the Aliens

by Ch. Bukowski

poezie in noapte

two beautiful Bukowski
the laughing heart
roll the dice
Tom Waits si Bono

"The Laughing Heart"

your life is your life
don't let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can't beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

"Roll The Dice"

if you're going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don't even start.

if you're going to try, go all the
way.
this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or 4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you'll do it
despite rejection and the worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you're going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.

do it, do it, do it.

all the way
all the way.

you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter, its
the only good fight
there is.

what can we do?

at their best, there is gentleness in Humanity.

some understanding and, at times, acts of
courage
but all in all it is a mass, a glob that doesn't
have too much.
it is like a large animal deep in sleep and
almost nothing can awaken it.
when activated it's best at brutality,
selfishness, unjust judgments, murder.

what can we do with it, this Humanity?

nothing.

avoid the thing as much as possible.
treat it as you would anything poisonous, vicious
and mindless.
but be careful. it has enacted laws to protect
itself from you.
it can kill you without cause.
and to escape it you must be subtle.
few escape.

it's up to you to figure a plan.

I have met nobody who has escaped.

I have met some of the great and
famous but they have not escaped
for they are only great and famous within
Humanity.

I have not escaped
but I have not failed in trying again and
again.

before my death I hope to obtain my
life.

Ch. Bukowski

smokin'

You know the sight of his smoking cigarettes again
will make you want to make love to him again,

though he hasn’t a clue how to make love
to a woman, and he loves those cigarettes more

than he loved you. Still, he’ll sit across a table,
in a brown, buttoned-front vest, his legs crossed

like a woman’s, his beard graying faster than his hair,
and the way he holds that cigarette in his fingers,

brings it to his mouth and closes his eyes –
you’ll remember a time, just a single year past,

when you sat talking, the June evening still lingering
in sunlight at the kitchen window beside you.

He said he was tired, that the world always seemed
against him, and you wanted to marry him

because you’d seen his brow burdenless in sleep.
That look on his face was what you wanted

from life, what you wanted to give him and
what you wanted to take from him every morning

before a breakfast of jam and bread, before the coffee
taste of his kisses (their pull at your lips), before

the orange glow in the cup of his hands just after sex.
You’ll remember lying together in a tiny twin bed:

Russian music on the radio, the scent of smoke
settling in your hair and the sheets, the feel

of his chest beneath your moving palm, his chest
moving too, pushing out the air that you breathed in.

malade

Je ne reve plus je ne fume plus ...
je n'ai meme plus d'histoire
je suis seul sans toi je suis laid sans toi
je suis comme un orphelin dans un dortoir…
je n'ai plus envie de vivre ma vie…
ma vie cesse quand tu pars
je n'ai plus de vie…
et meme mon lit
se transforme en quai de gare…
quand tu t'en vas
je suis malade completement malade
comme quand ma mere sortait le soir et qu'elle me laissait seul avec mon desespoir
je suis malade parfaitement malade
t'arrives on ne sait jamais quand tu r'pars on ne sais jamais ou
et ca va faire bientot deux ans que tu t'en fous
comme a un roche comme a un peche je suis accroche à toi
je suis fatigue je suis epuise de faire semblant d'etre heureux

quand ils sont la

je bois toutes les nuits mais tous les whiskys
pour moi ont le meme gout
et tous les bateaux portent ton drapeau
je ne sais plus ou aller tu es partout
je suis malade completement malade
je verse mon sang dans ton corps
et je suis comme un oiseau mort
quand toi tu dors
je suis malade
parfaitement malade
tu m'as prive de tous mes chants
tu m'as vide de tous mes mots
pourtant moi j'avais du talent avant ta peau
cet amour me tue si ca continue
je crev'rai seul avec moi
pres de ma radio comme un gosse idiot
ecoutant sa propre voix qui chantera
je suis malade
completement malade
comme quand ma mere sortait le soir
et qu'elle me laissait seul avec mon desespoir
je suis malade
parfaitement malade
tu m'as prive de tous mes chants
tu m'as vide de tous mes mots
et j'ai le cœur completement malade
cerné de barricades

t'entends‚ je suis malade