Ode To Maya
On Neruda's tomb, we lied,
Soft the moon of august sounds a cicada,
Blue the fester hue of silence, flags of Iran,
Green for the broken soil,
White for the broken toe,
Red for the broken song,
Rejoice, my fellows on the open road,
Breathe!
… for there is no sound so…
There, the journey unfolds before your eyes,
Surely, you have seen this film before,
The winding roads with the swaying trees of gold,
The constant winds rustling the tired leaves,
The standard drone of the quiet engine, in a train,
Watching the villages shifting away in stained windows of poison,
Hearing the same crooked Mexican cricket chirpings,
O Look! The sea! The sea where fevered seagulls fly,
No more, I ate the sacred cow in the pavilion of Venus,
She, bones softer than feathers exactly,
Five thousand six hundred and sixty eight miles,
Away, I bet on the Kop, for the Kop, Kop, Kop…
A pop mop lop bop xop qop hop vop cop
Why the machine flowers when you turn snow chalk sorrows
Into the Cova d'en Xoroi, into Lin Daiyue,
Go forth, go the netherworld horse-faced escort,
Holding a lantern, hoofed to magic balls of fire,
Illuminating ink shadows of new age crows,
Not pure but butter hot cross buns smoking,
Bow not to false gods of dreams,
Real smoke floating out of ears,
Eyes sealed, lips locked, noses frozen,
She walked, a step in turn, each,
Heavier than a ball of stone, six feet in diameter,
She sank, slower than 2 cm of sugar cane tears,
For she must have shed buckets of salt,
By the way she coughs her handkerchiefs of blood,
Go, Maya, wet your twigs of tambourine a blazing,
Hot as leather, whipped, cream of hell…
How about a diamond studded cock?
Does he sing Spanish songs?
No, he lays a platinum egg once a fortnight,
Jazz, medicine for the bland blackened dumb Nexus bride,
Most tragic heroine of despair,
Didn't you drink his blood when the Wednesday snake bit his finger?
Remember Rangoon?
Yes.
Do you prefer a bitter helium sunny honey cup acupuncture antidote to cure your cancer of sour bones?
Tell me.
Will we meet on the Road to Pagan?
Rome 2005? 19 hours of waiting for May in June.
No more.
1998年圣诞在吉隆坡跟红河兄弟。
- Re: 马来西亚诗人红河的诗歌选摘posted on 05/24/2007
红河是真正的诗人. 诗人得要常生活在the teeth of abyss (红河语). well-fed的诗人通常写不出好诗, Wallace Stevens除外.
不过, 玛雅要是读这首玛雅颂最好将它放在最后, 并加一点self-mocking的开场白, 效果才会好. :-)
他的credentials有些什么呢? - Re: 马来西亚诗人红河的诗歌选摘posted on 05/24/2007
对了, 玛雅好像长得很像西班牙, 有那方面的血统吗? :-) - RE: 马来西亚诗人红河的诗歌选摘posted on 03/02/2011
回复 玛雅ti
- Re: 马来西亚诗人红河的诗歌选摘posted on 03/03/2011
I Am A Poet in My Sleep
I'm a poet in my sleep,
Awake I'm dull.
Asleep I seek your mouth
Where lips are lounging
Awake I play ping pong.
Asleep I wander deserts in gauze gowns.
Awake I smile politely.
