No.3982
Can you specify?
Lyrical literature to me is like Death Grips
For example:
Fuck the sun, fuck white wine
Daylight sucks, waste of mine
I fuck my mind, narrow my mind
I bide my time like fuck in place
One day, I'll wave sun to ice
Watch its kind get thrown like rice
My cackle stretch out like thunder
So fucking loud, it's vulgar
[Chorus]
I pull my face out the dirt slow
These days I only wake up third of the way, narco
Held to deep rapid eye move, hold
These days I recede, rapid I reload
Gun my chances, closed road, no road left
I know what this calls for
Where's my scalpel? Operation cut
Like I'm bored, sew my inner war up like corn rows
My internal war blows, like freezing fog in Oslo
Frozen, I can't get soft, baptized in hoarfrost
Like carbon monoxide garage
Freeze your blink like sandman's flush
I hate you so much
I hate your laws
I hate your need a cause
I hate your faux touch
I hate every last one of you
I ponder digesting razors, just to be done with you
I love you so much
I'm triple the motherfucker
Mondo-fisted, full of backwards
From banana town manor
My slang step like legless lizard
I fuck around, fashion a rocket
Shoot to Mercury, for the winter
Extended vacation till I decompose on my splinters
To centuries of damn
I've never been so yawn
Can't believe I'm still standing
Can't believe life take this long
I stagger off to find my lighter
I don't return until the day Sag A* validates
Mankind's destiny in a worm
[Verse 4]
By the way, I don't pet bleachers
Court side to nose bleeders
Like I shoot shit with gimps
No response, lose 'em once
Incoming second attempt
To be real, I just shoot 'em up (just shoot 'em up)
Them clueless strut nailed to crucifix Lilith shoved up her cunt (shoved up her cunt)
No.3996
The odyssey: a modern sequel was a beautiful read, and definitely lyrical. favorite passage:
As the sun dripped on earth like a lush honeyed fig,
the mortal wedding pomp stopped at an arched door
with shameless and erotic signs on its red lintel,
and the old athlete leapt like a youth in the whore's court,
but the frail prince leant weakly on his old slave's arms
and tottered to the garden like a wounded fawn.
Under the flowering trees weighed down with honeybees
the lone man stretched in scented shade like an old lion
as naked slaves dashed to and fro and quickly fetched
sweet fruit, refreshing crystal drinks, while their swift heels
flashed crimson like ripe apples in the shaded lawns.
Then Margaro crouched at his feet, coiled like a snake,
and her sweet-bitten and seductive body smiled
to taste in silence novel and most secret joys.
Her silk-thread eyebrows arched coquettishly, her eyes
rejoiced to watch the white-haired saint beneath her trees
drinking the crystal sherbets slowly drop by drop
and tasting the rich food like an immortal god.
When he was satisfied, he washed his hands, then turned,
and Margaro's notorious body flushed and swayed:
"O spring of great desire, O well of deathless water, 130
a woman is an empty jug; stoop, fill it now!"
But the heart-knower smiled, and all the shadowed gardens
with their resplendent peacocks, waters, trees, and fruit
glowed softly, quietly in the afternoon, rejoiced
like heads that suddenly have begotten brilliant thoughts.
His lustrous hand slid slowly on her new-washed hair
then softly licked her temples, ears, her lips, her cheeks,
lingered upon her fluttering lashes, then once more
ascended slowly, smoothly to her fragrant hair
till all at once her lovely face grew thin and faded
as though the unsated fingers ate without compassion.
The strong soul-snatcher looked at her with pain, then raised
his flesh-devouring hovering hand above her head:
"Salvation may be sought by seven secret paths,
and you, O much-kissed body, are the most occult.
May the soft mattress of your labors be thrice blessed,
for in your deep refreshing gardens' azure shades
your worldly-wise, forbearing body all night long
draws back the bolts of our salvation with caresses.
