|
Dec. 10th, 2013|12:37 am |
ņemot vērā to, ka esmu (beidzotttt!!) tikusi elitārajā un ļoti noslēpumainajā cibinieku paralēlajā realitātē, man ir pasākuši reizēm jautāt, ko nozīmējot mans jūzerneims. ir pienācis laiks atklāt kārtis. nu tad tā:
yeux glauques
gladstone was still respected,
when john ruskin produced
'king's treasuries'; swinburne
and rossetti still abused.
foetid buchanan lifted up his voice
when that faun's head of hers
became a pastime for
painters and adulterers.
the burne-jones cartons
have preserved her eyes;
still, at the tate, they teach
cophetua to rhapsodize;
thin like brook-water,
with a vacant gaze.
the english rubaiyat was still-born
in those days.
the thin, clear gaze, the same
still darts out faun-like from the half-ruin'd face,
questing and passive.
'ah, poor jenny's case'
bewildered that a world
shows no surprise
at her last maquero's
adulteries.
(c)ezra pound. un hendersons, protams, ir sola belova neciešamais taikūns, lietus karalis.
kurš tad to nezināja, duh. |
|