Asleep I dive to the bottom
Where the fish arrange their bodies
In an ocean alphabet
Words on white paper
Can move from mind to mind
Like flames from roof to roof in word
Not one word spoken
- posted on 09/22/2016
他写了很多,从前也放咖啡了,今天找居然都没了。。。这是另外一首:Let me be an elephant, a tiger, no lessMa Mia, Ma Maya, Empress China,May I be executed, may I be electrocuted,For I have seen the most ugly lady today,I say ugly, if ugly implies sickness,For I touched her ivory tooth and ma fingers broke,I say ugly, if ugly defines disease,For I kissed her on the nose and ma lips froze,I say ugly, if ugly refines beauty,For I spoke to her and she became a wall,I say ugly, if ugly becomes rain,For I took her belly for an umbrella,I say ugly, if ugly confines pain,For though she was draped with a royal headress,Vulgar orange satin flag with tiny bells at the edges,She was but a sixty six year old African queen,Wrinkles on her forehead, rough and rutted,Even if she had Cleopatra's beauty secrets,Even if her ears were not so big,Even if her legs were not like trees,Even if her hose were not so long,Even if she had been white instead of black,Ma Mia, Ma Maya, Empress Wong,Forgive me ma rashfulness, but you shouldn'tReally be engaged in such a dangerous sport.Elephant riding is more lethal than a warm .45.An Elephant, when it is enraged or jealous,It would run amok, it would go crazy,It would entwine you, Jade Maiden, curling its trunk,As would a python, it would have crushed you,As would a pillion, it would have brushed you,Away, with a wriggle of her toe,For you know, she outweighs you by a ton,And who could have blamed her?Is there beauty in ugliness?Is there ugliness in beauty?Without ugliness, there will be no beauty.And I pray, you will not attempt such games anymore,For the good of mankind, pawned to Li Po,Saying, The white elephant is safer,Fifty five thousand five hundred and fifty miles from the Atlantic,The beast would have hurled you to Capricorn's liver garbage truck,Carrying you to the far side of reason,I know all these repetitious naggings are boring and unnecessary,But, for your safety, for your treaty,If ma tongue be severed, if ma hands be stumps,If you turn me away, if you hate me forever,Being but a baby monkey, I had been told,Not to play with elephants, or tigers, or the Devil,Dancing the mantra symphony for a quarter,Of autumn, of love, of rhythm,We have only known for nine days maybe,And I know exactly how you feel about me, what a pity,Questions and doubts arising by the dozen,For I know you will never appear again,When you know the truth about me,In another ten days, when the parcel of fire arrives,Three parts of a book, half a song, images of gray,I will not worry, if you choose to go,For I know, we are really very far away,In distance, in ambitions, in beliefs, in lifestyles, in fate,You: A fatalist, I: A romantic.Isn't life a gamble? Isn't death a drug? Isn't God a woman?Did you in your entire life imagine that you will be readingThis note of independence, proclaiming liberty to be a crowDid you in your entire life imagine that you will be treadingThe waves of technological breakthroughs pegging you to thoughtsAbout people you had never met, never knew, never smelled,How long does it take to know a person? the tiger asked,Happy it could be in the same plane as the lunar maiden,Contaminated by science, the moon has been killed, poetry died,For how many giant leaps can mankind take?How many steps would it take to walk to the North Star?There, I would be at peace, not constant, not tungsten,Where I would have no need for the material paradises,More hypocritical than a billion Chinese pigeonsMarching toward the twilight Neptune,No longer knowing how to deliver letters,Their wings do not listen, replaced by giant iron birds,Flying people, words, fig lunches and pig dinners,Who would resurrect innocence?Who would appreciate the drunkard who drowned,Trying to catch the moon on the river?If you feel hot, will I not burn?If you feel cold, will I not turn?For who would come between emotion, confusion and pollution,So naked, so bare, so open,I plead, open, open the door of your soul,I plead, open, open the window of your spirit,For if window be soul be spirit be door,I will fulfil the promise in five months, if I'm not withdrawn,And I will be satisfied when I remember you,Thinking about the nightmare trishaw,Passing through the furnace of rebirth,For oil floats on mercury, yin on yang,The amalgam of opposites, melting butterfly differences,Shifting time into space, evaporating toad accents,Everything has to be nothing to be anything,No more, no less, no core, no jazz,Ma Mia, Ma Maya, Empress Wong,Don't worry, don't doubt, don't question,One day, you will be ma Jiaozi.Thank you. You look just like you, just as i suspected, great!
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(c) 2010 Maya Chilam Foundation