one of my favorite poems

[ex-unholy882.livejournal.com]

the sea before i start dreaming
by branko miljkovic

the world vanishes slowly. we all study
the deceitful time on the wall. let us go!
the borders within which we live
are not the borders within which we die
dull-edged night, dead bodies,
the heart is dead but the abyss remains.
tonight the water wants to drink itself
to the bottom and then to rest.


travel while there's still a world and knowledge
dust will make you beautiful. you'll know the ashes and the light.
go blind on the road you're walking, but remember:
the sun is false, but the path is true.
let merchants of time sail with wax in their ears.
listen bravely how the deserts sing
while white stars kneel before the locked sea.
there's still strength in you to crucify yourself.

emptiness, how puny the stars are!
your dream lacks a body, your night lacks nightliness,
an adjective of a pure stone full of praise.
that which i see, is it mine or your power?

transparent enclosure that the glow overcomes,
deserted transparency that terrifies me,
your flower is the only star above the city,
your hopelessness is of pure gold.

the world vanishes slowly, the sad world.
who'll bury our hearts and bones
there where memory doesn't reach
where days do not multiply and repeat us!
pull my tongue out and stick a flower in its place:

my wanderings are beginning. stop the words.
tomorrow even a coward will be able to do
what today only the just and brave can,
who in the space between us and the night
discovered the reasons of a glorious and different love.

the world vanishes. we believe fiercely
in the thought no one has thought yet,
in the empty place, in the sea foam when with emptiness
the water mingles and then roars.


(i especially love the beginning and the end)

Comments

[aporue.livejournal.com]

wow. i agree, the beginning and end are incredible. especially:
we believe fiercely
in the thought no one has thought yet
etc wonderful poem, thanks for posting:)

[ex-unholy882.livejournal.com]

i absolutely LOVE that line too...that and "tonight the water wants to drink itself to the bottom and then to rest". i love the thought of water being able to quench itself and be satisfied.

[aimlesswanderer.livejournal.com]

Reminds me of The Vanishings:


One day it will vanish,
how you felt when you were overwhelmed
by her, soaping each other in the shower,
or when you heard the news
of his death, there in the T-Bone diner
on Queens Boulevard amid the shouts
of short-order cooks, Armenian, oblivious.
One day one thing and then a dear other
will blur and though they won't be lost
they won't mean as much,
that motorcycle ride on the dirt road
to the deserted beach near Cadiz,
the Guardia mistaking you for a drug-runner,
his machine gun in your belly—
already history now, merely your history,
which means everything to you.
You strain to bring back
your mother's face and full body
before her illness, the arc and tenor
of family dinners, the mysteries
of radio, and Charlie Collins,
eight years old, inviting you
to his house to see the largest turd
that had ever come from him, unflushed.
One day there'll be almost nothing
except what you've written down,
then only what you've written down well,
then little of that.
The march on Washington in '68
where you hoped to change the world
and meet beautiful, sensitive women
is choreography now, cops on horses,
everyone backing off, stepping forward.
The exam you stole and put back unseen
has become one of your stories,
overtold, tainted with charm.
All of it, anyway, will go the way of icebergs
come summer, the small chunks floating
in the Adriatic until they're only water,
pure, and someone taking sad pride
that he can swim in it, numbly.
For you, though, loss, almost painless,
that Senior Prom at the Latin Quarter—
Count Basie and Sarah Vaughan, and you
just interested in your date's cleavage
and staying out all night at Jones Beach,
the small dune fires fueled by driftwood.
You can't remember a riff or a song,
and your date's a woman now, married,
has had sex as you have
some few thousand times, good sex
and forgettable sex, even boring sex,
oh you never could have imagined
back then with the waves crashing
what the body could erase.
It's vanishing as you speak, the soul-grit,
the story-fodder,
everything you retrieve is your past,
everything you let go
goes to memory's out-box, open on all sides,
in cahoots with thin air.
The jobs you didn't get vanish like scabs.
Her good-bye, causing the phone to slip
from your hand, doesn't hurt anymore,
too much doesn't hurt anymore,
not even that hint of your father, ghost-thumping
on your roof in Spain, hurts anymore.
You understand and therefore hate
because you hate the passivity of understanding
that your worst rage and finest
private gesture will flatten and collapse
into history, become invisible
like defeats inside houses. Then something happens
(it is happening) which won't vanish fast enough,
your voice fails, chokes to silence;
hurt (how could you have forgotten?) hurts.
Every other truth in the world, out of respect,
slides over, makes room for its superior.



Thanks for sharing.

./w

[ex-unholy882.livejournal.com]

wow that was really great, and depressing. always an enjoyable combo ;) thank you