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+======== January 1996 ========================= Volume 4, Number 1 ========+
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| [ A JOURNAL OF THE POETIC ARTS ] |
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| Editor: Klaus J. Gerken |
| Production Editor: Igal Koshevoy |
| Associate Editors: Paul Lauda |
| : Pedro Sena |
| : Gay Bost |
| European Editor: Milan Georges Djordjevitch |
| Contributing Editors: Martin Zurla |
| : Evan Light |
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+===========================================================================+
***************************************************************************
[ TABLE OF CONTENTS ]
***************************************************************************
INTRODUCTION.....................................Klaus J. Gerken
The Quality of Light in Mt. Oliver...............kathy jo kramer
BLEMISHED........................................Allison Eir Jenks
MINERALS.........................................Allison Eir Jenks
STARHEART........................................Michael Collings
THE HEAVEN THAT I SEEK...........................Michael Collings
extinguish.......................................Igal Koshevoy
SIX BY SIX.......................................Jay Marvin
RELATIONSHIPS....................................Jay Marvin
OCTOBER 28, 1967.................................Jay Marvin
All-ways.........................................V.A. Blevins
umm..............................................Jim Yagmin
Whispers.........................................Jennifer Mulcahy
Quests?..........................................Jennifer Mulcahy
Desire...........................................Jennifer Mulcahy
I ran through her hair today.....................David A. Cariddi
Sir..............................................David A. Cariddi
The Call of the Modern Bard......................Alvin Brinson
Rachel...........................................Alvin Brinson
Ode to Optimism..................................Alvin Brinson
Stagnant Caverns cry.............................Gay Bost
Empath's Reflection..............................Gay Bost
Refusing.........................................Marc McDonnell
from Relationships
LIX...........................................Klaus J. Gerken
LX............................................Klaus J. Gerken
LXI...........................................Klaus J. Gerken
CURRICULUM VITAE.................................Milan Georges Djordjevic
POST SCRIPTUM
Windows 95...................................Luis Palma Gomes
**************************************************************************
[ INTRODUCTION ]
**************************************************************************
DIVINITY
~~~~~~~~
As if Divinity had catched
The itch in order to be scratch'd,
Or like a mountebank did wound
And stab himself with doubts profound
Only to show with how small pain
The sores of Faith are cured again,
Although by woeful proof we find
They always leave a scar behind.
He knew the seat of Paradise,
Could tell in what degree it lies
And, as he was dispos'd, could prove it
Below the moon or else above it:
What Adam dreamt of when his bride
Came from her closet to his side,
Whether the devil tempted her
By an High-Dutch interpreter,
If either of them had a navel,
Who first made music malleable
Whether the serpent, at the fall
Had cloven feet or none at all,
All this without a gloss or comment
He could unriddle in a moment
In proper terms such as men smatter
When they throw out and miss the matter.
For his religion, it is fit
To match his hearing and his wit,
'Twas Presbyterian true blue
For he was of that stubborn crew
Of errant saints who all men grant
To be the true church militant
Such as to build their faith upon
The holy text of pike and gun;
Decide all controversy by
Infallible artillery,
And prove their doctrine orthodox
By apostic blows and knocks;
Call fire sword and desolation
A godly-thorough reformation
Which always must be carried on,
And still is doing but never done,
As if Religion were intended
For nothing else but being mended.
A sect whose chief devotion lies
In odd preverse antipathies,
In falling out with that and this
And finding somewhat all amiss,
More peevish, cross and splenetic
Than dog distract or monkey sick
That with more care keep holy-day
The wrong, than others in the right way.
Compound for sins they are inclin'd to,
Still so preverse and opposite
As if they worshipp'd God for spite.
-- Samuel Butler, 'Hudibras'
1612 - 1680
Need anyone say more?
-- KJ Gerken
============================================================================
The Quality of Light in Mt. Oliver
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It begins where the pavement crumbles
around abandoned trolley tracks ~
Mt. Oliver, where even the bars burn down.
The Goodwill is now a Rent-a-Center
but the sidewalks are new.
Brownsville Road is the main drag.
It will end where it begins
to be called South Park Road
at an intersection where a Burger King
is closed down. The owner lost his franchise
gambling with his mistress.
I thought I was every girl in America, a future
model, 12 years old with lipstick on my teeth,
and yet my smile never knew the difference
between wanting and being,
walking in painful shoes
that made my legs look good,
unashamed of wearing panty hose
with hotpants, walking past the endless
bars and churches and the cemeteries
where I'd learn to say no
that sounded like thank you
to boys named Michael
who would turn me on
to my first beer, my first dope,
my first regrets: acquired tastes
are the source of all desperation.
