ELEVEN YEARS
(Sullivan/Heaton) 1991

Stevie said now don't look round they're watching us
Two girls in the corner of that dodgy club
And the grey eyes, the storm that I've come to know and wish for
Before I caught a breath, well, she was standing there.
We walked the streets of our town just talking
And the dawn broke grey and freezing through the deserted blocks
Just when your life is stale and there's reason there for everything
Something comes to kick you up inside
Eleven sweet years and no nearer home
A hundred thousands miles through this battle zone
Still high on the wire above the hollow darkness
Trying not to look down

No Rest for the wicked is still how it goes
Twisted up and turning in my bed alone
And separation pains like a blunted amputation
Pushing endless coins in the telephone
Eleven sweet years and no nearer home
A hundred thousands miles through this battle zone
Still high on the wire above the hollow darkness
Trying not to look down

So rest in these open arms and lie until they come for you
And tell me everything you've ever felt, tell me everything you want to see . . .

Forever running even when we are standing still
Driven on and fired up as the whirlwinds blow
And shouting out inside "I'm proud of you, I'm proud of you"
Ten thousand footsteps echo down the Brixton Road
Eleven sweet years and no nearer home
A hundred thousands miles through this battle zone
Still high on the wire above the hollow darkness
Trying not to look down

.
.
13. Here and there
.
Here is the same as there, my friend,
All places in this world are like.
If doomed thy life in grief to spend,
What change can then thy fate amend,
What from thy sou! the pain can strike?
.
When pain doth wound the tired heart
And grief doth tire the fevered eye,
Some joy indeed the world's great art
May to thy pained soul impart-
What's this if joy in thee not lie?
.
When on my restless couch I lie
And count the throbbing of my breath,
I see the joy of earth and sky
Yet hate it alI; why should not I
So keep my coward mind from death?
.
True joy comes not from outward show
But in our deepest soul doth rest.
What matter if the sun can glow
And stars at night look sweetly so
When hearts are by their grief opprest?
.
For when the darkness weighs thy thought,
And night doth fall upon thy soul,
Are not again thy sorrows brought?
Is not thy mind in shadows caught?
Do fears not back upon thee roll?
.
I cannot do but hope; as mine
Thy mind I see to hopes doth bend;
I in my land and thou in thine
We suffer both - our griefs entwine.
Here is the same as there, my friend.
.
-Alexander Search
.
.

Can you feel the wind blow, closer day by day
Blowing with a motion, for a brand new day
Demonchild, why have you been gone
Do you still miss, miss your family
Oh, I'll bet it hurts to lose so much
Can you feel the wind blow, closer day by day
Blowing with a motion, for a brand new day
Demonchild, what have you been through
I can still hear, hear you crying
So you better find a cure
Can you feel the wind blow, closer day by day
Blowing with a motion, for a brand new day

http://fooddownunder.com/cgi-bin/recipe.cgi?r=278752

Nham.

.
.
If We Must Die
.
IF we must die, let it not be like hogs
Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,
While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,
Making their mock at our accursed lot.
If we must die, O let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!
O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe!
Though far outnumbered let us show us brave,
And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow!
What though before us lies the open grave?
Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack,
Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!
.
- Claude McKay
.
.

when winter winds wane

when winter winds wane
laughs the barn yardbird boon
belly baby springtime loom
when dum deeds does the old man's cane

when winter winds wane
light ferry glimmer twirl
break?
a leaf for bridal girl
cups cut corn fields hay make
when dix knox roads trek the lane

when winter winds wane
when winter winds wane
when winter winds wane

.
.
You Are My Purest Comfort
.
You are my purest comfort,
my most steadfast shelter,
you are the best I have,
for nothing hurts as much as you.
.
No, nothing hurts as you.
You ache like ice and fire,
you cut like steel my soul -
you are the best I have.
.
Karin Boye
.
.

.
.
SOMETIMES THE SKY'S TOO BRIGHT
.
Sometimes the sky's too bright,
Or has too many clouds or birds,
And far away's too sharp a sun
To nourish thinking of him.
Why is my hand too blunt
To cut in front of me
My horrid images for me,
Of over-fruitful smiles,
The weightless touching of the lip
I wish to know
I cannot lift, but can,
The creature with the angel's face
Who tells me hurt,
And sees my body go
Down into misery?
No stopping. Put the smile
Where tears have come to dry.
The angel's hurt is left;
His telling burns.
.
Sometimes a woman's heart has salt,
Or too much blood;
I tear her breast,
And see the blood is mine,
Flowing from her, but mine,
And then I think
Perhaps the sky's too bright;
And watch my hand,
But do not follow it,
And feel the pain it gives,
But do not ache.
.
-Dylan Thomas
.
.

