Re: literatura & quotes (citati)

straight-edge Sob Jan 05, 2008 9:36 pm

Mesečniška romanca

Zeleno, ki te hočem zeleno.
Zeleni veter. Zelene veje.
Ladja na morju
in konj na planini.
S senco ob pasu
ona sanja na balkonu,
polti zelene, las zelenih,
z očmi iz hladnega srebra.
Zeleno, ki te hočem zeleno.
Pod ciganskim mesecem
stvari jo motrijo
in ona jih ne more motriti.

Zeleno, ki te jočem zeleno.
Vlike ledene zvezde
prihajajo s senčnato ribo,
ki odpira cesto zori.
Smokva tare veter
z luskinami svojih vej,
in gora, mačka tatica
ježi svoje sršljive aloje.
Ali kdo bo prišel? In od kod?
Ona sedi na balkonu,
polti zelene, las zelenih,
sanjajoč o morju gorjupem.
"boter, rad bi menjal
svojega konja za vašo hišo,
svoje sedlo za vaše zrcalo,
svoj nož za vašo odejo.
Boter, krvav prihajam
od luk mesta Cabra."
"Ko bi jaz mogel, fantič,
bi sklenil to pogodbo.
Ali jaz nisem več jaz,
in moja hiša ni več moja hiša."
"Boter, hočem umreti
dostojanstveno v svoji postelji.

Od jekla če je mogoče,
s holandskimi ponjavami.
Ne vidiš moje rane
od prsi do vratu?"
"Tristo rjavih rož
je na tvoji beli srajici.
Tvoja kri curlja in diši
okoli tvojega pasu.
Ali jaz nisem več jaz
in moja hiša ni več moja hiša."
"Pustite me vsaj, da se vzpnem
do visokih balkonov:
Pustite me, da se vzpnem! Pustite me
do zelenih balkonov.
Ograja meseca,
od koder odmeva voda."

Že se vzpenjata dava botra
do visokih balkonov.
Puščajoč za seboj sled krvi.
Puščajoč za seboj sled solza.
Trepetali so na strehah
lampijončko iz kositra.
Tisoč kristalnih tamburinov
je rezalo rano jutro.

Zeleno, ki te hočem zeleno,
Zeleni veter, zelene veje.
Oba botra sta se vzpela.
Široki veter je puščal
v ustih čuden okus
žolča, mete in bazilike.

Boter! Kje, povej mi,
kje je tvoja grenka mladenka?
Kolikokrat te je pričakovala!
Kolikokrat te bo pričakovala
svežega lica, črnolasa,
na tam zelenem balkonu!

Na obrazu kapnice
se je gugala ciganka.
Polti zelene, las zelenih,
z očmi od hladnega srebra.

Ledena skril meseca
drži jo iznad vode.
Noč je postala prijazna
kakor majhen trg.

Orožniki pijani
so udarili po vratih.
Zeleno, ki te hočem zeleno.
Zlene veter, zelene veje.
Ladja na morju
in konj na planini.

Frederico Garcia Loraca

straight-edge Sre Jan 09, 2008 12:26 pm

Ulalume

The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere --
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night at the lonsome October
Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Wier --
It was down by the danl tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul haunetd woodland of Wier.

Here ince, through an alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul --
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
These were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that roll --
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sukohurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the people --
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
In the realms of the boreal pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober,
But our thoughts they were oalsied and sere --
Our memories were treacherous and sere --
For we knew not the month of October,
And we marked not the night of the ya+ear --
(Ah, night of all nights of the year!)
We noted not the dim lake of Auber --
(Though once we had journeyed down here) --
We remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,
Nor the ghoul.haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent
And star-dials pointed to morn --
As the star-dials hinted of morn --
At the end of our path a liquescent
And nebulous lustre was born,
Out of wich miraculous crescent
Arose with a duplocate horn --
Astarte's bediamonded crescent
Discent with it's deplicate horn.

