Nirvana - Come as you are

Come as you are,
as you were,
as I want you to be.
As a friend,
as a friend,
as an old enemy.
Take your time,
hurry up,
choice is yours don’t be late.
Take a rest,
as a friend,
as an old memoria,
memoria, memoria, memoria.
Come dowsed in mud,
soaked in bleach,
as I want you to be.
As a trend,
As a friend,
As an old memoria
Memoria, memoria, memoria
~...~
And I swear
that I don’t have a gun.
No I don’t have a gun.
No I don’t have a gun.
~...~
…memoria, memoria, memoria, memoria {don’t have a gun}
And I swear
that I don’t have a gun.
No I don’t have a gun.
No I don’t have a gun.
No I don’t have a gun.
No I don’t have a gun.
Memoria, memoria.



------------------------


Vens com ets,
com eres,
com jo et volia que siguis.
Com un amic,
com un amic,
com un vell enèmic.
Fes-ho al teu ritme,
afanya't,
la tria és teva, no siguis massa tard.
Descansa't,
com un amic,
com una memòria vella,
memòria, memòria, memòria.
Vens amarat en fang,
mullat en lleixiu,
com jo et volia que siguis.
Com una moda,
com un amic,
Com una memòria vella
Memòria, memòria, memòria
~ .... ~
I t'ho jur
que no port cap revòlver.
No, que no port cap revòlver.
No, que no port cap revòlver.
~...~
…memòria, memòria, memòria, memòria {no port cap revòlver}
I t'ho jur
que no port cap revòlver.
No, que no port cap revòlver.
No, que no port cap revòlver.
No, que no port cap revòlver.
No, que no port cap revòlver.
Memòria, memòria.

VERLOREN / LOST--a poem from the Dutch by Clara Eggink, read

VERLOREN / LOST--a poem from the Dutch by Clara Eggink, read

Clara Eggink (1906 - 1991)

Lost

I read a book,
I write a letter,
I go to you,
we talk.
These things are all equally dear to me;
I can just as well do without them.

Spring outside is damp and warm,
But not that wild miracle
When I wanted to leave, cool and alone;
Now I can just go without.
I thought I was born on the beach,
and that my house was in the dunes.
All that has long been lost,
Now I feed seagulls in my garden.
(tr. Cliff Crego)

Elisabeth Bishop, One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
 so many things seem filled with the intent
 to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
 Lose something every day.  Accept the fluster
 of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
 The art of losing isn't hard to master.
 Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
 places, and names, and where it was you meant
 to travel.  None of these will bring disaster.
 I lost my mother's watch.  And look! my last, or
 next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
 The art of losing isn't hard to master.
 I lost two cities, lovely ones.  And, vaster,
 some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
 I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
 ---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
 I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
 the art of losing's not too hard to master
 though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

-- Elizabeth Bishop
One Art

Poemes estrambòtics: una trigonometria suïcida, china bones i pres

Suizidäre Trigonometrie

Schlaf fand nicht statt – Schattenhafte Augen
Körper, die beschlagen wie Scheiben kondensieren.
Der nächtliche Tau uns daran erinnert:
Zu 80% besteht der Mensch aus Wasser,
Morgen, siehst Du nicht,
Den Weg, den sich der Tropfen hinunter bahnt
Draussen regnet es, an Leder prallt Wasser ab,
Genau wie die Erinnerung abprallt am Tag. Let’s not break fast.

Du wirst geliebt zum letzten
Mal heur kann man es nicht nennen. “it’s a mathematical
Problem coldly seen.” Sag jetzt nichts / Woran denkst Du gerade?
Le roi est mort, vive le roi! Wenn ich an ein
Gleichschenkliges Dreieck denke, kommts mir
Gar nicht so abwegig vor. Wie er da stand in seiner
Erhobenen Lendlichkeit, extra safe, “that’s what we’d all
Like to believe” oder war’s doch der Alkohol ?
Tomorrow is the fulfillment of all our dreams
Yeah, honey, but what’s so bad about today ?