But just to be 16 again ~ listening to Bob Seger
sing "Main Street" out of someone else's car,
making love to Michael on a hill
without knowing how steep it was
till we caught our breath at the bottom,
wishing the moon would just close its eyes,
at least wink.
And here I am age 33, walking down this same street
and men annoy me with their horn blowing,
as if I'd get in, as if the moon didn't
stare holes in me, as if my heart wasn't a sieve.
Disgust made me patient
and patience keeps me here.
But there's no shame in getting picked up
if you're left off right.
I love silk cemetery flowers, purple,
folds full of snow. I continue walking,
dressed like someone who thinks she's a movie star,
as compared to how a real movie star would dress.
The difference is supposed to be
some kind of embarrassment
but here hair reigns high
and nails grow long and proud
and we're not pretending
that we're pretending.
It's this difference
that makes Mt. Oliver
feel like home,
feel like no and thank you.
I see a grave digger taking a nap on a coffin
whose corpse waits for the ground.
There is a difference.
-- kathy jo kramer
============================================================================
BLEMISHED
~~~~~~~~~
The octave of us is an avenue
of blackbirds with marbolized wings
As the blacksnake licks the bobcat
in a herculean daze.
Your impotent homeland spread
the last deep-sea of freckles
on your icey, olive face.
Your blemished hands belong on you like
Auburn liquer on pale blue tablecloths.
I swim in the black of your eye until it
liquifies ;like blues in autumn.
We talk like friends of jewel and berry bandits
Erasing halls of bored handwriting.
-- Allison Eir Jenks
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
MINERALS
~~~~~~~~
Rays from his barren eyes
Collect the cranberry air,
Rain'fall carries the temper
of comets to the crib.
Consoled by the concord of thymes,
minerals and misty plums,
His blood is baptized
with the cocoa and
toffee climate.
Prancing through the
crooked underground
His roots condemn
the pressure.
Thoughts of solemn drifts
Time in laps
of waves and sun-down.
His dramatic, purple soul
lives in the sands
of wooden music and butterfly leaves.
Taken back
Not there but all of this here
Balances itself like landing tornadoes.
-- Allison Eir Jenks
============================================================================
STARHEART
~~~~~~~~~
Shard blackness in flame
Shred infinite silence with screams....
Atom to atom wrenched
Nuclei dissevered, expanded, exploded and
Holocaust visits outer realms
Gas clouds and dust swirls that imitate
Galactic nebula until
StarHeart bursts in sweeping gouts
Of stellar blood
Shed in expiation for its inner fires
Its gravity beyond all weight and time
[STARHEART -- computer-assisted
Atom to atom wrenched
Galactic nebulae until
Gas clouds and dust swirls...imitate
Holocaust visits outer realms
Gravity beyond all weight and time.
Nuclei dissevered, expanded, exploded and
Of stellar blood
Shard blackness in flame
Shed in expiation for its inner fires
Shred infinite silence with screams....
StarHeart bursts in sweeping gouts]
-- Michael Collings
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE HEAVEN THAT I SEEK
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
on earth lies hidden
memory of sage and shadow and
silence
beneath crisp Idaho skies
lies unbidden lonely
laughter
all that remains of
years passed
lies captured glimpse
of cloud; whiff of grape;
peculiar, angular heat of August
sunset
lies raptured glance
of blue, deep-ice-pure blue
above a dizzying arc
of smiles
-- Michael Collings
============================================================================
extinguish
~~~~~~~~~~
hollow eyes watching an empty world;
the stain spreads like the smile on god's ugly face.
a million lights slowly join in his sickening song -
a wall of tortured screams, a flood of amputated cries.
glassy, pre-approved visions pass before the cogs,
in planned spontaneity.
the snuffed few, a blinded reminder to sanctity --
building on the solid foundation of the crushed.
a praise to envy;
malice purring in a once-warm bed.
a caressing hand, the other holds a bloodied knife -
and the audience's role is to be fooled (again).
the noose snaps tight,
the crowd explodes at the sight of blood,
and falls to its knees before it's corrugated idols;
the ceremony repeats.
. . .
stamped impressions,
propagated lies -
our love is for those who use us,
beat us,
tear us down and
leave.
prophets and filthy liars - we know on what they feed.
give one more scapegoat, slay to deny the guilt.
we love most those who rape us,
and watch us tremble at their feet.
everything is a commodity,
shit, blood and cum.
taken by force or sold, it's all a matter of pricing;
of moving pawns in a pawn-shop.
human mercy - an existence by other's pleasure;
worship in trade for bread and circuses,
pity for a fuck,
crucifixion for encroachment.
