Autumn Collage - Serge Gurkski (smallest ebook reader .txt) 📗
- Author: Serge Gurkski
Book online «Autumn Collage - Serge Gurkski (smallest ebook reader .txt) 📗». Author Serge Gurkski
a tumble
and we softly fight …
Closed-eyed tongue of mine
whispers oh so wetly
to what deep down
on the marvel of your body
you first tried to hide
from me.
Let us just pretend,
we can have it without end.
Let me pay you back
all those sweet things
you have done to me:
I smoothly promise,
I will nothing but
apocalipsofy your
ever so sweetest epiphanies.
(Desire)
Oh would you please
let my heart have another
deep
blow of this sweet sweet smoke!
Congenialize me-
Let’s surprise them all now!
Let us paint indigo clouds
over and
out on the moon-blue!
Unless you scream
to make me stop it,
I will keep on
BarryWhitin you
as much as
I want and
can.
Our’s are all the nights to come …
XXXVII. The days are getting stranger the closer ends the year.
December sun in windows, my lungs yell at me: it’s winter
but Boz’s fine guitar wavezzz zzzz round my brains
swingz the bluez outta me what eva i’ was
it fine.
“Your baby’s out runnin wild, hangin with the crowd,
puttin your bizness in the streets talkin out loud
sayin you bought her this and that, how much you done spent
I swear she must believe it’s all heaven sent.
Hey now
Better bring that woman round to this sad ole truth,
the dirty low-down
Now I have to have to wonder, wonder wonder who taught her how to talk like that,
oh boy!
gave her that big idea
nothin you can’t handle, nothin you ain’t got
put your money on the table and drive it off the lot
turn on your love light, turn your maybe to a yes
same old schoolboy game got ya into this mess.
Yeah, you better come on back to town,
face the sad sad truth, the dirty lowdown
You ain’t got to be so bad got to be so cold
This dog eat dog existence sure is getting old
Got to have a Jones for this Jones for that
This running with the Joneses boy
Just ain’t where it’s at
You better get on back around
To the sad, sad truth, the dirty lowdown
…
and forces me to smile against my best intentions /
whatevuh you got.
Pagliaccializin me…………………………………………..
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Heyhey Mr. Do, it louder, louder, do it loud to me.
nothin you can handle nothin you ain’t got
You gotta have a jones for this, jones for that,
runnin with the joneses boy
just ain’t where’ it’s at ….
——————————
thank you, Holly! For the Joneses,-) to cute and Pagliacci!
Lyrics in Italics by Boz Scaggs
XXXIX: Talking Dogs
night pissed its usual anger down on me.
Don’t get pathetic now: it
simply rained and I was waiting
in front of the store with leaky awning.
Out of smoke, beer-guzzling.
Waiting!
Eventually still in time,
howsoever, they made it, they
entered leaving me with the dogs.
Knew the two big black sissies,
better: they know me. Kept them
still. (Almost) no sweat, But for the little one!
Would you believe it? She yapped her
tiny lungs out at that giant Saint Bernard.
Both of them tied he started to growl
and my two new found landerly ladies got
nervous. Furious to defend her lil sis.
Women! Needless to say I had my fun.
Needless to say, because all my neighbors
say and my girlfriend too and even people,
who don’t know me at all: He needs a dog,
I asked: could I get it, the small ruffy?
My friends, proud owners, shyly looked away
and told me: we’ve just give her away to
a guy we know, to be released next week.
XL. Clam
I meet a girl every now and then, who makes me wanna feel like any other man.
(Devil’s Blues by Charles Mingus)
Fingers still clam from
last night’s Bourbon
snap the fresh dark
new and blue
baby night
Night is a wizard
whose magic stick
brushes over
the wantoning tip
of my lips
to make a clown
of them
They slapstick inebriatedly
to their master’s choreo-
graphy,
love
me
Me has got fingers
clam still from
last night’s rendez-vous
with a bottle and you.
——–
shhhhhh, this just for Holly:
My anywaybaby
love you anyway
anyway I
hurt and you
anyway hurt
love
anyway you.
XLI. Advertisement for myself
You call me public relations?
I call you: yes!
One for shamestless of the shameless
swinging-it TX gal Becca
Glad no are you
not of xmas
with an haunchy-aunty
conquering your boudoir.
I so love it
s over
and no new
family crimes
occurred
Call me blind
You call me blind?
