Стих4ета.
Това е името на раздела.
Ела при нас - трогателно несръчен, смутен, какъвто си, такъв бъди - тук, само тук, щастливецо измъчен, стихът ти жив ще се роди!
Това е описанието на този раздел.
Изглежда ми странно. Не съм сигурен дали го разбирам напълно.
Малко пресилено звучи.
Както казах, не съм сигурен какво е предназначението на този раздел. Дали е само за собствени произведения?
По-надолу ще прочетете произведения, които не са мои, не са и ваши. Те са на всички.
Може би ще ги оцените.
Сигурно в момента съм просто на такава вълна.
Сега е момента да спрете да четете темата. Въпроса "Who gives a fuck?!"... Задайте го, търсете отговора. Той е за раздел "Философия". Не за тук.
Charles Bukowski Poems...
Ще кажете - Кво толкова бе, кво си го заобичал тоя?! Ето едно от произведенията му. Мисля, че отговаря точно на този въпрос...
Who In The Hell Is Tom Jones?
I was shacked with a
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Тук има и мъже нали? Масата от потребители е от женски род. Не ме замеряйте с камъни, не се оплаквам ;)
Ta... за мъжете... Има една поема... Колко от вас са се чувствали по същия начин?
Неее... няма да има дълги, подробни анализи! Няма да има есета, сичинения-разсъждения и литературно-интерпретативни съчинения. Винаги съм ги мразел. Никога не съм схващал идеята им. Защо трябва нещо, което да речем, само да речем - е просто гениално - защо трябва да се анализира. Защо над 8 реда стихотворение е необходимо да се кандидат-студентска тема, в рамките на 6-10 листа? Така и не разбрах...
Всъщност, разбрах. Поемите на този човек ми дадоха отговор на този въпрос.
И все пак... смятам, че гениалността им, съвършенството и пълнотата им говорят предостатъчно за тях, за да им необходима допълнителна рецензия.
Въпросите-коментари, преди всяко стихотворение няма да съдържат този ужасяващ анализ.
Всеки сам прави анализ. За себе си. Защото той така чувства тези поеми. Останалото е чужда интерпретация. Тя е ненужна.
Колко от вас мъже са се чувствали така?
BEER
from: Love is A Mad Dog From Hell
I don't know how many bottles of beer
I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I dont know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
"what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can fuck me!"
the female is durable
she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.
while we are going mad
they are out
dancing and laughing
with horney cowboys.
well, there's beer
sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
rolling
clanking
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.
beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is.
Възможно ли е нещо толкова просто. Така близо до всеки, така... човешко - да бъде толкова красиво. Красиво, заради простотата си...
AS CRAZY AS I EVER WAS
from: Love is A Dog From Hell
drunk and writing poems
at 3 a.m.
what counts now
is one more
tight pussy
before the light
tilts out
drunk and writing poems
at 3:15 a.m.
some people tell me that I'm
famous.
what am I doing alone
drunk and writing poems at
3:18 a.m.?
I'm as crazy as I ever was
they don't understand
that I haven't stopped hanging out of 4th floor
windows by my heels-
I still do
right now
sitting here
writing this down
I am hanging by my heels
floors up:
68, 72, 101,
the feeling is the
same:
relentless
unheroic and
necessary
sitting here
drunk and writing poems
at 3:24 a.m.
Не зная, не зная как може да се разтълкува това... Може би по 10 различни начина. Зависи какво е настроението ни, зависи какво ни е вълнувало напоследък. Зависи кое е Предходното, коя е предишната поема...
ANOTHER BED
from: Love is a Mad Dog from Hell
another bed
another women
more curtains
another bathroom
another kitchen
other eyes
other hair
other
feet and toes.
everybodys looking.
the eternal search.
you stay in bed
she gets dressed for work
and you wonder what happened
to the last one
and the one after that...
it's all so comfortable-
this love making
this sleeping together
the gentle kindness...
after she leaves you get up and use her
bathroom,
it's all so intimate and strange.
you go back to bed and
sleep another hour.
when you leave its with sadness
but you'll se her again
whether it works or not.
you drive down to the shore and sit
in your car. it's almost noon.
-another bed, other ears, other
ear rings, other mouths, other slippers, other
dresses
colors, doors, phone numbers.
you were once strong enough to live alone.
for a man nearing sixty you should be more
sensible.
you start the car and shift,
thinking, I'll phone Jeanie when I get in,
I haven't seen her since Friday.
Може би всичко трябва да бъде сложено едно след друго. В оригинал. Това са избрани творби.
Темата - жени... Приятели. Омразя. Любов...
Какво още виждате тук?
BAD TIMES AT THE 3RD AND VERMONT HOTEL
from: You Get So Alone At Times that It Just Makes Sense
Alabam was a sneak and a theif and he came to my
room when I was drunk and
each time I got up he would shove me back
down.
you prick, I tole him, you know I can take you!
he just shoved me down
again.
I finally caught him a good one, right over the
temple
and he backed off and
left.
it was a couple of days later
I got even: I fucked his
girl.
then I went down and knocked on his
door.
well, Alabam, I fucked your women and now I'm going to
kick you all the way to
hell!
the poor guy started crying, he put his hands over his
face and just cried
I stood there and watched
him.
then i left him there, i went back to
my room.
we were all alkies and none of us had jobs, all we had
was each other.
even then, my so-called women was in some bar or
somewhere, i hadn't seen her in a couple of
days.
I had a bootle of port
left.
i uncorked it and took it down to Alabam's
room.
said, how about a drink,
Rebel?
he looked up, stood up, went for two glasses.
Не е ли тъжно... че нечий животи наистина преминават.... просто така...
THOSE GIRLS WE FOLLOWED HOME
from: You Get So Alone At Times that It Just MAkes Sense
in junior high the two prettiest girls were
Irene and Louise,
they were sisters;
Irene was a year older, a little taller
but it was difficult to choose between
them;
they were not only pretty but they were
astonishingly beautiful
so beautiful
that the boys stayed away from them;
they were terrified of Irene and
Louise
who weren't aloof at all;
even friendlier than most
but
who seemed to dress a bit
differently than the other girls;
they always wore high heels'
silk stockings,
blouses,
skirts,
new outfits
each day;
and'
one afternoon
my buddy, Baldy, and i followed them
home from school;
you see, we were kind of
the bad guys on the grounds
so it was
more or less
expected,
and
it was soomething:
walking along ten or twelve feet behind them;
we didnt say anything
we just followed
watching
their voultuous swaying,
the balance of the
haunches.
we liked it so much that we
followed them home from school
every
day.
when they'd go into their house
we'd stand outside on the sidewalk
smoking cigarettes and talking.
"someday". I told Baldy.
"they are going to invite us inside their
house and they are going to
fuck us."
"you really think so?"
"sure."
now
50 years later
I can tell you
they never did
-never mind all the stories we
told the guys;
yes, it's a dream that
keepds you going
then and
now.
Айде стига толкова
Обещах да няма анализи ;)
http://www.charlesbukowski.20m.com/bukowski_poems.html - източника
http://www.poemhunter.com/charles-bukowski/ - всички произведения
Have fun!