. . .
smash the light that shines above us -
i don't want to watch this any more.
-- igal koshevoy (tr)
december 26, 1995
============================================================================
SIX BY SIX
~~~~~~~~~~
Fifty miles outside Barstow I walk into the desert
the rain driving into the sand like micro meteors
me my gun and shovel among cactus and rock
forsaken by man getting the last laugh anyway freezing
and sweating long after its tormentors and violators
are gone I pick a place and start to dig six by six
the rain pouring off my body I pick up the gun
aim it to my head pulling back the hammer
hoping it won't be long before someone comes
along and finishes the job.
-- Jay Marvin
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
RELATIONSHIPS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The idea was to beak bread eat in peace
but you couldn't and wouldn't plugging in
propaganda tape #23 an attempt to revise
history never letting it go never seeing anyone
else's pain and grief only your own
and like always I pulled out my drill
struck deep the bit finding it's way
to your soul opening up skin and blood
the moisture of your feelings exposed to
fresh air once again and I felt bad because
I had gone too deep and when I withdrew
I tried to pour syrup on your open wound
the dark sticky liquid burning your nerve ends
that much more like raw flesh exposed to salt
as long as we live we'll never get it straight
between us isn't it time we quit trying?
-- Jay Marvin
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
OCTOBER 28, 1967
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A hook shaped pipe a saucer like object attached at the end
stuck in the middle a single bulb it shines down on
a faded sign whispering gas and food at the foot of the
highway behind the glass case candy bars and smokes
look up with vacant eyes their many colors faded from
the desert's hot sun and lack of consumer traffic
ninety miles away steel and chrome compete with
concrete and sad memories all of us gazing at the same
sun waiting for the black comfort of night where we'll
stare at the same moon an occasional semi breaking
concentration in a symphony of fumes and noise
I string the rope over a wooden two by four weather
worn put up by hands long gone I stand on a milk crate
ready to swim in liquid fire will the breast stroke work
or should I try the crawl? I kick the box out and dangle
until the first rays of the sun greet my swollen and blue
body careful cutting me down my soul's resting near by
like a an ugly wet animal free from its egg.
-- Jay Marvin
============================================================================
All-ways
~~~~~~~~
Killing, killing, killing!
Everyone is killing
They love to kill.
On the computer they kill
They kill, they stay at home
They're naked, they're sitting
In front of the computer
They're killing.
That's all they're doing
Is killing...
Killing, killing, killing,
Constantly killing
You go outside,
You see a bug,
And you kill it.
You kill--
And you want to kill
Somebody
I want to kill that
Person
And I want to kill
Somebody
And you're on the highway
And you're saying:
"I'm gonna take my car
and I'm gonna kill someone!"
Then you might say,
"I'm gonna drive my car
into that wall
and kill myself!"
What is killing
All the time,
What is all this killing?
Life is always!
Life is always...
Some people will
Look back at my life
In all-ways...
And
Always
See my life
All ways...
There's all ways
To do it
Live-- life--
The always life
The life you'll
Always live will
Always be your life
The life you live...
All-ways...
-- V.A. Blevins, Nov 18 1995
============================================================================
umm
~~~
So the cranberries sit on the table
Not berries, more like a gel
A gel retaining the curves of the tin.
So it rests in the center of the table,
Jiggling every now and then as a grandparent
or an Aunt decides to stretch over for the potatoes
Instead of asking. We kids at the small table
May not have a tin of cranberries, but at least
We know how to ask. They breathe through mouths
Decades old, filled and stuffed, crammed
with fats and sweets, exhaling now,
Inhaling, exhaling and now pausing to eat more.
The food wobbles down their throats and passes to their stomachs.
From under their chins, human fat hangs,
Dripping like tired candle wax, and stinking of rotted meat.
They try to hide it, packing it under tight blouses and trousers,
Defying truth with lines, curves, and popular designs-
When they go home, the belts come undone
The tight clothing is peeled away.
They sit in the center of their houses,
Tired, fat and content. Jiggling
With laughter at slapstick on the tube.
The fat bounces freely now,
But they retain the shape of their tins.
-- Jim Yagmin
============================================================================
Whispers
~~~~~~~~
Invaded shadow
Smoke-woven lace
A silhouette
And whispered face
Stirrings, ancient
Silence- wild
Remembrance-
So faintly riled
Pleading hearts,
Myopic sight
Destiny...
Whispers the Night.
-- Jennifer Mulcahy, Jun 1 1995
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Quests?
~~~~~~
A quest of greater depth
Lies behind my outer eyes
While here, I'm forced to choose
From evils, ill advised..
