Death

>>9744587
he lives at 1000 pgs/hr

>>9744587
He can't eat, he can't breathe, there's no discernable pulse.

>>9744587
Oh, the torment bred in the race,
the grinding scream of death
and the stroke that hits the vein,
the haemorrhage none can staunch, the grief
the curse no man can bear.

But there is a cure in the house
and not outside it, no,
not from others but from them,
their bloody strife. We sing to you,
dark gods beneath the earth.

Now hear, you blissful powers underground —
answer the call, send help.
Bless the children, give them triumph now.

one of bloom's favourites

The Broken Tower - Hart Crane

The bell-rope that gathers God at dawn
Dispatches me as though I dropped down the knell
Of a spent day - to wander the cathedral lawn
From pit to crucifix, feet chill on steps from hell.

Have you not heard, have you not seen that corps
Of shadows in the tower, whose shoulders sway
Antiphonal carillons launched before
The stars are caught and hived in the sun's ray?

The bells, I say, the bells break down their tower;
And swing I know not where. Their tongues engrave
Membrane through marrow, my long-scattered score
Of broken intervals… And I, their sexton slave!

Oval encyclicals in canyons heaping
The impasse high with choir. Banked voices slain!
Pagodas, campaniles with reveilles out leaping-
O terraced echoes prostrate on the plain!…

And so it was I entered the broken world
To trace the visionary company of love, its voice
An instant in the wind (I know not whither hurled)
But not for long to hold each desperate choice.

My word I poured. But was it cognate, scored
Of that tribunal monarch of the air
Whose thigh embronzes earth, strikes crystal Word
In wounds pledged once to hope - cleft to despair?

The steep encroachments of my blood left me
No answer (could blood hold such a lofty tower
As flings the question true?) -or is it she
Whose sweet mortality stirs latent power?-

And through whose pulse I hear, counting the strokes
My veins recall and add, revived and sure
The angelus of wars my chest evokes:
What I hold healed, original now, and pure…

And builds, within, a tower that is not stone
(Not stone can jacket heaven) - but slip
Of pebbles, - visible wings of silence sown
In azure circles, widening as they dip

The matrix of the heart, lift down the eye
That shrines the quiet lake and swells a tower…
The commodious, tall decorum of that sky
Unseals her earth, and lifts love in its shower.
youll be fine

>>9744598
(you)

>>9744587
Is that M.Gorbachav of USSR?

>>9744587
I know how you feel, anon. My body is a wreck, too. It's so surprising and unfair.

I'm not very familiar with English poetry, so instead I'll try to translate a poem by Antun Branko Šimić, a croatian poet. This was his last poem, that he wrote when he was 27 years old and dying of tuberculosis. I'll translate more or less literally (as far as possible), I won't try to recreate the original rhythm (he wrote mostly in trochaic free verse).

A RETURN TO THE SUN

Here I am overcome by weight
Like a weight with a counterweight, barely moving my limbs
Here I am overcome by heat
I could be cooled down only by the cold earth.

And my voice withers away in my withered throat
I shall never hear it again with my ear.

For ever I am leaving to the weight my body and my heavy limbs
With my burning body I am warming the air around me with the fury of July

Without a voice I burn, anxious
Returning to the sun all I had received from it.

---

VRAĆANJE SUNCU

Evo me svega svlada težina
Ko potege s nategom, jedva pomaknem ude
Evo me svega svlada vrućina
Ohladit bi me mogla samo hladna zemlja.

I glas mi usahnu u grlu suhom
Nikad ga više neću čuti svojim uhom.

Zanavijek pustih težini trup i trudne mi ude
Usijanim tijelom grijem oko sebe uzduh žestinom jula

Bez glasa gorim, u tjeskobi
Vraćam suncu sve što od njega dobih.

>>9747174
I like it.

>>9748137
i like you

>>9749758
I LOVE you.

>>9749758
>>9749803 is not >>9748137(me)