Suicidal trigonometry

Sleep did not take place – dark encircled eyes
Bodies steamed up, condensing like on window panes
The nocturnal dew reminds us that
To 80% we consist of water,
Tomorrow, can’t you see
The path, the drop paves itself on its downward way
Outside the rain, water bounces off the leather,
Just as memory bounces off the day. Let’s not break fast.

You are being loved for the last time
Mal heur, you cannot call it. “it’s a mathematical
Problem coldly seen.” Do not say anything / what are you thinking right now?
Le roi est mort, vive le roi! When I think of a
Equilateral triangle, it does not
Seem so far-fetched as before. As he stood there
Charged loin, extra safe, “that’s what we’d all
Like to believe” or was it the alcohol ?
Tomorrow is the fulfillment of all our dreams
Yeah, honey, but what’s so bad about today ?



Trigonometria suïcida

El son no es va presentar - els ulls foscos envoltats
Cossos boirosos, la condensació als vidres de
La rosada nocturna ens recorda que:
el cos humà es compon d'un 80% d'aigua,
Demà, no ho pots veure,
La ruta, la gota que serpenteja en el seu camí cap avall
Fora, la pluja, l'aigua rebota en el cuir,
Així com la memòria rebota en el dia. No anem a trencar ràpidament.

Ets estimat per última vegada
Desgràcia, no es pot dir. “És un matemàtic
Problema vist amb fredor”. "No diguis res / en què estàs pensant ara?”
El rei és mort, visca el rei! Quan penso en un
Triangle equilàter,
No sembla tan desgavellat com abans. Mentre hi era, amb el seu
Membre carregat, “extra safe”, "tant de bo si ho podríem creure
o era la puta alcohol?
Demà és el compliment de tots els nostres somnis
Yes, honey, but what’s so bad about today?

(1993)


China Bones

Cap a l’aigua, jo fixant-me
El regust de la ira desdibuixat

En un anell de plata, trobem una llaminadura
Tricolor. Quimeres de nit ens passen frec a frec
Tocant-nos, somnàmbuls els dos,
Fins que l’hora del matí ens desperta amb un ensurt.





China Bones

To the water, me-stare-ing
The aftertaste of anger blur/red

In a ring of silver, we find triple-colored
Candystripes. Night chimeras pass us by
Touching us, somnambulating both of us,
Till the morning hour wakes us with a shriek.


China Bones


Auf das Wasser, ich starr/end
The aftertaste of anger ver/wischt

In einem Silberring, wir finden triple-colored
Candystripes. Nachtschimären leis’ uns
Streifen, somnambulating both of us,
Bis die Morgenstund uns schrickt.




Pres

Tu no em deixes fugir
Qualsevol dia, qualsevol nit
M’emmanilles amb la teva mirada
A un càstig deliciosament dolent
Digues, quan vols alliberar-me?
Tu no em deixes fugir
Qualsevol lloc, qualsevol situació
M’intrigues amb les teves paraules

M’embruixes amb les teves armes

Em desarmes amb el teu somriure
Em lligues i no m’importa
Com m’allunyaré de tu.
Digues-m’ho, on s’acaba besar
Digues-m’ho, on es comença picar
On comença la captura
On comença el dolor.

(maig 2012)

Prisoner

You do not let me escape
Any day, any night
Tie me with your gaze
In a deliciously evil punishment
Tell me, when will you release me?
You do not let me escape
Any place, any situation
Intrigue me with your words

put a spell on me with your weapons

Disarm me with your smile
You tie me up and I do not care
How will I distance myself from you.
Tell me where does kissing end,
Tell me where does biting start,
Where capture begins,
Where does it begin the pain.


Gefangen

Du lässt mich nicht fliehen
Jeden Tag, jede Nacht
Fesselst mich mit deinem Blick
In einer herrlich-bösen Strafe
Sag mal, wann lässt Du mich je wieder frei?
Du lässt mich nicht fliehen
An jedem Ort, in jeder Situation
Machst mich neugierig mit deinen Worten
Du verzauberst mich mit deinen Waffen

Entwaffnest mich mit deinem Lächeln
Du fesselst mich, und es ist mir egal
Wie ich mich je von dir losmachen kann.
Sag mir, wo hört das Küssen auf,
Sag mir, wo das Beißen beginnt,
Wo beginnt die Gefangennahme,
Wo beginnt der Schmerz.