Outer paths scream,
Inner doors invisible
A stoic blur to me -
A mind and soul divisible?
-- Jennifer Mulcahy, May 11 1995
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Desire
~~~~~~
There's a Passion in Not Having
And to Lack has strange appeal
In a Yearning for Receiving
Never doubting what we feel-
A momentum in the Wanting
To Desire is to Be!
The Obsession for Possession
Is the Blessing, not the Yield.
-- Jennifer Mulcahy, Jun 11 1995
============================================================================
I ran through her hair today.
It was like sweet vegetable-smelling perfume.
I told her she was awful.
"That," she said, "is exactly what my mother says."
We rolled down hills together
And kissed in the tall grass at the bottom.
We walked through wooded paths,
Where she fell into the water,
And made us turn back.
We froze in a tent together,
While my friends in the next tent
Wondered what those noises were.
And then we talked.
And now I am afraid.
-- David A. Cariddi, May 31 1995
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sir
~~~
We don't want your decency, sir,
We've been doing fine without.
We don't want your values, sir,
You can keep them to yourself.
We don't want your truth, sir,
We've got nothing to fear.
We don't want your dignity, sir,
We've got our own right here.
We don't want your God, sir,
Keep him in your home.
We don't want YOU, sir,
Kindly leave us alone.
-- David A. Cariddi, June 1 1995
============================================================================
The Call of the Modern Bard
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I watch the sky,
the stars going by,
thoughts alite in my mind,
like so many stars,
a song I have to find.
A tune floats by
as a shooting star streaks
forming the foundings of my tale,
of magic, battles, and knights,
and grand starships under sail.
Thus I dream the
stories of a modern bard,
known to but few;
for today who has time
to listen to a little rhyme?
-- Alvin Brinson
Dec 29 1993
revised Jun 9 1995
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rachel
~~~~~~
I saw her by the gate
as I walked into town.
I did not walk slower
than my normal rate,
for; she is a god.
How could I explain
to her if I block the lane?
It was not not lust
made me feel I must.
Her stride, grace, told
what I needed to know.
She was another of the stars,
child of the moon.
Like me - a creature unalike.
I talked to her one day,
she smiled my fear away.
"Why dost thou fear,
for thou art of the stars"
she said to me then,
and I knew from that moment,
She was my one.
But oh what temptors fates are,!
for I had met my true love,
my one love to care,
and never another would come,
no one would part us we declared.
Throwing caution to fates
our love was true.
She an elf and I an elf
we could not deny the call;
that call to confirm our love
beneath the stars above.
But our night came cloaked
a gray and moonless pall
where mists clung low.
I know now it was not meant,
for as we lie together on the
hill confirming our love,
to us came black-cloaked
death; pall-bearer for one
of us; I knew he would not wait;
Fate had played her hand.
I lie now wondering;
was it her he demanded,
or was it I who refused -
refused to take fate
in my hands
and change it all;
what was commanded.
-- Alvin Brinson
Dec 29 1993
revised Jun 9 1995
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ode to Optimism
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I don't know you
but that's okay
you don't know me.
but we'll meet someday.
You in your world
as lonely as I
here in my own.
under the same sky.
Memories yet to be
the days gone by
are yet to pass.
no more shall we cry.
Stronger love than this
neither of us knows
until we cross paths.
In your arms I'll doze.
-- Alvin Brinson
============================================================================
Stagnant Caverns cry....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nothing but an empty aching catacomb
Tomb where once was life
Vessel to nothing
Cup full of ....
. AIR!
No shriveled flesh to mark me passed
Nor brittle bones to crack
Nor dust to blow across the world on
. WIND!
No ragged silken cast offs
Nor hank of ancient hair
Nor teeth age yellowed
Nor memories in which to
. LIVE!
What IS this thing that mocks me
What disturbs my desolation
What scatters my tormented
. SPIRIT!
-- Gay Bost, Jun 20 1995
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Empath's Reflection
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We are one
In Time
We are one
In Love
We are one
In Pain
We are one
In Joy
We are one
At the center
We are one
In God/dess
We are one
Reflecting the infinite
(for Lisa)
-- Gay Bost, Jun 21 1995
============================================================================
Refusing
~~~~~~~~
Telling me it's so easy
Saying come on - Be a man
Telling me it's so easy
Thinking I'm playing a game
Telling me it's so easy
Thinking I'm not brave
Shows how little you know
Every day I refuse the grave
Every day that goes by and still
I can't tell which is harder
Looking at the bullet and putting it down
or wanting it to blow away my brain
This is no problem you say
Nothing I can't handle if I'm strong
Shows how little you know
Every day I refuse the grave
-- Marc McDonnell
============================================================================
LIX
One goes on ever hoping that in the end
It finishes correct. That all the fears will
Come to naught. That all the hoping will
Endeavor to correct the nights so often
Fraught with fevers, madness and desire.
