a few poems ...

Up, Down.

Monday January 30, 2006

Ian Brown - Robbie Burns' Day

Here's to all the sweet leafed roses
Arranged afore us here in masses!
Here's to beauty and to brains,
Here's a toastie to you lasses!
Don't stand there lads, like workless parsons:
Raise your brimmin' wined glasses!
Show your respect and your longing!
Caress their hearts -- then their asses.

Oh ye cannae blame us: look at you!
Shined and shapely, and oh so bonnie.
There's not an ickle bird that sings
As sweet as you, nor near as fonnie.
We lads are stricken right from birth
And wander dizzy till the end bell's rang,
Smitten by your girlie things,
Trying to find some sweet poon tang.

I know, I know, we sometimes grouse,
Or shout, or pout , or act 'sae cruel;
Sometimes, tru', we're apt to shout,
"Jesus Christ! She's pre-menstruel!"
But that is only cause we luve you,
Because for you we're mad as bats.
We want you in all shapes and sizes --
and no, you don't look fat in that.

Aye, aye, sure, we're waefu' obsessed:
cannae take our eyes off y'ur breasties.
For those, we conquer whole lands and planets --
Or at very least, we squeeze our testes.
We luve thine sex, thine soft pink flesh,
And so we also luve thy gender --
Even if you cannae drive the car
Withou' nae smashin' the front fender.

And if we're sometimes one-track minded,
And donnae want to talk 'bout feelin's,
It's only cos we need a snooze
Or cos the Colts must play New Orlins.
You, wordy lasses, you never tire,
can yak the non-stop verbal stuv.
You're even -- I'm told -- multi-orgasmic:
So why must I ask if we're to make love?

Is it because of liberation?
Has feminism made you wary?
Because you want equality --
is that why, down there, you're now not . . . hairy?
Your brae's a brand-new bushless burb --
A landin' strip, a full Brazilian --
hae many lovers hae ye got?
To judge frae that, it's half a million!

But we lads can't deny your quest for freedom --
You are woman, you are strong!
I have no right to expect me dinner --
and, of course, you're never wrong.
You seldom cook, you will not clean,
Much less do the housekeepin' --
No wonder we've got necrotizing
fasciitis -- a disease, flesh-eatin'.

But these are only wee complaints,
The manly version of your male-slagging.
Pray forgive us: we don't mean it --
Though maybe you now might stop naggin'?
For the truth, dear lassies, is you keep us spry,
and Viagra keeps us on you hoppin'.
You give us vim to live and work --
How else t'afford your incessant shoppin'?

You give us heart, you give us mind;
You give us voice, our inner tune;
You give us space, and room to breathe,
As if all life were just a night in June.
You make us husbands, two, three times over,
You give us bairns, an' our lives inflection;
What do we men give ye back, I ask?
Mostly gas, an' yeast infections.

So pay our grousing no attention.
Listen instead to these words o' praise.
It's nae the whisky makes me say 'em,
It's me heart, which you lassies set ablaze.
So join me lads: forgae your penis
For a mo', and sing to lassie genius.
To you, the lassies, we open hearts and hoses,
And breathe in deep your damsel roses.

September 20, 2005

from ... The Wife of Bath's Tale, Geoffrey Chaucer
"My lige lady, generally," quod he,
"Wommen desiren to have sovereynetee
As wel over hir housbond as hir love,
And for to been in maistrie hym above."

The Question Answered, William Blake
What is it men in women do require?
The lineaments of gratified Desire.
What is it women do in men require?
The lineaments of gratified Desire

Which is real, Wallace Stevens
Which is real-
This bottle of indigo glass in the grass,
Or the bench with the pot of geraniums, the stained mattress and the
       washed overalls drying in the sun?
Which of these truly contains the world?

Neither one, nor the two together.

Thomas Wyatt
They flee from me that sometime did me seek
With naked foot, stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,
That now are wild and do not remember
That sometime they put themself in danger
To take bread at my hand; and now they range,
Busily seeking with a continual change.

Thanked be fortune it hath been otherwise
Twenty times better; but once in special,
In thin array after a pleasant guise,
When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,
And she me caught in her arms long and small;
Therewithall sweetly did me kiss
And softly said, "dear heart, how like you this?"

in português it sounds good too ...

Elas fogem de mim mas antes me procuravam
Com os pés nus, espretando o meu quarto
Eu as via gentís dóceis e humildes
E agora são selvagem e não lembram
Que elas se punham em risco as vezes
Pegando pão na minha mão, e agora elas vagueiam
Procurando ativamente em contínua mudança

Agradeço pela boa sorte de ter sido ao contrário
Vinte vezes melhor, mas uma vez especialmente
Em roupas leves depois da diversão agradavel
Quando sua camisola solta caiu dos ombros
E ela me apanhou nos braços longos e finos
E então me beijou meigamente
E sussurrou "meu coração, como você gosta disso?"

Down.