And I said -- "She is warmer than Dian:
She rolls through the ether of sighs --
She revels in a region of sighs:
She has seen that the teary are not dry on
These cheeks, where the worm never dies
And has come past the stars of the Lion
To point us the path to tha skies --
To the Lethean peace of the skies --
Come up, in despite of the Lion,
To shine on us with her bright eyes --
Come up throught the lair of the Lion,
With love in her luminous eyes."

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,
Said -- "Sadly that star I mistrust --
Her pallor I strangely mistrust:--
Oh, hasten! -- oh, let as not linger!
Oh, fly! -- let us fly! -- for we must."
In terror she spoke, letting sink her
Wings until they trailed in the dust --
In agony sobbed, letting sink her
Plumes till the trailed in the dust --
Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied -- "This is nothing but dreaming:
Let us on by this tremulous light!
Let us bathe in this crystalline light!
Its Sibyllic splendos is beaming
With Hope and in Beauty tonight: --
See! -- it flickers up in the sky through night!
Ah, we safely may trust to it's gleaming,
And be sure it will lead us aright --
Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night."

Thus I pacified Psiche and kissed her,
And temnpted her out of her gloom --
And conquered her scruples and gloom;
And we passed to the end of the vista,
But were stopped by the door of a tomb --
By the door of a legended tomb;
And I said -- "What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legended tomb?"
She replied -- "Ulalume -- Ulalume --
'T is the vault of thy lost Ulalume!"

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober
As the leaves that were crisped and sere --
As the leaves that were withering and sere,
And I cried -- !+"It was surely October
Ob this very night of last year,
Ah, what demon has tempted me here?
Well I know now this dim lake of Auber --
This misty mid region of Weir --
Well I know this dank tarn of Auber,
This ghoul-hounted woodland of Weir."

Edgar Allan Poe <3

straight-edge Pet Jan 11, 2008 8:18 pm

The City in the Sea

LO! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers that tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.

No rays from the holy Heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams out the turrets silently --
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free --
Up domes -- up spires -- up kingly halls --
Up fanes -- up Babylin-like walls --
Up shadowly long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers --
Up many and many marvellous shrine
whose wreathes friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.
Resignetly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem plendulous in air,
While on a proud tower in the town
Death looks giganticlly down.

There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the lumnious waves;
But not he riches there that lie
In each idol's diamond eye --
Not hte gaily-jewelled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along the wilderness of grass --
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea --
No heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene.

But lo, a stir is in the air!
The wave -- there is a movement there!
As if the towers had thrust aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide --
As if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy Heaven
The waves have now a redder glow --
The houres are breathing faint and low --
And when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence.
Hell, rising from the thousand thornes,
Shall do it reverence.

Edga Allan Poe <3

straight-edge Pet Jan 11, 2008 8:45 pm

The Haunted Palace

I

In the greenest of valleys,
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace --
Radiant place -- reared it's head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion --
It stood there!
Never seraph spreaded a pinion
Over fabric half so fair.

II

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On it's roof did float and flow;
(This -- all this -- was in the olden
Time long ago)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.

III
Wanderes in that happy valley
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute's well-tuned law,
Round about hte throne, where, sitting
(Prophyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

IV
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace-door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkeling evermore,
A troop of Echos whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surprising beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

V
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assasiled the monarch's high estate;
(Ah, let us mourn! -- for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)
And round about his home, the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim-remebered story
Of the old time entombed.

VI
And travellers now, within tha valley,
Through the res-litten windows, see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a rapid ghastly river,
Throught the pale door,
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh -- but smile no more.

Edgar Allan Poe <3

straight-edge Sre Jan 30, 2008 10:57 am

TujecL'etranger

Danes je umrla mama. Ali pa včeraj, ne vem.

