there are times when i just love reading poems. even if i dont
understand most of what they mean... it's just soothing. sometimes even
amusing. and inspiring. just like most things, i find that it helps me
dream. and dreaming is just about my favorite past time (i hope one day
ill find a job that will allow me to do it for a living).
here are a few poems that i've been reading and re-reading the past few days. enjoy!
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From the collection of Alfredo Navarro Salanga, untitled
What is there to cure, which one is more afflicted
with madness, the mind perceiving or the situation
perceived: In going back, Doctor, I pass through tunnels,
each one longer than the last, filled with hands that
grab at my hair, my fingers, my toes, my nails, my teeth,
my ears, the parts that come off easily with a strong
twist, a strong tug, my past is peopled by cannibals, I think,
or mechanics maybe, have I been taken apart to be put together
again, like a new doll with new limbs, do you want me to go
back to these tunnels, I am trying to keep myself together
Would you like me to open my head, this is where I carry
my goods, I am a vendor of good tidings only, there is nothing
here to be bothered about, nothing to be washed away with a
prescription in pig latin, would you like a bottle of peace,
sprinkle it over declarations of war, sprinkle it over guns,
cannons and bombs, sprinkle it over congresses, senates and
parliaments, sprinkle it over the board rooms of corporations
and over all their cliches, their logic, their charts, their
endless statistics, their formulas, their project feasibility studies.
Is there hunger and pain in the world, here are the keys
I carry, here are the keys to the granaries, the warehouses,
the groceries, the supermarkets, the bakeries, the ripening rooms
the slaughterhouses, the poultries, the pigpens, the restaurants.
Here are the keys to the hospitals, the clinics, the drugstores,
the sanatoriums, the health spas, the houses of doctors and nurses.
Madness, my friend, is not a door closing in onthe mind,
it is doors closing out people from food, doors closing in on their
mouths, hospitals doors closing them out, doors closing in
on their wounds.
This is a short street through which we march.
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The second poem intrigues me. I dont quite get it, but I have my guesses. What do you think it means?
C-Tramp Blues by Ricardo de Ungria
Because you are dead I am late
beaten to the exits
heightening still mere models
of the world and shelves of fears
touching still to alter the polish of stains
and the folds of wounds and colors
young and ravaged museums of the night.
A whiff of final causes left your hands
with black webs and secret boundaries.
I hear you stripping naked in the universe.
Intentions to know more the unsure
levels of memories wither into tense
strokes of farewells: these weights
of contradictions, these close transparencies
that leave no form but the rubbings
against time: these the different
rooms where we found each other
the absences that increased their odors,
the composite cells,
the mental favors tapering
and preserved where we placed
to restore the verge to the visibles.
It is a harsh chord that strings intimacies.
One place after another doubles the parts.
Working is rough marriage: the random
pieces too far to be possible to each other
are lesser fables of romance in this world
-yet they spill from our hands:
ruddy, silent, and continuous.
Perishing to brighten the fires
we are still the fires that return
the phantoms to the heirs of light.
We are the same chart of disharmony, flesh
of no flesh, our laughter bronze pier of the dark.
Songs hang art without ropes, and the blur of dying
spreads as if poured without numbers
on sheets of irregular waters and widths.
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my
guess is, its about forensic scientists. ehehe. but im not quite sure.
but its really cool... i love the line "i hear you stripping naked
into the universe."
i love other poems, but i'll post 'em next time. typing can get exhausting too after awhile.
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