Cromos, v3

Carlos o Chacal. Ilich Ramírez Sánchez Nacionalidad: Venezuela Caracas 1949

Descendiente de una familia acomodada económicamente, desde su juventud está influido por las tendencias marxistas de su padre, que defiende la lucha armada. Si por parte de la familia paterna, Ilich y sus tres hermanos reciben enseñas revolucionarias, su madre luchó por ejercer en ellos una influencia contraria. Trató de inmiscuirles modos conservadores y que abrazaran el catolicismo. Finalmente logró que se trasladaran a Londres. Estando en la capital británica Ilich se dejó cautivar por la vida superficial de la alta sociedad, llegándose incluso a convertir en un playboy. Sin embargo, los estudios resultaban un fracaso para él, por lo que su padre encontró la excusa perfecta para enviarle a estudiar a Moscú. En este ambiente, entra en contacto con estudiantes palestinos relacionados con la lucha armada. Sin embargo, la buena vida que había llevado en Gran Bretaña sigue dominando sus actos. Esta situación provoca que le expulsen en 1970 de la Universidad. Parece ser que entonces ya mantenía relaciones con la KGB. A comienzos de esta década ingresa en el Frente Popular de Liberación de Palestina. En estos años participa en la guerrilla con el ejército del Rey Hussein de Jordania, donde desarrolla su actividad como estratega. Vuelve a Londres como agente secreto. En esta ciudad regresa a sus costumbres de antaño, aunque en esta ocasión compagina la lucha con la vida social. Su primeros actos terroristas resultan fallidos. En consecuencia abandona la cuidad, perseguido por los servicios secretos que le apodan "Chacal". Para encubrir su verdadera identidad emplea distintos nombres. Uno de ellos y por el que sería mundialmente conocido es el de Carlos. En 1973 se instala en París y se le hace responsable del estallido de varios coches-bomba que se activan en las sedes de algunos diarios. Poco después se traslada a Holanda, donde colabora con el Ejército Rojo Japonés en el secuestro de la embajada francesa. Todo se complica y termina con un resultado trágico. Su conocimiento exhaustivo de seis lenguas le permite viajar por todo el mundo y pasar inadvertido. Comienza a ser considerado como el enemigo número uno del capitalismo occidental. Los actos sangrientos se van acumulando en su trayectoria personal. En 1975, cumpliendo los planes trazados por un grupo alemán y árabe, secuestra a once ministros de la OPEP en Viena, que traslada a Argel en un avión. A cambió de dinero perdona la vida a dos de éstos. A partir de la segunda mitad de la década de los setenta se pierde su rastro. Este, junto con sus secuaces, se esconde en Hungría., donde acumula explosivos. La policía también barajó la posibilidad de que estuviera refugiado en Rumanía. En 1982, uno de sus más estrechos colaboradores y su novia son localizados y detenidos en Francia. Carlos amenaza a las autoridades galas con una acción armada. Poco después explota una bomba en un tren galo, donde estaba previsto que viajara Jacques Chirac, atentado en el que mueren cinco personas y resultan heridas casi otras treinta. Los atentados prosiguen con cruentos resultados. Uno de los más atroces sucedió el 31 de diciembre de 1983 cuando realiza dos atentados en la línea ferroviaria de alta velocidad París-Marsella y en la estación de Saint-Charles, situada en esta última localidad. Finalmente la autoridades francesas optan por poner en libertad a su compañera Magdalena Knopp. Tras la caída del muro de Berlín se desconoce su paradero. Se sospecha que puede estar en Siria. En este momento su lucha ideológica pierde consistencia, aunque Carlos no deja de ser un terrorista y se vende al mejor postor. En la década de los noventa Siria le manda a Libia, pero en este país le rechazan. Finalmente se traslada a Sudán, donde abraza la religión islámica. Aunque colabora con la policía de este país, en 1994 es entregado a Francia. Tras ser procesado en París por algunos de los atentados cometidos, es encerrado en la cárcel. En 1997 se celebra un juicio por otros atentados y se le condena a cadena perpetua. Por otra parte le esperan otros muchos juicios por un gran número de delitos. Además es reclamado por otros países como Libia o Austria, que le acusan de haber asesinado a compatriotas suyos. En lo que respecta a España parece ser que entre los años setenta y ochenta mantuvo contactos con ETA.

absurda lucidez
é factor preferencial
cor, tamanho e idade
quaisquer, não faz mal
nas questões essenciais,
duas centelhas maleficas
que não sosseguem um instante
rebeldia na ordem do dia
diz-me que te sentes mutante
asfixiada por gentes banais
falta apenas uma parte, a pior
encontra-me tu, disfarçada de amor.

What Will You Be?

They never stop asking me
"What will you be?--
A doctor, a dancer,
A diver at sea?"

They never stop bugging me:
"What will you be?"
As if they expect me to
Stop being me.

When I grow up I'm going to be a Sneeze,
And sprinkle Germs on all my Enemies.

