Ybo' and Other Lies by Adriano Bulla

Author:Adriano Bulla
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Poetry, experimental, modernist, post-modernist, erotic, spiritual, war, gay, academic
ISBN: 9781783331192
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2013
Published: 2013-07-16T00:00:00+00:00

Desiccation on an Ice-Field

Songeurs, where no curfew

ever tolls no knell of parting day

les yeux opaques de une vieille

swayed on a rockin’-chair movement

slashin’ the ash grey skies

above the furrowed hills...

The motor scraper tore

an old wrinkled terrace

down -

one by one every single pebble

buried itself in the spare soot

No meek nor tempestuous noise

of thunder, nor lightning’s heard....

The Pillars of the Bridge

Thus, crumbling

Like dry bones in winter,

I became of the world an expert

And of human vices and their worth

Here at last we shall be -

We have a thousand tonnes

On our shoulders,

And our backs are sore,

And still we cannot see -

Where we are standing.

Merrily did we drop

Below the kirk, below the hall,

Below the hefty lighthouse feet,

-we’re moving, he said we’re off

-Porca Madonna!

...Unto the rhumb we saw the stern arising

And then bow down, as foreign will did please

Until the ruthless scrum was upon us reclined.

‘Promised me the moon’ he said -

Bent over his broodings

He sneered and blushed......

And the samovar, dark and wrinkled,

Breathes like purple carnation,

Numb amid the moss.

He watched his own drifting

Beneath the shattering pillars

-Standing up:

‘He lays bricks, I daresay.’

He blushed and hushed:

-Deaf goggles all about

-Blind toes rubbing out

-Dumb scribbles on the wall

‘Boy number twenty!’

Thro’ the smoke of the chimneys did he walk

His boots thumping on the dry pavement

One-Two-Three-Four

One-Two-Three-Four

-from whence he heard him

taking off his glasses;

laid them on the pillow;

saw him slipping a fountain pen

into his pocket;

felt him pressing

his temples and

tasting his tea...

with the smell of dusty cretonne

up and down

the rocking chair swung

bored by the woodworm -

crawling among the small

miry pebbles......

So let them rest in peace with their lovers

None truly loved

Yet all worn out

Like soldiers’ boots.

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