saying, "I don't know what this world is coming to,
now we've got that god damned Red in there again
and the Russians will be in our backyard next!"
I think it was my father who made me decide to
become a bum.
I decided that if a man like that wants to be rich
then I want to be poor.
and I became a bum.
I lived on nickles and dimes and in cheap rooms and
on park benches.
I thought maybe the bums knew something.
but I found out that most of the bums wanted to be
rich too.
they had just failed at that.
so caught between my father and the bums
I had no place to go
and I went there fast and slow.
never voted Republican
never voted.
buried him
like an oddity of the earth
like a hundred thousand oddities
like millions of other oddities,
wasted.

The Great Slob 
(from "Septuagenarian Stew" 1994)

I was always a natural slob
I liked to lay upon the bed
in undershirt (stained, of
course) (and with cigarette
holes)
shoes off
beerbottle in hand
trying to shake off a
difficult night, say with a
woman still around
walking the floor
complaining about this and
that,
and I'd work up a
belch and say, "HEY, YOU DON'T
LIKE IT? THEN GET YOUR ASS
OUT OF HERE!"
I really loved myself, I
really loved my slob-
self, and
they seemed to also:
always leaving
but almost
always
coming
back.
The Blackbirds are Rough Today   
lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.
shot down like an ex-pug selling
dailies on the corner.
taken by tears like
an aging chorus girl
who has gotten her last check.
a hanky is in order your lord your
worship.
the blackbirds are rough today
like
ingrown toenails
in an overnight
jail---
wine wine whine,
the blackbirds run around and
fly around
harping about
Spanish melodies and bones.
and everywhere is
nowhere---
the dream is as bad as
flapjacks and flat tires:
why do we go on
with our minds and
pockets full of
dust
like a bad boy just out of
school---
you tell
me,
you who were a hero in some
revolution
you who teach children
you who drink with calmness
you who own large homes
and walk in gardens
you who have killed a man and own a
beautiful wife
you tell me
why I am on fire like old dry
garbage.
we might surely have some interesting
correspondence.
it will keep the mailman busy.
and the butterflies and ants and bridges and
cemeteries
the rocket-makers and dogs and garage mechanics
will still go on a
while
until we run out of stamps
and/or
ideas.
don't be ashamed of
anything; I guess God meant it all
like
locks on
doors.

Young in New Orleans 

starving there, sitting around the bars,
and at night walking the streets for
hours,
the moonlight always seemed fake
to me, maybe it was,
and in the French Quarter I watched
the horses and buggies going by,
everybody sitting high in the open
carriages, the black driver, and in
back the man and the woman,
usually young and always white.
and I was always white.
and hardly charmed by the
world.
New Orleans was a place to
hide.
I could piss away my life,
unmolested.
except for the rats.
the rats in my dark small room
very much resented sharing it
with me.
they were large and fearless
and stared at me with eyes
that spoke
an unblinking
death.
women were beyond me.
they saw something
depraved.
there was one waitress
a little older than
I, she rather smiled,
lingered when she
brought my
coffee.
that was plenty for
me, that was
enough.
there was something about
that city, though
it didn't let me feel guilty
that I had no feeling for the
things so many others
needed.
it let me alone.
sitting up in my bed
the llights out,
hearing the outside
sounds,
lifting my cheap
bottle of wine,
letting the warmth of
the grape
enter
me
as I heard the rats
moving about the
room,
I preferred them
to
humans.
being lost,
being crazy maybe
is not so bad
if you can be
that way
undisturbed.
New Orleans gave me
that.
nobody ever called
my name.
no telephone,
no car,
no job,
no
anything.
me and the
rats
and my youth,
one time,
that time
I knew
even through the
nothingness,
it was a
celebration
of something not to
do

Another bed

from: Love is a Mad Dog from Hell

another bed
another women
more curtains
another bathroom
another kitchen

other eyes
other hair
other
feet and toes.

everybodys looking.
the eternal search.

you stay in bed
she gets dressed for work
and you wonder what happened
to the last one
and the one after that...
it's all so comfortable-
this love making
this sleeping together
the gentle kindness...
after she leaves you get up and use her
bathroom,
it's all so intimate and strange.
you go back to bed and
sleep another hour.
when you leave its with sadness
but you'll se her again
whether it works or not.
you drive down to the shore and sit
in your car. it's almost noon.
-another bed, other ears, other
ear rings, other mouths, other slippers, other
dresses

colors, doors, phone numbers.
you were once strong enough to live alone.
for a man nearing sixty you should be more
sensible.
you start the car and shift,
thinking, I'll phone Jeanie when I get in,
I haven't seen her since Friday.

She said

from: War All the Time

what are you doing with all those paper
napkins in your car?
we dont have napkins like
that
how come your car radio is
always turned to some
rock and roll station?do you drive around with
some
young thing?
you're
dripping tangerine
juice on the floor.
whenever you go into
the kitchen
this towel gets
wet and dirty,
why is that?
when you let my
bathwater run
you never
clean the
tub first.
why don't you
put your toothbrush
back
in the rack?

you should always
dry your razor

sometimes
I think
you hate
my cat.
Martha says
you were
downstairs
sitting with her
and you
had your
pants off.
you shouldn't wear
those
$100 shoes in
the garden

and you don't keep
track
of what you
plant out there

that's
dumb
you must always
set the cat's bowl back
in
the same place.

don't
bake fish
in a frying
pan...

I never saw
anybody
harder on the
brakes of their
car
than you.

let's go
to a
movie.

listen what's
wrong with you?
you act
depressed.