essere carne nella bocca del suo cane

"compagno uomo, tu sai cos'è l'orrore del bosco quando vi si apre una radura notturna? o no. quando ripensi nottetempo alla radura che hai veduto e traversato di giorno, e là c'è un fiore, una bacca che sai, che oscilla al vento, e questa bacca, questo fiore, è una cosa selvaggia, intoccabile, mortale, fra tutte le cose selvagge? capisci questo? un fiore che è come una belva? compagno, hai mai guardato con spavento e con voglia la natura di una lupa, di una daina, di una serpe?" britomarti bosco natìo, soil, menstrual blood, stars pasticcio, a round stone la testa come un ramo di sambuco, una cinghialessa

[variationsforthehealingofmishka]

night sonnet, novica tadić translated by charles simic

[variationsforthehealingofmishka]

toward evening, novica tadić translated by charles simic

[variationsforthehealingofmishka]

untitled poem 1, namdeo dhasal

I have seen him I have rejected him often My corpse that wanders From town to town Wait in this evening’s glow and stand still A drunk is dialing God’s number Don’t show me such pity That degrades May be our relationship is all spent Shrug your shoulders and get rid of it So that you could Axe this water a couple of times.

translated from the marathi by Dilip Chitre

[variationsforthehealingofmishka]

fragment from kamatipura, namdeo dhasal

O Kamatipura, Tucking all seasons under your armpit You squat in the mud there I go beyond all the pleasures and pains of whoring and wait For your lotus to bloom. — A lotus in the mud

translated from the marathi by Dilip Chitre

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“when it’s a full moon I like to kiss a pond”

— Frank Stanford, line 11367, from The Battlefield Where the Moon Says I Love You (Lost Roads Publishers, 2000)

[litafficionado]

Osip Mandelstam and Anna Akhmatova, c. 1930s

[heteroglossia]

“Each time there is writing. No writing opens a passage without this bodily violence. How otherwise does one explain the charge–others would say the investment–the libidinal, even narcissistic charge that everyone brings to his own texts? It is my body, this is my body. Every poem says, “This is my body,” and the rest: drink it, eat it, keep it in memory of me. There is a Last Supper in every poem, which says: “This is my body, here and now.” And you know what comes next: passions, crucifixions, executions. Others would also say resurrections.”

— Jacques Derrida, “Rams: Uninterrupted Dialogue–Between Two Infinities, the Poem,” Sovereignties in Question: The Poetics of Paul Celan

[variationsforthehealingofmishka]

packing, sampurna chattarji

I put in a butterfly, first. Shake its purple noondust air into the furthest corner where it will be safe.

Then, I put in the snake that he bit a mouthful out of, silenced with a stone.

What else was there room for after that?

[variationsforthehealingofmishka]

kali mahamaya, kanya kanchana

darkriver moonrise girlrise locksdrip firmfoot mudbank starwheel skinflush

red mouthswell tongueloll breastswell hipswell archback cockride nailrake treebark sunripe wombswell cuntswell rockback haunchsquat pullsquirt babesquall blooddrip sweatdrip slimedrip

devour headfirst skullcrack laugh

leaffall headback laugh

you were seen mother but there was nothing to see

[variationsforthehealingofmishka]

shahram nazeri - sheyda shodam

[thisishangingrockcomics-deactiv]

God has lost so much blood now he can’t speak he had to go to giving

hand signals like a deaf and dumb man

the pieces of stars passing my ship

so slowly I can reach out and touch them if I could

I lay in slumber charged with death

[variationsforthehealingofmishka]

un suolo d'oro di bronzo, di piombo / ingioiellato rosso e pervinca / cala la dominante spenta / come panno grezzo che tradizione comanda / arriva il salmastro dal sud il naso l'odora / un'aria a contrasto spinge il gelo del nord giù nella gola / giorni di sole bianco blu in taglio netto / pungono gli occhi per lucida purezza / giorni che non servono parole / il fiato si condensa in sbuffi di vapore / giorni di tormenta in neve scossa / sprangato il mondo a gambe e braccia / ciò che la mano tocca

[pyotra]

Away from home I live in my thirty-sixth rented room With a trapped bee and a three-legged spider. Spider crawls on the wall and I on the floor. Bee bangs at the window and I on the table. Often we stare at each other sharing our pool of loneliness. They paint the wall with droppings and webs. I give them isolated words net, maze, tangle wings, buzz, flutter. - Away from home my minutes are hours. Spider travels from the window to the ceiling. Bee flies from the window to the bin. I stare out of the window. Neither speaks each other’s tongue. - I wish you would go deaf before my silence.

Bhuchung D. Sonam, “Banishment”

Poet/writer, was born in Tibet. In exile he studied in TCV School, Dharamsala. His books include Dandelions of Tibet, Conflict of Duality, Songs from a Distance and Muses in Exile: An Anthology of Tibetan Poetry.

(via duoyen)

[variationsforthehealingofmishka]

La farfala Cuntént própri cuntént a sò stè una masa ad vólti tla vóita mó piò di tótt quant ch’i m’a liberè in Germania ch’a m sò mèss a guardè una farfàla sénza la vòia ad magnèla. La farfalla Contento proprio contento sono stato molte volte nella vita ma più di tutte quando mi hanno liberato in Germania che mi sono messo a guardare una farfalla senza la voglia di mangiarla

La farfala,Tonino Guerra

[variationsforthehealingofmishka]

there was a water song that we sang when we were going to fetch river from the river, it was filled with water sounds & pebbles. here, in the after-wind, with the other girls, we trade words like special things. one girl tells me “mai” was her sister’s name, the word for “flower.” she has been saving this one for a special trade. I understand & am quiet awhile, respecting, then give her my word “mai,” for “water,” & another girl tells me “mai” is “mother” in her language, & another says it meant, to her, “what belongs to me,” then “belonging,” suddenly, is a strange word, or a way of  feeling, like “to be longing for,” & you, brother, are the only one, the only one I think of  to finish that thought,                to be longing for                mai brother, my brother

luam/asa-luam, aracelis girmay

[variationsforthehealingofmishka]

at night i carry ancient roots into the field green frog legs, green sockets of the moon and green bullet shell all blooming on my back in the morning i return to the village knock on the door a bee looking for water lands on my neck thinks i might be a well above ground Mother opens the door sees through the well a row of moist trees and all kneel down bow to the plain and to her: Mother — they cry — Mother

night and morning of spring, hai zi translated by ye chun

[variationsforthehealingofmishka]

up north in front of a door a little woman is shaking a bell i’m willing willing to be a pagoda built secretly in the night at dawn she suddently notices me she lifts up her eyes and makes me beautiful all over

up north in front of a door, hai zi translated by ye chun