F. Seidels, divi dzejoļi


1/2

'The'

The poem as a human torch. I burn. Burns out.

2/2

'My Tokyo'

Moshi-Moshi. (Hello.)
Money is being made.
Money was being made.
Make more make more make more consumer goods.

But the shelves were empty.
The snow was deep.
At Lenin's Tomb the Honor Guard
Stood there actually asleep.

Red Square was white.
Snow was falling dreamily on Beijing.
This was global warming.
Twenty-four hours passed and it was still snowing.

In New York the homeless
Reify the rich.
The homeless in the streets.
The car alarms go off.

The cherry blossoms burst
Into Imperial bloom. The handheld fax machine has something
Coming in. This spring our Western eyes are starting to slant.
The caution you composites can't.

O O O Ochanomizu,
You are my station.
The polished businessman warrior bowed
Cool as a mountain forest of pine.

And the adolescent schoolgirls like clouds of butterflies
On the subway in their black school uniforms
At all hours of the day going somewhere,
Daughters of the Rising Sun.

New York is an electrical fire.
People are trapped on the top floor, smoking
With high-rise desire
And becoming Calcutta.

Tokyo is low
And manic as a hive.
For the middle of the night they have silent jackhammers.
Elizabethan London with the sound off. Racially pure with no poor.

Mishima himself designed the stark far-out uniform
His private army wore, madly haute couture. He stabbed the blade in wrong
And was still alive when his aide tried in vain
To cut his head off as required.

Moshi-moshi I can't hear you. I'm going blind.
Don't let me abandon you, you're all I have.
Hello, hello. My Tokyo, hello.
Hang up and I'll call you back.

You say to the recyclable person of your dreams Je t'aime,
And the voice recognition system,
Housed in a heart made from seaweed,
Murmurs in Japanese Moi aussi.



vienmēr gribas kaut ko piebilst tam, ko es šite iemetu.

man vnk nenormāli patīk pēdējā četrrinde. nu cik ciniskam jābūt, lai tā arī melns uz balta uzrakstītu 'recyclable person of your dreams'! bet, re, blakus tāds kawaii-borderline-kowaii 'moi aussi'. protams, tas dzejolis ir drusku klišejisks satura ziņā, taču es tāpat mīlu šo sabojāto aristokrātu atvasi, man patīk, tāds autentiskums ka piesprādzēties prasās.