Some bring the earth salvation with the mind's bright toys,
some with the fruitful drudging goodness of the heart
or with a high proud silence and child-bearing deeds,
some with that sacred single breast, manly despair,
or with that gray-haired horseman, war the murderer.
But you take lover's lane, open your door with stealth,
clench myrtle sprays between your teeth, place Lethe's flower,
a blue bloom on the cliff, within your bosom's cleft.
You merge all bodies into one, break down frontiers,
and strong men, clasping you in the cool shadows, moan:
'Ah, there's no you or I, for Life and Death are one!'
And souls that I have held upon my knees cry out:
Ah, there's no you or I, for Life and Death are one!' "
The lone man spoke, and Margaro's glad heart sped swiftly
like a white gleaming hound that with great joy and pride
has flushed a hare and calls her master to the kill.
She spoke then to her bosom's precious scented cleft:
"For my own soul's salvation, the love-path is good."
Then like a thirsty fawn, the weak dream-taken prince
approached the athlete's brimming well and placed his lips
on the wide rim to drink each cooling word that rose.
Servants stood, gazing longingly amid the trees,
their black eyes burning in the cooling shadows there,
and slaves plucked heavy flowers to deck the sage and prince.
Earth's mighty Honey Drone fell silent and rejoiced
in the earth's gentle buzzing, in the flowering trees,
in the stooped woman quivering like a flaming bride
who waited for his words as for her dear betrothed.
He placed his hands upon her bright hair's gleaming part:
"Ascetic fellow-toiler with your loosened girdle,
blessed be your fingers with their henna-painted nails
that hold the golden keys and open Charon's door,
where the locks drip with scent, the threshold smells of musk;
I, too, clasp the gold keys that open salvation's door!
Blessed be your thick curled hair that smells of a green wood
sanctified to its root because a saint dwells;
at midnight you unbraid and braid the stifling youths
as I, too, braid and then unbraid all mighty thoughts
with the great comb of silence and thus loot all men.
O Lady, thrice, thrice blessed be your crimson mouth;
like a sweet fruit that nestles on lips still unslaked,
the holy kiss distills, full-flavored, joyous, cool;
my mouth, too, is a lime-twig smeared with sweetest words
that to their wounding thorns allure the singing birds.
I joyful mighty martyr, well-versed amazon,
I reach out begging hands: O Lady, give me alms,
place in my hands, that I may touch it and rejoice,
the cool and downy fruit of your erotic strife."
Much-fondled Margaro first quivered and then laughed:
"O Master Drone, who hold the earth in your holy arms,
I place my meager daily wages in your hands.
When from afar I see the man I love approach
and my heart beats with passion, my knees melt, I say:
'In all this wretched world but you and I exist!' "
The strong brain-pirate seized the woman's words and said:
"Compassionate and sweet is your love-strife's first fruit,
my hand grows joyous, Lady, and my throat grows cool;
give me the fruit now of your great devotions."
"When on my knees I hold the man I love, I cry:
'Beloved, I feel at length that we two are but one!'
This is the second fruit of my erotic strife.
Ah, I, at least, could never pluck a higher fruit."
The unsated warrior clenched his hand and spoke no word;
his ruthless mouth was warbling like a mighty bow,
he felt his strength grow to a vast inhuman size,
he pitied all weak souls a moment, then rose to leave,
but turned and saw the prince who with his large eyes shut,
his pale head tilted sideways, trembled for his reply,
so that he opened then his holy mouth and spoke:
"Reach out your tongue-kissed hands spread with a lime-twig snare
where I shall place the heaviest, sweetest fruit of strife:
'Even this One, O Margaro, this One is empty air!' " 131
The black-eyed maiden shrieked and fell prone to the ground:
"This dreadful word you give us, saint, destroys us all!"
But the worm-taken prince leapt up with cloudless joy:
"My heart throbs and my mind glows! I hold freedom's keys!"
