Gay-Serbia.com | Diskusije

Naravno, mogla sam ovo da stavim i u "kulturu i umetnost", ali sam resila da prodrzam Estrogen koji opet posustaje.
Naravno, postoji realna mogucnost da ova tema bude pojedena od strane mnogo nebitnijih, tzv. "jednorecenicnih" (1 post=jedna osakacena recenica)
Ukoliko se to desilo,EYA ili Goraan bice zamoljeni da premeste temu u "Kulturu".

Do tada, zanimajte se:

http://www.melswebs.com/poetry.htm

sorry, hani, ali mislim da ovim neces prodrmati estrogen

Sensation

Par les soirs bleus d'été, j'irai dans les sentiers,
Picoté par les blés, fouler l'herbe menue,
Reveur, j'en sentirai la fraîcheur a mes pieds.
Je laisserai le vent baigner ma tete nue.

Je ne parlerai pas, je ne penserai rien :
Mais l'amour infini me montera dans l'âme,
Et j'irai loin, bien loin, comme un bohémien,
Par la nature, heureux comme avec une femme.

(On the blue summer evenings, I shall go down the paths,
Getting pricked by the corn, crushing the short grass :
In a dream I shall feel its coolness on my feet.
I shall let the wind bathe my bare head.

I shall not speak, I shall think about nothing :
But endless love will mount in my soul ;
And I shall travel far, very far, like a gipsy,
Through the countryside - as happy as if I were with a woman)

Arthur Rimbaud

Ajde, iskopala sam jednu koja ocrtava raspolozenje, hebig, nije lez poezija, ali it's fine with me... I to je sve sto cete da cujete od mene.

SONET ZA SAFO

Steta sto se boginja pesme u tebi skriva
o divna kceri Lezbosa, o carobnice Safo;
umesto da radjas sinove sa nekim lafom,
ti o istom polu uz svoju harfu snivas!

Zar celog zivota da gajis te gresne strasti
i mazis po odajama device nastrane i gole,
zbog kojih si otvarala cak i pesnicke skole,
a samo jedan dobar mladic mogao te je spasti!

Pitam se gde su bili slavni grcki mladici,
trebalo ti je, bar jednom, na silu, noge dici!
Posle bi, kao pijana, jurila za njima i sama;

Jao, sto nekako danas ne padnes u ruke nama,
da ti, negde na travi, spojimo pete i celo,
da nikad vise ne pozelis zenu, i zensko telo!


(rece jedan coek)

(davno, davno)
(kada su trave bile zelene i zdrave)
(i nemojte mu zameriti)

Pesnikinje, Pesnici, gde ste?
Kada svi cute, evo ja cu da pevam:




P E S M A


Napisacu najbolju ljubavnu pesmu na svetu
sa desetak antologijskih stihova,
zbog koje cu dobijati pedesetak ljubavnih ponuda nedeljno
i maskirati se kada idem u prodavnicu subotom
i znaces sta sam htela da ti kazem.

Napisacu pesmu ciji pocetni slog pocinje sa LJU
a zavrsava se sa BAV i to vise puta,
samo da dobijem na vremenu i potrazim jos koju rec
u svojoj glavi a,
ti ces vec znati sta sam htela da ti kazem.

Ukrascu ljubavnu pesmu iz zbirke latino-americkih
nepoznatih pesnika
i predstaviti je kao svoju, tek nedavno napisanu,
u sred noci, na terasi ili za doruckom, posle umivanja,
ili u guzvi, u autobusu, i
znaces sta sam htela da ti kazem.

Napisacu najgoru ljubavnu pesmu na svetu,
bez premca u savremenoj lirici,
koje cu se i odreci, tvrdeci da je i nisam mnogo volela
i da necu vise tako lose da pisem nikada, ali
. . . ti ces znati sta sam htela da ti kazem.

(autor nepoznat)

Ovo je bilo lepo...
A da postavim neko novu trac temu za prodrmavanje lezbacastih duhova, hmmm?
Mi saffoidni ostajmo po strani, kao i svi koji vole poeziju u SCG.
Odoh ja u kuhinju, pa da , pa da, tek kada padne noc, postanem stvarno Ja .

U umoru jedne decembarske zore
spoznah pustinje tisinu i zvuk
okruzena maskama od gipsa koje
smeju se i placu, mrze i vole.

Sama na putu sivila i beznadja
idem, odmicem od pocetka
ne vidim cilj, ne osecam kraj
koji nosi mir, koju daje san.

Cuvar sopstvene tamne tajne
stiskam je u sebi, oblikujem zrno
od neiskazanih reci, prosutih suza
i proslih dana od kojih osteje prah...


Venecijanska maska skriva
i moje pravo lice, gubim se
u karnevalu neiskrenosti i lazi
Varam, dok smejem se i placem

Ne dam im blizu, ne dam
ni obrise pravih osecanja....