I call you: yeaaaaaaaaah
and gladly so
XLII. Rio De La Plata Estuaries’ Dainty Dalliance Dancers’ Deluxylight
or AC/DC’s The Jack performed live at River Plate
Heavy
metal sonnet deranged against my best
bad intentions boogie me down
best bad cat in the west
stomps dionysian. Seed is sown.
The seed of blow me blue,you
rhythmifies the jelly oceans
on those wobbly hips of your’s anew.
No pressing need for further promotions.
The masses in a chorus shout encore!
Baby, let’s them have it please!
It’s gonna put them at bluest ease.
Sweat is cooling on my skin at heat.
You even rock the most obese.
I’m gonna take your sound out to the streets.
(quod howsoever erroneously est demonstrandiddlydum)
XLIII: The Best
re-Joycing
best out of love with
you
best out of love with
me
Our love’s not in a light attire*.
Could not I just jubilate?
Within my hand I **
hold your’s again!
I will and forever I
will remember
stanza seventeen.
There is no -mind you -
word to make you mine again
It’s fine. I can’t amend.
———————————————————————————————
all ** to and owed to James Joyce: Chamber Music.
Because I love his movement 17 the most. I had a little love affair with it.
XLIV: Big cat laid down one eve
reminiscing in a cloud of wabi-sabi
precious mem’ries ’bout his
past was so-so.
Miss I, did I
anything?
There’s a
breeze in the curtains, outside lingers
a cat with sun-burned fur :
Trotted over roof-tops chasing
sometimes sparrows, mostly sun beams.
Fell once four floors down through
a chimney as wide and dark as his
Mother’s womb must have been.
Hurt not, ran off and just bit off a mouse-tail.
and this too:
Watch a tomcat balance his feather-light
paws like he was “on Broadway“ tripping,
sun, and so me, out there in day’s noise,
on the street, hell but fun.
I’m boxing back shabby me out into the air
sailing, dwindling down again mudheapupwards
but stay away from the skunks, their grins,
I need a fix of fresh of all.
Squinting and roll-rubbing the floors a bit.
Grinning tomcatishly at life.
Reminiscing thusly lay my cat.
XLV. Flood My Soul.
like unseen angels sent from
some unknown somewhere …
right into my soul
(from Precious Mem’ries)
Еще не вечер, it’s not yet night
with the sun in me and
all of this night of
light no more
still to come.
So I cakewalk out
strut my stuff and let
the good times roll,
mais si: moi, je
laisse les bon temps rouler,
as long as I can
or the Unknowable
will let me have it.
Wearing rain drops just like pearls
beautiful you meets me
on the street our dance floor
and we twist along
through this wet and gray day.
When you let me touch your skin
I know the answer to the question:
Why’s there something rather than nothing?
Why do I exist?
The answer being You.
XLVI: rhododactylos
There’s a bit of rosy blood
in the first morning hour of the boulevard,
dashed with pencils red and blue,
but the colors are rehearsing still.*
Rosy-fingered dawn, Ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς
kisses him softly awake
to a world he finds hard to love
at first sight, at least.
He needs a warm coat of booze or smack
or best of all: both
to make it again out on the streets
cackling with arrogant disgust.
He can quote Homer to himself
(Μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεά, Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος
οὐλομένην, ... )
but that does not buy him
a bowl of soup nor cigarettes
nor a friendly bottle of Rum.
He must refill his tank
of senseless but meaningful
hope again.
He grabs the glass filled
to the brim with a musical Jinn
and consoles himself by
listening to Sappho's praise
of Atthis, unique among
Lydian women.
The Lesbian queen of poetry
stole the rosy-fingered epithet
from Homer's dawn-young sun
only to give it to her blue love-thirsty
moon: σελάννα.
XLVII: Been a long time
shortcut:
I can't count the tears of a life with no love.
Seems so long since we walked in the moonlight
making vows that just can't work right
(from the lyrics of Led Zeppelin: Rock'n Roll)
„But the overall impression,“
I was standing there with a guy
you would very much assume
to meet you in NYC downtown corners,
so him:“ is that of an erupting volcano.“
I said yes, but where's the fall out,
meaning coke of course..
Just follow my hand, he said.
Smiling like a newly-crowned king
I asked him (still in the bathroom)
yes, fine, but where's the light?
He chuckled: “There is none
I could procure for you.“
Got it, made love to a woman
I didn't like, and
stumbled
into another darkness again.
been a long time since I rock'n rolled.
lonely
lonely
lonely
lonely
long time.
