Wednesday, November 13, 2024

i lie upon the earth, my lover, my grave
and press my ear to her boundless chest
in hollow beats, in roots that crave
i feel my pulse and kiss it

i strip dead bark from a tree and life pours forth
as my heart starts beating through my hands
to your chest i press my palms

feel me, understand my body, that it’s not real
no form i keep, no name, no sound
i am decay and i am flame

we lie on the ground as i gaze at the world upside down
i move a branch over you and pull it
through your lips, the world flows back to me
as a pain rises in my back and wakes me

(sorry for the poor quality)

Friday, October 18, 2024

Midgarthormr - Jorge Luis Borges

Endless is the sea. Endless the fish, the green  
cosmic serpent that encircles all,  
green serpent and green sea, the earth, a ball,  
circular as it is. The mouth bites clean  
the tail that comes to it from distant ends,  
from the opposite shore. The powerful ring  
that holds us is storms, light it does bring,  
shadows and noise, reflections of reflections.  
It is also the amphisbæna. Endless eyes  
gaze at each other without fear or dread.  
Each head sniffs grossly at the iron cries  
of war, the spoils of what the dead have shed.  
Dreamed in Iceland. The open seas have seen it,  
and feared it; it will return, condemned  
upon the ship that's cursed, built and hemmed  
with nails from the dead that claw and fit.  
Its inconceivable shadow will rise high  
over the pale earth on the day of great  
wolves and the splendid agony of fate,  
of that twilight which no one dares to name.  
Its imagined image stains us with its guilt.  
At dawn, in a nightmare, I saw its hilt. 

gpt'ye çevirttim ingilizcesini bulamıyom... aslı:

Sin fin el mar. Sin fin el pez, la verde
serpiente cosmogónica que encierra,
verde serpiente y verde mar, la tierra,
como ella circular. La boca muerde
la cola que le llega desde lejos,
desde el otro confín. El fuerte anillo
que nos abarca es tempestades, brillo,
sombra y rumor, reflejos de reflejos.
Es también la anfisbena. Eternamente
se miran sin horror los muchos ojos.
Cada cabeza husmea crasamente
los hierros de la guerra y los despojos.
Soñado fue en Islandia. Los abiertos
mares lo han divisado y lo han temido;
volverá con el barco maldecido
que se arma con las uñas de los muertos.
Alta será su inconcebible sombra
sobre la tierra pálida en el día
de altos lobos y espléndida agonía
del crepúsculo aquel que no se nombra.
Su imaginaria imagen nos mancilla.
Hacia el alba lo vi en la pesadilla.

Friday, May 31, 2024

notice how not a cloud is in sight yet snow descends
relentless, as never before
the night is a deep, indigo abyss
in the water i am
above me, eternal stars

i look up and my vision fades,
stars and snow are merging into one
it’s as if the universe is pouring down on me
like a branch reaching for the sun

close your eyes, immerse yourself
and the waters shall recede, taking you
the snow, the stars, the universe – everything
where you belong


and so i close my eyes

gone we are
only silence remains
and the dreams of a nascent universe

Tuesday, May 7, 2024

Nightmare - Jorge Luis Borges

I'm dreaming of an ancient king. His crown
Is iron and his gaze is dead. There are
No faces like that now. And never far
His firm sword guards him, loyal like his hound.
I do not know if he is from Norway
Or Northumberland. But from the north, I know.
His tight red beard covers his chest. And no,
His blind gaze doesn't hurl a gaze my way.
From what extinguished mirror, from what ship
On seas that were his gambling wilderness
Could this man, gray and grave, venture a trip
Forcing on me his past and bitterness?
I know he dreams and judges me, is drawn
Erect. Day breaks up night. He hasn't gone.

Sunday, April 21, 2024

Outside on the wide meadows, in the fields of young dreams
Soon the foggy sun will rise from its slumber
Morning dew in those times tastes like tears made from aniseed,
The one who cries knows that he won't live to see his yesterday again

Friday, April 5, 2024

Black Hill and Silent Island - The gathering of deer


the gift of keep: be it things, people or memories - you will never lose anything again

Tuesday, March 19, 2024

Trouvere Medieval Minstrels - Douce Dame Jolie


Apparently I added this to a playlist of mine on may 26th, 2022, but I have no memory of it. I thought I only knew the covers by Annwn and by Munir Beken and August Denhard.
Doesn't it sound like Vàli, a little?

Monday, February 26, 2024

Happy as Lazzaro, 2018, dir. Alice Rohrwacher










The music is leaving, close the door!