His black locks fluttered down his back, a lion's mane,
his youthful body in the twilight gleamed erect
like a tall sword which an unseen hand sweeps through air.
"My saintly savior, give us the good word again!"
Slowly and sweetly in the withering shades of dusk
fell life's and the ascetic's highest, most fearful fruit:
"Even this One, O prince, even this One is empty air!"
No.3998
I recently found an English translation of a book called "Tales of Ensign Stal" by Johann Runeberg. It's collection of narrative poems about the Russian annexation of Finland during the Napoleonic wars. The translator did a very good job. Here's one of the poems:
The sun had sunk, the evening came, the summer evening
tender;
O'er huts and meadows now reposed a sheen of purple
splendor;
And from their day's work, glad yet worn, a throng of
landsmen came;
Their work was done, and they had turned, the peace of
home to claim.
Their task was o'er, their harvest reaped, this time a
harvest treasured,
For to a fierce and hostile band was death or capture
measured;
Unto the combat they had marched in morning's early light,
And when the scene in triumph closed, it grew fast toward
the night.
Anear the field where long and fierce their might had been
exerted,
A little cottage by the way was standing, half deserted;
There sat upon its lowly step a maiden mute, who scanned
The soldiers as they marched along, a calm returning band.
She watched as one expectant would; but who her thoughts
detected?
A deeper hue glowed on her cheek than evenings glow
reflected.
She sat so silent, so intent, yet with an eye so clear,
That if she listened as she gazed, her heart-beats she could
hear.
The troops move on; the maiden scans the throng as it
advances;
To every file, to every man, her eye a question glances, -
A question timid, faltering, a query unexpressed,
More silent than the sigh itself that flutters from her
breast.
When all the troops, from first to last, their homeward way
have wended,
The poor girl's calm now vanishes, and seems her spirit
rended;
Not loud she weeps, but bows her head upon her opened
hand,
And on her fresh and crimson cheeks the copious teardrops
stand.
"Why are you weeping? Courage take! New hope we yet
may borrow;
O daughter, hear your mother's voice, - for idle is your
sorrow;
He whom your eyes have sought in vain, though naught
could tidings give,
He's yet alive, he thought of you, and so for you will live.
"He thought of you, my counsel took 'gainst seeking
dangers madly;
It was my whispered farewell word when he departed
sadly;
The troops he followed by constraint, 'twas not his wish to
fight;
I know he would not choose to die from us and life's
delight."
The maiden raised her trembling eyes, from sorrow's
dreaming shaken,
As if some dark, foreboding thought disturbed her heart
forsaken;
She lingered not, she turned one glance where fierce had
raged the fight,
Then stole away, in silence fled, and vanished from the
sight.
A while passed by, and yet a while, on stole the evening's
glimmer,
A silver cloud swam in the sky, below lay twilight's
shimmer.
"She tarries yet! O daughter, come! Your fears are all in
vain;
To-morrow, ere the sun appears, your bridegroom's here
again!
The daughter comes; with silent step to mother she
advances;
But floods of tears no longer now obscure her gentle
glances;
The maiden's hand, for greeting given, is chill as wind of
night,
And paler than the skies of heaven her cheek so cold and
white.
"Prepare my grave, O mother dear, my day of life is over;
With shame deserted he the fight, who'd won my faith as
lover.
He thought of me, he thought of self, your counsel well
obeyed,
And cheating all his brothers' hope, his father's land
betrayed!
"When they returned, and he came not, his fate I mourned,
true-hearted,
Believed he lay upon the field, a man, with those departed;
I sorrowed; but my grief was sweet, - it held no piercing
thorn;
I would have lived a thousand years his valiant death to
mourn.
"O mother, till the day's last gleam I've searched among the
perished,
But not one face of all the slain revealed his features
cherished;
And now on this deceiving isle no longer will I sigh;
He was not there among the dead, and therefore will I die!"