XLIX: Sábados
and we softly fight …
Closed-eyed tongue of mine
whispers oh so wetly
to what deep down
on the marvel of your body
you first tried to hide
from me.
Let us just pretend,
we can have it without end.
Let me pay you back
all those sweet things
you have done to me:
I smoothly promise,
I will nothing but
apocalipsofy your
ever so sweetest epiphanies.
(Desire)
Oh would you please
let my heart have another
deep
blow of this sweet sweet smoke!
Congenialize me-
Let’s surprise them all now!
Let us paint indigo clouds
over and
out on the moon-blue!
Unless you scream
to make me stop it,
I will keep on
BarryWhitin you
as much as
I want and
can.
Our’s are all the nights to come …
XXXVII. The days are getting stranger the closer ends the year.
December sun in windows, my lungs yell at me: it’s winter
but Boz’s fine guitar wavezzz zzzz round my brains
swingz the bluez outta me what eva i’ was
it fine.
“Your baby’s out runnin wild, hangin with the crowd,
puttin your bizness in the streets talkin out loud
sayin you bought her this and that, how much you done spent
I swear she must believe it’s all heaven sent.
Hey now
Better bring that woman round to this sad ole truth,
the dirty low-down
Now I have to have to wonder, wonder wonder who taught her how to talk like that,
oh boy!
gave her that big idea
nothin you can’t handle, nothin you ain’t got
put your money on the table and drive it off the lot
turn on your love light, turn your maybe to a yes
same old schoolboy game got ya into this mess.
Yeah, you better come on back to town,
face the sad sad truth, the dirty lowdown
You ain’t got to be so bad got to be so cold
This dog eat dog existence sure is getting old
Got to have a Jones for this Jones for that
This running with the Joneses boy
Just ain’t where it’s at
You better get on back around
To the sad, sad truth, the dirty lowdown
…
and forces me to smile against my best intentions /
whatevuh you got.
Pagliaccializin me…………………………………………..
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Heyhey Mr. Do, it louder, louder, do it loud to me.
nothin you can handle nothin you ain’t got
You gotta have a jones for this, jones for that,
runnin with the joneses boy
just ain’t where’ it’s at ….
——————————
thank you, Holly! For the Joneses,-) to cute and Pagliacci!
Lyrics in Italics by Boz Scaggs
XXXIX: Talking Dogs
night pissed its usual anger down on me.
Don’t get pathetic now: it
simply rained and I was waiting
in front of the store with leaky awning.
Out of smoke, beer-guzzling.
Waiting!
Eventually still in time,
howsoever, they made it, they
entered leaving me with the dogs.
Knew the two big black sissies,
better: they know me. Kept them
still. (Almost) no sweat, But for the little one!
Would you believe it? She yapped her
tiny lungs out at that giant Saint Bernard.
Both of them tied he started to growl
and my two new found landerly ladies got
nervous. Furious to defend her lil sis.
Women! Needless to say I had my fun.
Needless to say, because all my neighbors
say and my girlfriend too and even people,
who don’t know me at all: He needs a dog,
I asked: could I get it, the small ruffy?
My friends, proud owners, shyly looked away
and told me: we’ve just give her away to
a guy we know, to be released next week.
XL. Clam
I meet a girl every now and then, who makes me wanna feel like any other man.
(Devil’s Blues by Charles Mingus)
Fingers still clam from
last night’s Bourbon
snap the fresh dark
new and blue
baby night
Night is a wizard
whose magic stick
brushes over
the wantoning tip
of my lips
to make a clown
of them
They slapstick inebriatedly
to their master’s choreo-
graphy,
love
me
Me has got fingers
clam still from
last night’s rendez-vous
with a bottle and you.
——–
shhhhhh, this just for Holly:
My anywaybaby
love you anyway
anyway I
hurt and you
anyway hurt
love
anyway you.
XLI. Advertisement for myself
You call me public relations?
I call you: yes!
One for shamestless of the shameless
swinging-it TX gal Becca
Glad no are you
not of xmas
with an haunchy-aunty
conquering your boudoir.
I so love it
s over
and no new
family crimes
occurred
Call me blind
You call me blind?
I call you: yeaaaaaaaaah
and gladly so
XLII. Rio De La Plata Estuaries’ Dainty Dalliance Dancers’ Deluxylight
or AC/DC’s The Jack performed live at River Plate
Heavy
metal sonnet deranged against my best
bad intentions boogie me down
best bad cat in the west
stomps dionysian. Seed is sown.
