[supernova]

Топ-3 моих самых любимых стихотворных произведений.

1. Стихотворение legends некого безымянного автора с ЖЖ.

he dreams of conquerors

He dreams of conquerors.
Of destroyers and builders and kings
too ambitious for kindness - burning
temples and scattered gold, broken
bones and ships to Africa. It's like a
photograph developing in his sleep,
colors slowly surfacing from nonexistence,
outlines darkening, edges becoming
sharp enough to cut oneself upon.
They seep through his nights and dawns,
centuries worth of cruelty and courage,
of god and glory. When he wakes, it's
the feeling of victory that he remembers
the clearest, that hedonistic satisfaction,
the vulgar sensation of submission.
(c) gloved

2. Поэма "Путями Каина" Волошина.

В начале был мятеж,
Мятеж был против Бога
И Бог был мятежом.
И все, что есть, началось чрез мятеж.

3. Bluebird by Bukowski.

there's a bluebird in my heart

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

Бонус: одно из моих любимейших стихотворений e.e. cummings'а (и первое прочитанное у него).

love is a deeper season than reason

yes is a pleasant country:
if's wintry
(my lovely)
let's open the year

both is the very weather
(not either)
my treasure,
when violets appear

love is a deeper season
than reason;
my sweet one
(and april's where we're)

@темы: you speak as one who fed on poetry