|
liana manzat weblog
LARRY/LIANA/JULY/HANNY
versiune tarzie de decembrie
HAPPY TO GET LAID
dedicated to D.
When I arrived
You was waiting upstairs.
Blind as usual,
I haven't' seen that your house
had lost its threshold.
When you arrived,
smiling, (your eyes
lying at a slanting angle,
hold up not to be true or real),
the mailboxes were playing musical chairs
and the soggy ceiling was crying in esperanto.
Larry
Larry!
iti este clar -
intr-una din vietile noastre viitoare
o sa furam impreuna cai, nu-i asa?
liana
Ionitza zis Sufletul
hotz de cai cu patalama
Si-a oprit herghelia linga fintina.
In peticul mic si rotund al apei
luna cea galbena il privea turceste.
O bufnitza vicleana cu o oglinda in ghiare
A zburat pe deasupra si pentru o clipa
Luna a sarit din fintina si s-a lipit pe cer,
caii cintau Tricolorul.
Intr-o viatza viitoare
vei gasi capul meu in fintina
Larry
Spune, spune, mos batriiin
spune spune mos batriin,
spune caii cind se fuuraaa
-Noapte pe fulgeratura
atuncea caiii se fuuraaa...
July
In ceatza respiratiei tale fierbintzi
Ti-am mingiat botul cald, catifelat, pufos
Cai se-npusca pe luna plina,
in timp ce noi dansam in tacere.
Larry
Intr-o viatza viitoare
vei gasi capul meu in fintina
Larry
**
La rascruce de drumuri
linga troitza
rinjeste larry din fintina calior furati,
in miez de noapte cu miros
de iapa-n calduri.
-Noapte pe fulgeratura
atuncea caiii se fuuraaa...
july
**
Cind e furtuna si ceatza atuncea caii se-nhatza.
NU, caii se fura in nopti fara luna,
armasarii prosti ca si barbatii,
c-un somoig de fin muiat in sexul iepei in calduri, poti mina un cal si un barbat
la 2000 km departe de casa,
ce i se intimpla dupa aia cui ii pasa.
Femilor
li se sucesc mintile-n nopti cu luna,
cind orice cap de magar devine
barbatul visurilor.
h
In ceatza respiratiei tale fierbintzi
Ti-am mingiat botul cald, catifelat, pufos
Larry
**
Cum vad grajdu se umple,
io-s vaca, tu esti cala,
cine-si mai da arama pe fatza?
h
In ceatza respiratiei tale fierbintzi
Ti-am mingiat botul cald, catifelat, pufos
Larry
I-haaaa!
In timp ce minzii tai nervosi
sugeau destoinic, dind din cap.
Cai se-npusca pe luna plina,
I-haaa :(
in timp ce noi dansam in tacere.
Iha, iha
July ))
Noaptea pe fulgeratura
Cind e furtuna si ceatza
I-haaaa! Mu Muuu, Iha, iha !
atuncea caii se-nhatza.
atuncea caiii se fuuraaa
I-haaaa! Mu Muuu, Iha, iha !
Io-s vaca, tu esti cala ,
Sugem minzos poezia
I-haaaa! Mu Muuu, Iha, iha !
Pacatu-i un inger , viatza il spala
I-haaaa! Mu Muuu, Iha, iha !
Larry
Magarul si-o bate pe burta
E stiff, derbedeu si calos
Coada ochiului se uita
La vaca cu uger batzos.
Ce i-as mai trage-o diseara
Isi spune batind regulat
Vaca sta galesa-n stepa
Si-asteapta un semn nechezat.
Larry
Un magar se-namorase
de o vajnica sireapa
ba i-a cerut si mina,
copita dinainte.
o sa-ti pun coarne tzoapa,
tu esti neam prost,
eu nobila sorginte.
Morala:
de promis promit cei nobili
vorba s-o tii e cam burghez
toparceanu
sa nu ma banuiesti de rima
h
Deci dupa ihaha sa deducem ca-ti asumi rolu animalului aluia cu urechi
lungi care nu-i iepure?
h
93142 | posted by at 16:18 |
Friday, February 27, 2004
amintiri din zile trecute
last modified Dec 17, 2004 at 12:12
Charles Bukowski
(sau ;)
Hank mon amour)
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
|