(autor nepoznat siroj javnosti)

(ovo bi pre mozda islo u "Outovanje Profesorki" ali dobro, For That British Spirit:)


ONA JE BILA OBICNA DEVOJKA


Ona je bila obicna devojka,
svi su ostali bili neobicni;
vikendom obicno nije bila u gradu.

Ona je bila sasvim obicna devojka,
jedino su stvari oko nje bile neobicne;
obicno je znala dobro da predaje
obicnu lekciju neobicne sadrzine
i obicno nije davala domace zadatke.

Ona je bila obicna devojka
koja je neobicno pricala o obicnoj tami Sohoa
i koja je neobicno tamanila obicne vocne sokove.

Ona je bila sasvim obicna devojka,
samo je po naravi bila neobicna;
obicno je znala da se ponasa
neobicno u obicnoj situaciji
i obicno je skrivala svoju neobicnost
neobicno otkrivajuci svoju obicnost.

Ona je bila obicna devojka,
samo je svet oko nje bio neobican;
obicno nisu videli neobicnost u njenoj obicnosti.

(autorka ima 16 god; Ona iz pesme je profesor eng.; pesma je nacin da se prva outuje drugoj)

@haiku za Nebesko Dete:
"Moje pesme i nisu
za usi obicnih ljudi:
one dosaptavaju
tajnu
srca Neba i Zemlje."

Khmm... pa onda cu ja.

Pala mi je na pamet poezija sladoleda;
Potrebno:
4 jajeta
4-6 kasika secera
2 vanil secera
2 kesice slaga
mleko za slag
cokolada, kakao, voce
Priprema: U zumanca dodati secer i vanil secer pa dobro umutiti.
Posebno umutiti slag a posebno sneg od belanaca,
pa te tri mase sjediniti i podeliti na dva dela;
u jedan staviti kakao ili cokoladu, u drugi vanilu ili sveze iseckano voce.
(sto se arome tice, mozete ustvari da kombinujete sa svim onim sto volite)
Odloziti u friz na par sati da se stegne.

A onda rekoh (a i neko je u Varjaci bio brzi), mozda bolje da sa Forumasima podelim poeziju pohovanih palacinki;
Fil: kackavalj, sunka (pecurke, masline po zelji) sitno seckano
Testo: standard
Pohovanje: brasno, jaja, prezle
Postupak: nafilovanu palacinku zamotati kao sarmu, ispanirati i prziti u dubokom ulju.
Sluziti toplo.
(za ovu pesmu ne moram da vam kazem mere, odokativna metoda, sve zavisi za koliko osoba pripremate i sta je trenutno raspolozivo u frizideru i kuhinji; takodje, ako pripremate za osobe koje don't eat meat, mislite i na njih)

Prijatno.

Da se ja updateujem, kad vec niko drugi nece.


Dearest One

When I am alone walking the street....., I come aware of the bodies. All the bodies: my friends and lovers wear, and strangers, passing in the street, swarming, surrounding me, supple and strong and swaying with unconscious grace: Serpent, I see..... your movements in theirs.

The eyes. They catch me..... in passing, fix on me their sorrow and singing joy, clear and conscious and sunk in dream: Serpent, you stare out at me from every face.

And I respond. Your devotee, how can I not? Turn and touch, now with the hand, again with a word.....and when the your call is strongest, there with the whole of my body, my most secret thoughts I worship you.

Where I find you: and I find you everywhere.


Kazite nesto, ja se bas trudim.

Ja snevam o zeni, vecoj neg sve zene,
Cija ce lepota biti tajna svima,
Sto je kao bozji dah u prostorima,
Koji ne dotace nikog osim mene.

Njen car da je moje veliko otkrice;
Da mirno prisustvo te cudesne zene
Ne razume vise niko osim mene,
Osim moje vecno ocarano bice.

I pred cijom gordom lepotom od sviju
Samo ja otvorih oci ocarane,
Isrce ko gluhi cvet iz gluhe strane,
Nevidljive kapi dok iz njega liju.

I njena lepota, tako nedogledna,
Neobescascena hvalama glupaka,
Da obidje tiho, kao snoplje zraka,
Sve tamne puteve duse, samo jedne.

I ja kljucar cudne lepote, da s tajnom
Srecom vidim jasno da je ova zena
Od istoga svetlog tkiva nacinjena
Od koga i bolni moj san o beskrajnom.

Jovan Ducic

Izvinjavam se sto uzurpiram lezbejski kutak, ali...

