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a poem each from bolano and dambudzo, on war or something about a fly.
DAMBUDZO MARECHERA
Did You Ask What’s Wrong with War?
There are no wrong words, right?
There are no wrong trees, right?
There is no wrong sand, right?
I’ve slept the world in freely
underwear
Dreamed I buggered all the little boys
who are future leaders
Fucked all the funny little girls made of
thatch and ghandy
My anarchist arse has shat on society
And LOOK millions of open flies
are homing in on your wide-open lips.
There are no wrong words, right?
There are no wrong trees, right?
There is no wrong sand, right?
I’ve slept the world in freely
underwear
Dreamed I buggered all the little boys
who are future leaders
Fucked all the funny little girls made of
thatch and ghandy
My anarchist arse has shat on society
And LOOK millions of open flies
are homing in on your wide-open lips.
__________
TPB's notes: Dambudzo Marechera, Cemetery of Mind, There is a Dissident in the Election Soup.
ROBERTO BOLANO
A fly inside a fly, a thought inside a thought, and Mario Santiago inside Mario Santiago
What do you feel, tell me what do you feel
when the birds get lost in red
and you're steadied against the wall, your pants
split and hair disheveled as if you'd just
killed a president.
What do you feel in the reddening hour,
in the agitprop hour, boots sinking
into the snow of an avenue
where no one knows you.
Forked tongue of knowing how to be alone and images
that destiny (so pleasant) drags
beyond the hills.
tell me, what do you feel. What color
do your remarkable eyes turn then.
A fly inside a fly, a thought inside a thought, and Mario Santiago inside Mario Santiago
What do you feel, tell me what do you feel
when the birds get lost in red
and you're steadied against the wall, your pants
split and hair disheveled as if you'd just
killed a president.
What do you feel in the reddening hour,
in the agitprop hour, boots sinking
into the snow of an avenue
where no one knows you.
Forked tongue of knowing how to be alone and images
that destiny (so pleasant) drags
beyond the hills.
tell me, what do you feel. What color
do your remarkable eyes turn then.
___________
TPB's notes: from the chunk of a book we got this afternoon, translated by laura healy, THE UNKNOWN UNIVERSITY. see below.
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