When I grow up I'm going to be a Toad,
And dump on Silly Questions in the road.

When I grow up, I'm going to be a Child.
I'll Play the whole darn day and drive them Wild.

-Dennis Lee

.
.
Fugue of Death
.
Black milk of daybreak we drink it at nightfall
we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night
we drink it and drink it
we are digging a grave in the sky it is ample to lie there
A man in the house he plays with the serpents he writes
he writes when the night falls to Germany your golden
hair Margarete
he writes it and walks from the house the stars glitter he
whistles his dogs up
he whistles his Jews out and orders a grave to be dug in
the earth
he commands us strike up for the dance

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you in the morning at noon we drink you at
nightfall
drink you and drink you
A man in the house he plays with the serpents he writes
he writes when the night falls to Germany your golden
hair Margarete
Your ashen hair Shulamith we are digging a grave in the
sky it is
ample to lie there

He shouts stab deeper in earth you there and you others
you sing and you play
he grabs at the iron in his belt and swings it and blue are
his eyes
stab deeper your spades you there and you others play on
for the dancing

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at nightfall
we drink you at noon in the mornings we drink you at
nightfall
drink you and drink you
a man in the house your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Shulamith he plays with the serpents

He shouts play sweeter death's music death comes as a
master from Germany
he shouts stroke darker the strings and as smoke you
shall climb to the sky
then you'll have a grave in the clouds it is ample to lie
there

Black milk of daybreak we drink you at night
we drink you at noon death comes as a master from
Germany
we drink you at nightfall and morning we drink you and
drink you
a master from Germany death comes with eyes that are
blue
with a bullet of lead he will hit in the mark he will hit
you
a man in the house your golden hair Margarete
he hunts us down with his dogs in the sky he gives us a
grave
he plays with the serpents and dreams death comes as a
master from Germany

your golden hair Margarete
your ashen hair Shulamith.
.
.
Paul Celan.
Translated by Christopher Middleton
.
.

.
.
Ere the birth of my life, if I wished it or no
No question was asked me--it could not be so !
If the life was the question, a thing sent to try
And to live on be YES; what can NO be ? to die.
.
NATURE'S ANSWER
.
Is't returned, as 'twas sent ? Is't no worse for the wear ?
Think first, what you ARE ! Call to mind what you WERE !
I gave you innocence, I gave you hope,
Gave health, and genius, and an ample scope,
Return you me guilt, lethargy, despair ?
Make out the invent'ry ; inspect, compare !
Then die--if die you dare !
.
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
.
.


.
.
Who Goes Home?
.
In the city set upon slime and loam
They cry in their parliament 'Who goes home?'
And there comes no answer in arch or dome,
For none in the city of graves goes home.
Yet these shall perish and understand,
For God has pity on this great land.
.
Men that are men again; who goes home?
Tocsin and trumpeter! Who goes home?
For there's blood on the field and blood on the foam
And blood on the body when Man goes home.
And a voice valedictory . . . Who is for Victory?
Who is for Liberty? Who goes home?
.
G. K. Chesterton
.
.


.
.
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
.
somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
.
your slightest look will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
.
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
.
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands
.
E. E. Cummings
.
.

.
.
There Will Come Soft Rains
.
(War Time)
.
There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
.
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
.
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
.
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;
.
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.
.
Sara Teasdale
.
.


.
.
Carrion Comfort
.
Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist--slack they may be--these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
.
But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee
and flee?
.
Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer.
Cheer whom though? The hero whose heaven-handling flung me,
fóot tród
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night,
that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.
.
Gerard Manley Hopkins
.
.



.
.
Now Winter Nights Enlarge
.
Now winter nights enlarge
This number of their hours;
And clouds their storms discharge
Upon the airy towers.
Let now the chimneys blaze
And cups o'erflow with wine,
Let well-tuned words amaze
With harmony divine.
Now yellow waxen lights
Shall wait on honey love
While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights
Sleep's leaden spells remove.
.
This time doth well dispense
With lovers' long discourse;
Much speech hath some defense,
Though beauty no remorse.
All do not all things well:
Some measures comely tread,
Some knotted riddles tell,
Some poems smoothly read.
The summer hath his joys,
And winter his delights;
Though love and all his pleasures are but toys
They shorten tedious nights.
.
.
Thomas Campion
.
.

ride the highway west baby



to the lake

Crystal Ship
(Morrison)

Before you slip into unconsciousness
I’d like to have another kiss
Another flashing chance at bliss
Another kiss, another kiss

The days are bright and filled with pain
Enclose me in your gentle rain
The time you ran was too insane
We’ll meet again, we’ll meet again

Oh tell me where your freedom lies
The streets are fields that never die
Deliver me from reasons why
You’d rather cry, I’d rather fly

The crystal ship is being filled
A thousand girls, a thousand thrills
A million ways to spend your time
When we get back, I’ll drop a line