O besmrtna Afrodito sarenog trona
dete Zeusovo sto tkas lukavstva preklinjem te,
ne obuzimaj mi srce
tugom i bolom, o Gospodarice,
vec dodji ovamo, ukoliko nekad,
kad cujes moje vapaje iz daljine,
obratis paznju na njih, i ostavivsi dom svog oca
dodjes, upregnuvsi svoje zlatne kocije:
divni, brzi vrapci
te vuku iznad crne zemlje
masu svojim krilima brzo
od rajskog kroz vazduh
Iznenada su stigli, a ti si, O blazena gospo,
Sa osmijehom na besmrtnom licu,
Pitala sta sam sad propatila i
Zasto te zovem
I sta sam najvise zelela da se dogodi mom mahnitom srcu:
"Koga cu ponovo ubedjivati
da ponovo postane tvoj prijatelj? Ko ti je
O Sapfo, ucinio nepravdu?
Jer ukoliko zaista ona odleti, uskoro ce ona slediti,
I mada ona ne prima tvoje poklone davat ce ih
I ako te ne voli sad uskoro hoce,
Cak protiv svoje volje."
Dodji mi sad, oslobodi me
Teskih briga; postigni onoliko
Koliko moje srce zeli da postigne; I ti budi vojnik sa mnom.

Lepa tema, reko da je dignem. Imali neko nesto od (ne)poznate autorke da postuje?

Zanimljivo,zanimljivo...nema sta

vidim ovde i jovan ducic postao lezbejka

uvek je imao taj senzibilitet..

I met the years that have passed..

They nodded disapprovingly,
loving every wrong step I made.

And I knew then, as I know now..

I still went on making the very same strokes of the brush
on the preprinted canvas..

And what a mess..
What should have been, could have been..
What is was..all together..
in a pile of clay..
Faces I could have had, laughter I could have heard...

Statue..
and I could feel those long cold fingers..
sculpting me..inside and out..
leaving me to freeze into her shape..

I am not painting any more..left..frozen into her shape..

Phyllis

Phyllis, a brush's boldness
emboldens my feather-pen:
that brush's glorious failure
engenders hope, not fear.

Risking error in your cause
sufficed to spur me on.
When risk becomes so precious,
what value has mere success?

So do allow this quill
to risk another flight,
since, having offended once,
it otherwise has no leave.

.....

You, 0 exquisite Phyllis,
such a heavenly creature,
grace's gift to the world,
heaven's very perfection

On your most hallowed altars
no Sheban gums are burnt,
no human blood is spilt,
no throat of beast is slit,

for even warring desires
within the human breast
are a sacrifice unclean,
a tie to things material,

and only when the soul
is afire with holiness
does sacrifice glow pure,
is adoration mute.

.....

I, my dearest Phyllis,
who revere you as divine,
who idolize your disdain,
and venerate your rigor;

I, like the hapless lover
who, blindly circling and circling,
on reaching the glowing core,
falls victim to the flame;

I, like the innocent child,
who, lured by the flashing steel,
rashly runs a finger
along the knife-blade's edge;

who, despite the cut he suffers,
is ignorant of the source
and protests giving it up
more than he minds the pain;

I, like adoring Clytie,
gaze fixed on golden Apollo,
who would teach him how to shine--
teach the father of brightness!

I, like air filling a vacuum,
like fire feeding on matter,
like rocks plummeting earthward,
like the will set on a goal-

in short, as all things in Nature,
moved by a will to endure,
are drawn together by love
in closely knit embrace ...

But, Phyllis, why go on?
For yourself alone I love you.
Considering your merits,
what more is there to say?

That you're a woman far away
is no hindrance to my love:
for the soul, as you well know,
distance and sex don't count.

.....

How could I fail to love you,
once I found you divine?
Can a cause fail to bring results,
capacity go unfulfilled?

Since you are the acme of beauty,
the height of all that's sublime--
that Time's green axle-tree
beholds in its endless turning--

can you wonder my love sought you out?
Why need I stress that I'm true,
when every one of your features
betokens my enslavement?

Turn your eyes toward yourself
and you'll find in yourself and in them
not only occasion for love
but compulsion to surrender.

Meanwhile my tender care
bears witness I only live
to gaze at you spellbound and sigh,
to prove that for you I die.

Honestly, I wish I were dead.
Weeping she left with many tears,
And said, “Oh what terrible things
we endured. Sappho, truly,
against my will I leave you.”
And I answered: “Go, be
happy, and remember me;
For you know how we cared for you.
And if not, then I want
to remind you . . . of the wonderful
things we shared.

Ellen Greene


For many wreaths of violets and
roses . . .
you put on by my side,
And many woven garlands
fashioned of flowers,
you tied round your soft neck,
And with rich myrrh,
fit for a queen,
you anointed . . .
And on a soft bed,
tenderly,
you satisfied your desire.
And there was
no sacred place
from which we were absent,
no grove,
no dance,
no sound

My Divine Lysis


My divine Lysis:
do forgive my daring,
if so I address you,
unworthy though I am to be known as yours.