Els primers dos poemes vaig presentar en l'exposició Dark Vila a Can Jeroni a Sant Josep fa un any (novembre - desembre 2012). Era una exposició experimental amb poesia meva i fotografies atmosfèriques en blanc i negre.

El tercer poema també sortia a Dark Vila, però és el primer poema que vaig escriure completament en català i no primer en anglès o alemany (com abans).

Escric poesia des de quan tenia 17 anys. El meu primer poema s'anomenava "Dolor".

Títols de poesia que vaig escriure:

1988-1990 (sense títol) poesia en alemany
1991-1992 Heretic Heritage (primer poemari, en anglès)
1994 Night's Little Fiends (segon poemari, en anglès)
1995-1997 Gothic (poemes diversos...)
1999 My short trip to your stinky planet (tercer poemari, anglès)
2012 Dark Vila (quart poemari, poemes vells i nous)
(en català, alemany, anglès per l'expo Dark Vila de l'any 2012)
2013 Emmetzinat (només en català) (quintè poemari)

Com es diu això?

Ara tinc una nova idea. Vos propos un joc, és un joc més que res. Abaix tinc algunes frases en anglès i qui vol em pot comentar una traducció de l'anglès. Així senzill:

1) “Mates are a waste of fucking time. They are always ready to drag you down tae their level of social, sexual and intellectual mediocrity.”  (Trainspotting)

2) “It had been a pretty damn close shave. I had been so damn lucky I could hardly believe it.” (CK)

3) “They had me pinned against the humid wall of another cheap bar that was closed with a "se trespasa" sign. Yet another bar that had been given up after one season by yet another sad guy who thought that this place here was the land of hope and glory.” (CK)

4) “He emphasised basic truths: you are not dying yet, you have to live your life until you are. Underpinning them was the belief that the grim reality of impending death can be talked away by trying to invest in the present reality of life. I didn’t believe that at the time, but now I do. By definition, you have to live until you die. Better to make that life as complete and enjoyable an experience as possible, in case death is shite, which I suspect it will be.”  (Trainspotting)

5) “I don't want to care. If I care about things, it'll just be worse, it'll just be another thing to worry about. It's less painful if I don't care.”  (Less Than Zero)

6) “I come to a red light, tempted to go through it, then stop once I see a billboard sign that I don’t remember seeing and I look up at it. All it says is 'Disappear Here' and even though it’s probably an ad for some resort, it still freaks me out a little and I step on the gas really hard and the car screeches as I leave the light.”  (Less Than Zero)

7) It's easy to cry when you realize that everyone you love will reject you or die. On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone will drop to zero. (The Fight Club)

8) “Sometimes we have the absolute certainty there's something inside us that's so hideous and monstrous that if we ever search it out we won't be able to stand looking at it. But it's when we're willing to come face to face with that demon that we face the angel.” (Last Exit to Brooklyn)

9) The people you're trying to step on, we're everyone you depend on. We're the people who do your laundry and cook your food and serve your dinner. We make your bed. We guard you while you're asleep. We drive the ambulances. We direct your call. We are cooks and taxi drivers and we know everything about you. We process your insurance claims and credit card charges. We control every part of your life. We are the middle children of history, raised by television to believe that someday we'll be millionaires and movie stars and rock stars, but we won't. And we're just learning this fact . . . So don't fuck with us. (The Fight Club)

10) “Some of my learned colleagues (nameless assholes) have suggested that junk derives its euphoric effect from direct stimulation of the orgasm center. It seems more probable that junk suspends the whole cycle of tension, discharge and rest. The orgasm has no function in the junky. Boredom, which always indicates an undischarged tension, never troubles the addict. He can look at his shoe for eight hours. He is only roused to action when the hourglass of junk runs out.” (Naked Lunch)