tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33019812.post809161313127047302..comments2024-01-15T05:26:06.518+00:00Comments on THOUGHTS OF XANADU: goKubla Khanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11973223751363547679noreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33019812.post-91105608716713813732009-03-20T18:27:00.000+00:002009-03-20T18:27:00.000+00:00I am so happy to hear this! I was so sure that you...I am so happy to hear this! I was so sure that you would love it, I instantly thought of you when I saw it.Roxanahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05650840495095863057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33019812.post-73793357793458518482009-03-20T18:22:00.000+00:002009-03-20T18:22:00.000+00:00Roxana hiyou don't know how but this poem that you...Roxana hi<BR/><BR/>you don't know how but this poem that you so kindly posted here has saved me! what a poem. there is such music here, such sadness, so much of everything.......<BR/><BR/>plz don't even think that i meant the Popa poem in reference to my own. after i wrote 'go', i thought of the Popa poem. it was in my head somewhere.Kubla Khanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11973223751363547679noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33019812.post-6641354424314629532009-03-20T07:23:00.000+00:002009-03-20T07:23:00.000+00:00In fact, I have been told that 'jigar' in Urdu mea...In fact, I have been told that 'jigar' in Urdu means heart! Anywyas, it means "something" - thats all that matters!Jigarhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10415921549462017325noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33019812.post-22622819893629824542009-03-19T22:53:00.000+00:002009-03-19T22:53:00.000+00:00oh, I don't know how I missed that Vasko Popa poem...oh, I don't know how I missed that Vasko Popa poem, it is very good, indeed, and very intense. you are right, your style is somewhat similar (not a copy!). I think there is much more violence in his, especially towards the end, yours is diminished by the use of a more metaphorical, 'literary' style.<BR/><BR/>a friend of mine posted this today, I wonder whether you like it, it has a very alluring aggressivity and directness:<BR/><BR/>Mostar Rains (I)<BR/><BR/>1.<BR/>i loved a certain svetlana in mostar one autumn<BR/>if only i knew whom she was sleeping with now<BR/>i'd chop her i'd chop her<BR/>if only i knew who was kissing her now<BR/>i'd knock his i'd knock his<BR/>ah if i knew who was picking apricots<BR/>still unripe in me<BR/><BR/>2.<BR/>i was telling her you are a child you are green<BR/>i was telling her everything<BR/>and she wept on my hands at may words<BR/>i was telling her you are an angel you are a devil<BR/>your body is ripe don't pretend to be a saint<BR/>and all night blue rains were raining over mostar<BR/><BR/><BR/>3.<BR/>there was no sun no birds there was nothing<BR/>she asked me whether i had a brother what i studied<BR/>whether i was a croat whether i love rilke she asked everything<BR/>she asked me if i could do the same with every girl god forbid<BR/>she asked me in a low voice if i loved her<BR/>and blue rains were falling over mostar<BR/>she was luxuriously white in the dark od the room<BR/>but she wouldn't give she wouldn't<BR/>or she didn't dare devil knows<BR/><BR/><BR/>4.<BR/>it is autumn that dead autumn in window-panes<BR/>her eyes a bird her thighs a doe<BR/>she had a mole a mole she had i dare not say<BR/>she had a mole small and violet or so it seems to me<BR/>she asked me if i was a croat if i had a girl<BR/>if i loved rilke she asked me everything<BR/>while in the window like christmas bells of my childhood water<BR/>drops rang<BR/>and a night song softly along downtown<BR/>hey suleman mother's son<BR/><BR/><BR/>5.<BR/>she spread her years upon the floor<BR/>her eyes were full ripe peaches<BR/>her breasts were warm as puppies<BR/>i told her she was stupid she was putting on airs<BR/>svetlana svetlana do you know this is the atomic age<BR/>de gaulle gagarin and such nonsense i told her everything<BR/>she wept she wept<BR/><BR/><BR/>6.<BR/>i took her to the bazaar dives<BR/>i toke her everywhere<BR/>i hid her in caves carried her to a balcony<BR/>under bridges we played hide and seek the neretva a filly<BR/>under an old bridge i spoke of crnjanski<BR/>how marvelous he is how marvelous<BR/><BR/><BR/>7.<BR/>i drew her knees in wet sand<BR/>she laughed so merrily so innocently like first lilies<BR/>i took her to mosques karadjoz bey dead too dead<BR/>under his heavy tomb<BR/>so shantich's grave she carried some flowers cried a little<BR/>like a women<BR/>i took her everywhere<BR/><BR/><BR/>8.<BR/>it is this summer now<BR/>i am now quite different i write some poems<BR/>in a newspaper half a column gor pero zubac and nothing more<BR/>and all the night blue rains were falling over mostar<BR/>she was luxuriously white in the dark od the room<BR/>but she wouldn't give she wouldn't<BR/>od she didn't dare devil knows<BR/><BR/><BR/>9.<BR/>that sky those clouds those roofs<BR/>the pale sun of the hungry boy over mostar<BR/>i can't forget<BR/>nor her hair her small tongue like a strawberry<BR/>her laughter which could hurt like a curse<BR/>that player in the chapel on the white fill<BR/>god is great she said he will outlive us<BR/>nor those heavy blue rains<BR/>oh autumn her barren autumn<BR/><BR/><BR/><BR/>Pero Zubac: Mostar Rains/ Translation: Branko Momchilovicj<BR/><BR/>you can find the whole poem here:<BR/>http://orwell.ru/library/others/Pero_Zubac/english/e_kisheRoxanahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05650840495095863057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33019812.post-68976155887333854582009-03-19T19:18:00.000+00:002009-03-19T19:18:00.000+00:00Atenea, hithanks.Jigar....thanks for visiting. fro...Atenea, hi<BR/><BR/>thanks.<BR/><BR/>Jigar....thanks for visiting. from what i have been told, jigar means liver. you have a fascinating name that works well in Urdu.<BR/><BR/>Roxana, hi. after reading your furious Time poem, i must admit this one is so weak. am glad you like it. have you read Vasko Popa? there is a poem of his on my blog. my poem in itself is a weak, very weak and feeble echo of that poem. do read that one.Kubla Khanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11973223751363547679noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33019812.post-68384904076822331902009-03-19T15:33:00.000+00:002009-03-19T15:33:00.000+00:00and how I like this! for me, the second stanza 'wo...and how I like this! for me, the second stanza 'works' best, whatever this 'work' means here. perhaps it means that the images echo in me so strongly that I can make them 'mine', as if I had written the lines myself.Roxanahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05650840495095863057noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33019812.post-37922010944463566902009-03-18T07:35:00.000+00:002009-03-18T07:35:00.000+00:00I loved this poem, especially these lines....-go a...I loved this poem, especially these lines....<BR/><BR/>-go and unremember the poems we read together<BR/>-the discreet nostalgia for old trains and attics<BR/>-the pain of a lonely owl hooting<BR/><BR/>in fact, all your poems echo melancholy and solitude. I feel that beneath the sadness there is a sense of "want" in your poems. As if, the person who could pamper has left and all that remains is longing, and the indiscreet things one does in that phase -- be it writing poems (like in one of your poems, you write: So must I write a poem every time you leave me?)<BR/><BR/>I like reading them nevertheless!Jigarhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10415921549462017325noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33019812.post-65258355007912315782009-03-17T23:44:00.000+00:002009-03-17T23:44:00.000+00:00It's the best I've read from you so far. Especiall...It's the best I've read from you so far. Especially the first stanza, with that furious set of well-chosen images of calmness. That's not easily accomplished.Lupehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12396093043812849925noreply@blogger.com