I cannot think it bold
to call you so, well knowing
you've ample thunderbolts
to shatter any overweening of mine.

It's the tongue that misspeaks
when what is called dominion--
I mean, the master's rule--
is made to seem possession by the slave.

The vassal says: my king;
my prison, the convict says;
and any humble slave
will call the master his without offense.

Thus, when I call you mine,
it's not that I expect
you'll be considered such--
only that I hope I may be yours.

I saw you-need more be said?
To broadcast a fire,
telling the cause suffices--
no need to apportion blame for the effect.

Seeing you so exalted
does not prevent my daring;
no god is ever secure
against the lofty flight of human thought.

There are women more deserving,
yet in distance from heaven
the humblest of valleys
seems no farther than the highest peak.

In sum, I must admit
to the crime of adoring you;
should you wish to punish me,
the very punishment will be reward

Jel mozete da napisete ko su autori?

Paul Laurence Dunbar- Phyllis

Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz - My divine Lysis

Sappho:

Honestly, I wish I were dead.
Weeping she left with many tears,
And said, “Oh what terrible things
we endured. Sappho, truly,
against my will I leave you.”

And I answered: “Go, be
happy, and remember me;
For you know how we cared for you.
And if not, then I want
to remind you . . . of the wonderful
things we shared.


...........

Takođe Sappho, a prevela/uredila Ellen Greene


For many wreaths of violets and
roses . . .
you put on by my side,
And many woven garlands
fashioned of flowers,
you tied round your soft neck,
And with rich myrrh,
fit for a queen,
you anointed . . .
And on a soft bed,
tenderly,
you satisfied your desire.
And there was
no sacred place
from which we were absent,
no grove,
no dance,
no sound

Originally posted by ms-dynamite
I met the years that have passed..

They nodded disapprovingly,
loving every wrong step I made.

And I knew then, as I know now..

I still went on making the very same strokes of the brush
on the preprinted canvas..

And what a mess..
What should have been, could have been..
What is was..all together..
in a pile of clay..
Faces I could have had, laughter I could have heard...

Statue..
and I could feel those long cold fingers..
sculpting me..inside and out..
leaving me to freeze into her shape..

I am not painting any more..left..frozen into her shape..

ms- dynamite

I to je to

Ona i ona i ona i ona i ona
Razmišljaju o vrednosti svojih materica

Valjda svakom zakuca na vrata to vreme odluka

One su tako odlučile
I to nema veze sa mnom
Ali to može lepše da se kaže
To jest malo više medicinski
Na primer
Ja sam gravidna
A on će dobiti parče našeg deteta

I sve bude savršeno i skladno baš kao voljena priroda

Nekom će ostati after memorija
A nekom before

I to je to


by Nitica

za nje

watching you from afar
your face still,
caught in the frames
by anonymous photographers
who do not love you
not the way I do,
observers like myself,
following your words
a trail of bread crumbs
through the forest
but I'm
just another deaf poet
watching you from afar
an ocean of silence between us
the still and silent frames
of a love story
of which I am not a part
the audience of one
who would hang from your every word
walk across the bridge of fire
thin as a hair, sharp as a sword
to fall into your arms
the happy end of another story
never to be spoken of
i watch the silent film
unfold, the frames you share
you and her and you and her
i don't know who she is
but i know she isn't me,
i'm just another
deaf poet
wanting to surround you with my love
angels wings, and birds that sing
keep you warm and safe
peaceful in my arms
never let them hurt you
and you could face the world beside me
you could come home to me at night
and the world would be less fierce
for our love in it
but i'm just another deaf poet
spelling your name with my fingers,
a silent invocation
the words I would have said to you
if there was a place for me
in the black and white photographs
on the walls of your heart
but i'm just another deaf poet
fumbling for words across the distance
while far and away
my love has found someone
to hold her close and safe
and make her days brighter
the beginnings of a symphony
this deaf poet will never hear,
watching softly in the wings
loving her for loving you
for giving you everything
you did not know I could give
silently turning away,
because I love you too much
not to rejoice
that you have everything you want,
even if it's not me
and I'm just another deaf poet
whose boundless love,
a fire burning warm on the hearth
shall not be used
to burn down the castles
you're building with her.

HALJINA

Niko ne vidi na njoj tvoje ruke
kada prolazim ulicom

Niko ne vidi na njoj tvoje prste
kad je vratim kući

Maleno dugme je opet ušiveno
i zakopčani svi snovi visoko do vrata

Ja ovu haljinu nežno skidam
ja ovu haljinu pažljivo oblačim

Ona za mene moć mađije ima
volela bih da tvoje ruke na njoj

mogu da pokažem svima.


Mira ALECKOVIC