The seed of blow me blue,you
rhythmifies the jelly oceans
on those wobbly hips of your’s anew.
No pressing need for further promotions.
The masses in a chorus shout encore!
Baby, let’s them have it please!
It’s gonna put them at bluest ease.
Sweat is cooling on my skin at heat.
You even rock the most obese.
I’m gonna take your sound out to the streets.
(quod howsoever erroneously est demonstrandiddlydum)
XLIII: The Best
re-Joycing
best out of love with
you
best out of love with
me
Our love’s not in a light attire*.
Could not I just jubilate?
Within my hand I **
hold your’s again!
I will and forever I
will remember
stanza seventeen.
There is no -mind you -
word to make you mine again
It’s fine. I can’t amend.
———————————————————————————————
all ** to and owed to James Joyce: Chamber Music.
Because I love his movement 17 the most. I had a little love affair with it.
XLIV: Big cat laid down one eve
reminiscing in a cloud of wabi-sabi
precious mem’ries ’bout his
past was so-so.
Miss I, did I
anything?
There’s a
breeze in the curtains, outside lingers
a cat with sun-burned fur :
Trotted over roof-tops chasing
sometimes sparrows, mostly sun beams.
Fell once four floors down through
a chimney as wide and dark as his
Mother’s womb must have been.
Hurt not, ran off and just bit off a mouse-tail.
and this too:
Watch a tomcat balance his feather-light
paws like he was “on Broadway“ tripping,
sun, and so me, out there in day’s noise,
on the street, hell but fun.
I’m boxing back shabby me out into the air
sailing, dwindling down again mudheapupwards
but stay away from the skunks, their grins,
I need a fix of fresh of all.
Squinting and roll-rubbing the floors a bit.
Grinning tomcatishly at life.
Reminiscing thusly lay my cat.
XLV. Flood My Soul.
like unseen angels sent from
some unknown somewhere …
right into my soul
(from Precious Mem’ries)
Еще не вечер, it’s not yet night
with the sun in me and
all of this night of
light no more
still to come.
So I cakewalk out
strut my stuff and let
the good times roll,
mais si: moi, je
laisse les bon temps rouler,
as long as I can
or the Unknowable
will let me have it.
Wearing rain drops just like pearls
beautiful you meets me
on the street our dance floor
and we twist along
through this wet and gray day.
When you let me touch your skin
I know the answer to the question:
Why’s there something rather than nothing?
Why do I exist?
The answer being You.
XLVI: rhododactylos
There’s a bit of rosy blood
in the first morning hour of the boulevard,
dashed with pencils red and blue,
but the colors are rehearsing still.*
Rosy-fingered dawn, Ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἠώς
kisses him softly awake
to a world he finds hard to love
at first sight, at least.
He needs a warm coat of booze or smack
or best of all: both
to make it again out on the streets
cackling with arrogant disgust.
He can quote Homer to himself
(Μῆνιν ἄειδε, θεά, Πηληϊάδεω Ἀχιλῆος
οὐλομένην, ... )
but that does not buy him
a bowl of soup nor cigarettes
nor a friendly bottle of Rum.
He must refill his tank
of senseless but meaningful
hope again.
He grabs the glass filled
to the brim with a musical Jinn
and consoles himself by
listening to Sappho's praise
of Atthis, unique among
Lydian women.
The Lesbian queen of poetry
stole the rosy-fingered epithet
from Homer's dawn-young sun
only to give it to her blue love-thirsty
moon: σελάννα.
XLVII: Been a long time
shortcut:
I can't count the tears of a life with no love.
Seems so long since we walked in the moonlight
making vows that just can't work right
(from the lyrics of Led Zeppelin: Rock'n Roll)
„But the overall impression,“
I was standing there with a guy
you would very much assume
to meet you in NYC downtown corners,
so him:“ is that of an erupting volcano.“
I said yes, but where's the fall out,
meaning coke of course..
Just follow my hand, he said.
Smiling like a newly-crowned king
I asked him (still in the bathroom)
yes, fine, but where's the light?
He chuckled: “There is none
I could procure for you.“
Got it, made love to a woman
I didn't like, and
stumbled
into another darkness again.
been a long time since I rock'n rolled.
lonely
lonely
lonely
lonely
long time.
XLIX: Sábados
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