Saturday, February 24, 2024

Giacomo Leopardi - Brutus the Younger

O foolish virtue, empty mists,
The realms of shadows, are thy schools,
And at thy heels repentance follows fast.
To you, ye marble gods
(If ye in Phlegethon reside, or dwell
Above the clouds), a mockery and scorn
Is the unhappy race,
Of whom you temples ask,
And fraudulent the law that you impose.
Say, then, does earthly piety provoke
The anger of the gods?
O Jove, dost thou protect the impious?
And when the storm-cloud rushes through the air,
And thou thy thunderbolts dost aim,
Against the just dost thou impel the sacred flame?
Unconquered Fate and stern necessity
Oppress the feeble slaves of Death:
Unable to avert their injuries,
The common herd endure them patiently.
But is the ill less hard to bear,
Because it has no remedy?
Does he who knows no hope no sorrow feel?
The hero wages war with thee,
Eternal deadly war, ungracious Fate,
And knows not how to yield; and thy right hand,
Imperious, proudly shaking off,
E'en when it weighs upon him most,
Though conquered, is triumphant still,
When his sharp sword inflicts the fatal blow;
And seeks with haughty smile the shades below.

Who storms the gates of Tartarus,
Offends the gods.
Such valor does not suit, forsooth,
Their soft, eternal bosoms; no?
Or are our toils and miseries,
And all the anguish of our hearts,
A pleasant sport, their leisure to beguile?
Yet no such life of crime and wretchedness,
But pure and free as her own woods and fields,
Nature to us prescribed; a queen
And goddess once. Since impious custom, now,
Her happy realm hath scattered to the winds,
And other laws on this poor life imposed,
Will Nature of fool-hardiness accuse
The manly souls, who such a life refuse?

Of crime, and their own sufferings ignorant,
Serene old age the beasts conducts
Unto the death they ne'er foresee.
But if, by misery impelled, they sought
To dash their heads against the rugged tree,
Or, plunging headlong from the lofty rock,
Their limbs to scatter to the winds.
No law mysterious, misconception dark,
Would the sad wish refuse to grant.
Of all that breathe the breath of life,
You, only, children of Prometheus, feel
That life a burden hard to bear;
Yet, would you seek the silent shores of death,
If sluggish fate the boon delay,
To you, alone, stern Jove forbids the way.

And thou, white moon, art rising from the sea,
That with our blood is stained;
The troubled night dost thou survey,
And field, so fatal unto Italy.
On brothers' breasts the conqueror treads;
The hills with fear are thrilled;
From her proud heights Rome totters to her fall.
And smilest thou upon the dismal scene?
Lavinia's children from their birth,
And all their prosperous years,
And well-earned laurels, hast thou seen;
And thou wilt smile, with ray unchanged,
Upon the Alps, when, bowed with grief and shame,
The haughty city, desolate and lone,
Beneath the tread of Gothic hordes shall groan.

Behold, amid the naked rocks,
Or on the verdant bough, the beast and bird,
Whose breasts are ne'er by thought or memory stirred,
Of the vast ruin take no heed,
Or of the altered fortunes of the world;
And when the humble herdsman's cot
Is tinted with the earliest rays of dawn,
The one will wake the valleys with his song,
The other, o'er the cliffs, the frightened throng
Of smaller beasts before him drive.
O foolish race! Most wretched we, of all!
Nor are these blood-stained fields,
These caverns, that our groans have heard,
Regardful of our misery;
Nor shines one star less brightly in the sky.
Not the deaf kings of heaven or hell,
Or the unworthy earth,
Or night, do I in death invoke,
Or thee, last gleam the dying hour that cheers,
The voice of coming ages. I no tomb
Desire, to be with sobs disturbed, or with
The words and gifts of wretched fools adorned.
The times grow worse and worse;
And who, unto a vile posterity,
The honor of great souls would trust,
Or fit atonement for their wrongs?
Then let the birds of prey around me wheel:
And let my wretched corpse
The lightning blast, the wild beast tear;
And let my name and memory melt in air!

Giacomo Leopardi

Wednesday, February 21, 2024

Eclogues by Virgil. (I stole this book :O then someone else stole it from me. karma)

Tuesday, February 20, 2024

there was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
the earth, and every common sight,
to me did seem
apparelled in celestial light,
the glory and the freshness of a dream.
it is not now as it hath been of yore;—
turn wheresoe'er i may,
by night or day.

the things which i have seen i now can see no more.

that.

and this would be the perfect last post lol