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Πάμπος Κουζάλης
(από το βιβλίο "Ανθολογία Σύγχρονης Κυπριακής Ποίησης", εκδόσεις Μανδραγόρας.

Έπεσε στα χέρια μου αυτές τις μέρες. Έχει και φόλες μέσα. Έχει και μερικά πολύ ωραία. Έχει και μερικά πολύ απλά. Μερικές φορές, αυτά τα απλά, σου τα σκάνε πιο δυνατά.)

Big Night On The Town

drunk on the dark streets of some city,
it's night, you're lost, where's your
room?
you enter a bar to find yourself,
order scotch and water.
damned bar's sloppy wet, it soaks
part of one of your shirt
sleeves.
It's a clip joint-the scotch is weak.
you order a bottle of beer.
Madame Death walks up to you
wearing a dress.
she sits down, you buy her a
beer, she stinks of swamps, presses
a leg against you.
the bar tender sneers.
you've got him worried, he doesn't
know if you're a cop, a killer, a
madman or an
Idiot.
you ask for a vodka.
you pour the vodka into the top of
the beer bottle.
It's one a.m. In a dead cow world.
you ask her how much for head,
drink everything down, it tastes
like machine oil.

you leave Madame Death there,
you leave the sneering bartender
there.

you have remembered where
your room is.
the room with the full bottle of
wine on the dresser.
the room with the dance of the
roaches.
Perfection in the Star Turd
where love died
laughing.

Θα έπρεπε να μείνω μέσα σήμερα.
Η αυριανή μέρα έχει αβάσταχτο τρέξιμο.
Αλλά δεν μπορώ,
το ξέρω πως άλλα σου είπα,
μα δεν μπορώ.
Έχω πάλι αυτή την ανόητη ανάγκη.
Όχι αυτή του αλκοόλ αλλά της
μικρής φυγής.
Που κρατά λίγο, και σκάβει δαιμονισμένα
προσπαθώντας να ανοίξει μια έξοδο κινδύνου
που ποτέ δεν θα διάβαινα.

Pull A String, A Puppet Moves

each man must realize
that it can all disappear very
quickly:
the cat, the woman, the job,
the front tire,
the bed, the walls, the
room; all our necessities
including love,
rest on foundations of sand -
and any given cause,
no matter how unrelated:
the death of a boy in Hong Kong
or a blizzard in Omaha ...
can serve as your undoing.
all your chinaware crashing to the
kitchen floor, your girl will enter
and you'll be standing, drunk,
in the center of it and she'll ask:
my god, what's the matter?
and you'll answer: I don't know,
I don't know ...

"I'm in love", by Charles Bukowski

she's young, she said,

but look at me,

I have pretty ankles,

and look at my wrists, I have pretty

wrists

o my god,

I thought it was all working,

and now it's her again,

every time she phones you go crazy,

you told me it was over

you told me it was finished,

listen, I've lived long enough to become a

good woman,

why do you need a bad woman?

you need to be tortured, don't you?

you think life is rotten if somebody treats you

rotten it all fits,

doesn't it?

tell me, is that it? do you want to be treated like a

piece of shit?

and my son, my son was going to meet you.

I told my son

and I dropped all my lovers.

I stood up in a cafe and screamed

I'M IN LOVE,

and now you've made a fool of me. . .

I'm sorry, I said, I'm really sorry.

hold me, she said, will you please hold me?

I've never been in one of these things before, I said,

these triangles. . .

she got up and lit a cigarette, she was trembling all

over.she paced up and down,wild and crazy.she had

a small body.her arms were thin,very thin and when

she screamed and started beating me I held her

wrists and then I got it through the eyes:hatred,

centuries deep and true.I was wrong and graceless and

sick.all the things I had learned had been wasted.

there was no creature living as foul as I

and all my poems were

false.

"Nirvana", a poem by Charles Bukowski, read by Tom Waits.

not much chance,

completely cut loose from

purpose,

he was a young man

riding a bus

through North Carolina

on the way to somewhere

and it began to snow

and the bus stopped

at a little cafe

in the hills

and the passengers

entered.

he sat at the counter

with the others,

he ordered and the

food arived.

the meal was

particularly

good

and the

coffee.

the waitress was

unlike the women

he had

known.

she was unaffected,

there was a natural

humor which came

from her.

the fry cook said

crazy things.

the dishwasher.

in back,

laughed, a good

clean

pleasant

laugh.

the young man watched

the snow through the

windows.

he wanted to stay

in that cafe

forever.

the curious feeling

swam through him

that everything

was

beautiful

there,

that it would always

stay beautiful

there.

then the bus driver

told the passengers

that it was time

to board.

the young man

thought, I'll just sit

here, I'll just stay

here.

but then

he rose and followed

the others into the

bus.

he found his

seat

and looked at the cafe

through the bus

window.

then the bus moved

off, down a curve,

downward, out of

the hills.

the young man

looked straight

foreward.

he heard the other

passengers

speaking

of other things,

or they were

reading

or attempting to

sleep.

they had not

noticed

the magic.

the young man

put his head to

one side,

closed his

eyes,

pretended to

sleep.

there was nothing

else to do-

just to listen to the

sound of the

engine,

the sound of the

tires

in the

snow.

Διάβασα ένα ποίημα.

Τα Λύτρα

Όταν γεράσω

θα γίνω ληστής.

Θα είναι τα χρόνια της ευκαιρίας

γιορτινά και δύσκολα.

Ο μήνας Αύγουστος

με όλα τα φεγγάρια που ξέπλεκα

θα καλοσωρίζει τους θεούς,

γεμίζοντας τα κότερα τους

με γυναίκες.

Και κείνοι θα γελούν

σαν τρελοί καπετάνιοι

ηλιοκαμμένοι και ξένοιαστοι

παλιοί γενναίοι παράνομοι

για πάντα πια ζάμπλουτοι

θαλασσινοί ακροβάτες.

Όταν γεράσω κάποτε

θα γίνω ληστής ΄

θα παίρνω πίσω το σώμα μου

κλέβοντας καλοκαίρια.

Ο ποιητής λέγεται Παναγιώτης Δόικος. Είναι λέκτορας Φιλοσοφίας στο Αριστοτέλιο Πανεπιστήμιο Θεσσαλονίκης. Το ποίημα το βρήκα στο 20ο τεύχος του περιοδικού Ίνδικτος. Η φωτογραφία είναι από την ταινία Umberto D. του Βιτόριο Ντε Σίκα. Αν δεν την έχετε δει, αναζητείστε την με κάθε τρόπο.

Καληνύχτα.