Povedal sem ji, da mi je umrla mama. Ker je hotela vedeti, kdaj mi je umrla, sem ji odgovoril: "Včeraj." Malo se je zdrznila, vendar ni nič pripomnila. Rad bi ji rekel, da nisem jaz kriv, ampak ustavil sem se, ker sem se spomnil, da sem nekaj takega rekel že svojemu predstojniku. Pa saj je vseeno. Vsekakor je človek zmeraj malo kriv.

Pomislil sem, da je še ena dolgočasna nedelja za mano, da je mama zdaj pokopana, da bom začel delati in da se pravzaprav nič ni spremenilo.

Odgovoril sem, da človek življenja nikdar ne spreminja, da so si vsa med seboj enaka in da mi moje življenje ni nevšečno.

Če sem dobro premislil, nisem bil nesrečen. Ko sem bil študent, sem imel veliko ambicij te vrste. Amapk ko sem moral opustiti študij, sem hitro doumel, da vse skupaj v resnici ni važno.

Počutil sem se popolnoma praznega in rahlo me je bolela glava. Cigareta je imela grenak priokus. Marija je brila norce iz mene, rekoč da imam tak obraz kakor če bi šel za pogrebom. (svojim)

Ostati in oditi je postalo eno in isto.

/.../ zdravo bitje bolj ali manj želi smrt tistim, ki jih ljubi.

Sem take vrste človek, ki mu telesno počutje večkrat vpliva na čustva.

Tedaj sem doumel, da bi človek, ki je živel en sam dan, lahko preživel v ječi sto let. Imel bi dovolj spominov, da se ne bi dolgočasil. V nekem smislu je bila to celo prednost.

Novinar:"Veste, vašo zadevo smo malo napihnili. Poletje je mrtev čas za časopise.

Odvetnik:"Česa pa je obtožen? Da je pokopal svojo mater ali da je ubil človeka?
Tožilec:"Obtožujem tega človeka, da je pokopal svojo mater s srcem hudodelca."

Rekel je (tožilec), da v resnici duše sploh nimam in da mi nibeno človeško in moralno načelo, ki varuje človeško srce, ni pristopno /.../. "Ne moremo se pritoževati, da nima tega, česar si ni znal vzeti"(odvetnik)

"Kazen je nujna posebno tedaj, kadar postaja praznina srca, kakršno odkrivamo v tem človeku, pravo pravcato brezno, v katero se lahko pogrezne družba.Tako mu bodo v imenu francoskega ljudstva na javnem trgu odsekali glavo."(sodnik)

Nikdar nisem maral, da bi me kaj presenetilo. Ko me kaj zadane, sem rad pripravljen.

Pa saj vsi vedo, da življenje ni vredno, da ga živimo. Nekje v globini sem vedel, da je vseeno, ali umreš pri tridesetih ali pri sedemdesetih letih, zakaj zmeraj bodo živeli še drugi moški in druge ženske, in sicer še dolga tisočletja. Pravzaprav ni nič bolj jasno. Umiral bom zmeraj jaz, bodisi zdaj ali čez dvajset let.

V taki bližini smrti se je morala počutiti mama kot osvobojen in pripravljena vse preživeti znova. Nihče, nihče ni imel pravice da bi jokal zanjo. Tudi jaz sem bil pripravljen, da bi vse ponovno preživel. Kakor da bi me ta velika jeza očistila vsega hudega in mi odvzela upanje, sem se v pričo te noči, ki je bila polna znamenj in zvezd, prvič odprl nežni brezbrižnosti sveta. Ob občutku, da mi je podoben (brez načel in smisla) , končno tako bratovski, sem se zavedel, da sem bil in da sem še srečen. Da bi bilo vse dopolnjeno in da ne bi bil tako osamljen, mi je preostala samo še želja, da bi bilo na dan moje usmrtitve mnogo gledalcev in da bi me sprejeli s kriki sovraštva.

Ob branju poslušaj:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HdF98W-ON3Q

Albert Camus Besede v poševnem tisku so moja pojasnika k zgodbi, ob naslovu pa originalen naslov

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