ANONYMOUS, JOSEPH BRODSKY & ANONYMOUS
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ditto
ANONYMOUS
The Man of Double Deed
There was a man of double deed,
Who sowed his garden full of seed;
When the seed began to grow,
'Twas like a garden full of snow;
When the snow began to melt,
'Twas like a ship without a belt;
When the ship began to sail,
'Twas like a bird without a tail;
When the bird began to fly,
'Twas like an eagle in the sky;
When the sky began to roar,
'Twas like a lion at my door;
When my door began to crack,
'Twas like a stick across my back;
When my back began to smart,
'Twas like a penknife in my heart;
And when my heart began to bleed,
'Twas death, and death, and death indeed.
The Man of Double Deed
There was a man of double deed,
Who sowed his garden full of seed;
When the seed began to grow,
'Twas like a garden full of snow;
When the snow began to melt,
'Twas like a ship without a belt;
When the ship began to sail,
'Twas like a bird without a tail;
When the bird began to fly,
'Twas like an eagle in the sky;
When the sky began to roar,
'Twas like a lion at my door;
When my door began to crack,
'Twas like a stick across my back;
When my back began to smart,
'Twas like a penknife in my heart;
And when my heart began to bleed,
'Twas death, and death, and death indeed.
__________
TPB's notes: found.
Elegy
About a year has passed. I've returned to the place of the battle
to its birds that have learned their unfolding of wings
from a subtle
lift of a surprised eyebrow or perhaps from a razor blade
- wings now the shade of early twilight now of state
bad blood.
Now the place is abuzz with trading
in your ankles's remanants bronzes
of sunburnt breastplates dying laughter bruises
rumors of fresh reserves memories of high treason
laundered banners with imprints of the many
who since have risen.
All's overgrown with people. A ruin's a rather stubborn
architectural style. And the hearts's distinction
from a pitch-black cavern
isn't that great; not great enough to fear
that we may collide again like blind eggs somewhere.
At sunrise when nobody stares at one's face I often
set out on foot to a monument cast in molten
lengthy bad dreams. And it says on the plinth "commander
in chief." But it reads "in grief " or "in brief "
or "in going under."
_________
TPB's notes: found notes: "1985 translated by the author." - i.e. translated by mr. brodsky himself.
ARTE P. (ANONYMOUS)
The Tracks (Found Words Poetry)
Everything about our relationship to that track
is out of whack.
We curse it,
we fear it,
we daily look at it,
ride on it,
spit on it.
It doesn’t look as deep as it is,
the platform edge isn’t built the way you think it is;
the trains are massive and move quickly along and no one knows
what.his.leg.muscles.will.do.u
they
are
tested.
Everything about our relationship to that track
is out of whack.
We curse it,
we fear it,
we daily look at it,
ride on it,
spit on it.
It doesn’t look as deep as it is,
the platform edge isn’t built the way you think it is;
the trains are massive and move quickly along and no one knows
what.his.leg.muscles.will.do.u
they
are
tested.
___________
TPB's notes: this anonymous poet "Arte P." is a published writer of novels; about poetry and art however, he suffers connoisseurial approaches to both.
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