Tip:
Highlight text to annotate it
X
Romanza of the drunken Poet Goblin
Here, in this magical, spellbound bar, almost all is known....
It's told in gambling by jacks and kings,
rustic ventriloquists of that leavens between the decks.
Right here, against the flat bottom of each glass
we're watched by the quiet eye of madness,
that some discepolin who wanted to see the devil's footsteps,
sewed with a fine thread of bitterness.
From this glass that the Goblin, so sad, is gulping,we.
three Marionettes drunk on things are watching him.
Here, where tomorrow tastes of long ago,
loocking for God I saw, in the shiver,
that he was in what I love and what I miss
cut to measure, as the size
of the grain gives the size of the summer.
Here in each bottle fits a river ;
and at the bottom of this river there's another joint ;
and drunk, in this bar, one of my poems,
and in it, the sad silver of another river
that made me a Goblin, made mea thausand years ago !
The Goblin - that in the little opera came telling the tale -
has lost a shadow and drunken, keeps calling.
From me, betting on you
I send you this scrap
of tango with circles under the eyes,
that in your pain, in full,
will stir the loving anger of a friendy song in the bitter ashes of your steps
From me, and hear me, wherever you up to your nothigness for two thousand
blondes, and hookers and Melatos, will go to cast upon your shadow an affair of stars
( Are Olivari's bones aware of this smell )
Poor Goblin! He walks on that shadow,
at a loss, and ask his chums
to take their sadness there.
From me, and whererever you are, with the strength of madness,
like a strange hymn, the low-class concert will sound so deep
that an old blind man will play you
on the string of his fake Stradivarius.
From me, and wherever you are,
I'll set up a convention
of sweet little goblins that can twist
the fog of your skin; and a tavern rumour of jailed Nazarenes
will recite your Annunciation backwards.
All of us, Master Goblin the guys of this drinkers'gang.
will go take a miracleo and to the Gir l on your behalf.
And as soon as you're reborn
you'll know the trap of mate in this pot,
and the sky of the hole looking up from a shoe
the rain that is not yet and a sip of that rain,
the rain that is not yet
and a sip of that rain, and the time in its time-pot...
Shadows Maria, just say:
" My Goblin, I love you so! "
And nine crazy moons in heat of an attack of light
will wing- around you- the sentimental winks
of a stale ball with laughter and in labour
Come on, Shadow Maria,
with december and the songs that Goblin
is kneading you with the pollen of this bar.
And thus along a qaver silence
your day will finally come;
a chestnut Sunday will make for you, with the ugliest leaves
of a perfumed tree, the false,
angelic beaty of its bougets.
Your day will rise from a torn meridian
of the doorstep where some backhanded poet
bakes his Mass
Amen, my dear, from a Christ.
Like this, yours and ours....
....So be it !