It is with fire we collect the rope of each
demeanor. It is with flame we argue first
Against what we should know; and then against
What we have found as truth, hidden deep within
our understanding. Not a simple thing to just
let go. Like a graven image we confront
and find it is our own. Love is like this.
The quest for love is often fatal. A lover's leap,
a full clear view: ashen bones piled there below.
-- Klaus J. Gerken, Sep 18 1995
'Relationships'
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
LX
There is little of an empire where dust collects.
And even less where brothers do not answer brothers.
The sword is like a twin blade and the grand portals
Of Janus always stand open to the arsenal. No one
Answers others in distress; it is only looting for oneself
That measures brawn for brawn and strength for strength.
Where power is the argument, and destruction falls
As answer to the common lot. Dust to dust the empire
clings.
The wounded do not touch the water lest the water
Be sweet poison. No one wants to die, but the argument
Persists: blind slavery or freedom's death. There
Is no compromise. And history persists to blow the
Footprints from the ground. The victor triumphs. And we
Who are so small content ourselves with nothing.
-- Klaus J. Gerken, Sep 19 1995
'Relationships'
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
LXI
So it's come to this that I must flee from her
Who so captured my mind that I could never be the same.
I must depart from her in body and in mind. I must put
Distance between myself and this great longing in my heart.
Her life and mine are not the same. There is no hope
That even one clear night could bond a fond remembrance.
The autumn leaves have such full shadows that I crave
To be among them, lost -- how heavy is my atrophy.
Once I thought there could be something; but a spark
And nothing more. A flash of light that dissipated
As soon as it was there. It was obvious, and took
This poor fool so long to see. I do not blame her.
She has not been different from how she was before.
It was I who wished a future that could never be.
-- Klaus J. Gerken, Sep 19 1995
'Relationships'
============================================================================
CURRICULUM VITAE
scenario ver. no1
___________________________________________________________1994.
*ETOILE - EXT. JOUR*
___Camera suivit des voitures qui tournent autour d'Arc de
Triomphe. Un homme (en off) recite un poeme. A la fin de poeme,
la musique commence, puis le generique.
VOIX (off)
Mon Amour me coupe les oreilles
T'es Serbe ! - Elle crie
Je suis Tito sur ta vase de Zen
En ecrivant le plaisir sur les murs
Sadiques
Je bois ton sang voluptueux
T'es Serbe ! - Elle rit
Je n'entends que la Tele
Malefique
Posee sur les epaules de camarade
Liberto de Belgrade
Assez
Assez des desirs cannibaliques
Ouvrez la porte de Paradis
Je veux baiser
Aimer ! - Elle dit
Je n'entends que le gazouillement
Du liquide rouge
Bien verse
Pollue par mes peurs mythiques
Balkaniques ! - Elle vomit
*ATELIER LAZAR - INT. NUIT*
___Un atelier de peintre. De nombreuses toiles sont entreposees
un peu partout contre les murs. Un peintre de cinquante ans,
Lazar Stefanovic, vetu d'un costume sombre. Il est derriere son
chevalet.
LAZAR (criant). Napoleon, j'adore Napoleon ! Il etait genial.
Pour moi, il est encore vivant. Si je peux dire : il est tres
vivant.
*PAVILLON KRISTOF - SALON - INT. JOUR*
___Un salon modeste. Au centre de la piece une grande table. Un
ordinateur sur cette table, deux synthetiseurs, un casque et une
tasse a cafe. Un musicien de trente ans, Kristof Langlois, vetu
d'un pull-over bleu. Il est devant son ordinateur.
KRISTOF. Napoleon ! Bien sur que j'ai compose pour Lazar une
symphonie moderne. (pause) A vrai dire, j'ai invente une
nouvelle facon pour trouver le theme principal d'une
composition. (pause) Donc, vous mettez mon casque sur votre tete
et "midi in" commence a composer d'apres vos pulsions
cerebrales. (pause) Original, non ?
*ATELIER LILIANA - INT. JOUR*
___Un atelier de couturier, bien arrange. Une couturiere de
quarante ans, Liliana Markovic, vetu d'une robe rouge. Elle est
tres fatiguee.
LILIANA. (haussant les epaules) Napoleon ? C'est qui ce mec ?
Ah, il travaille chez... Il est chez monsieur Paco Raban !
(pause) Monsieur Lazar dit qu'il est un vrai genie. Moi, je ne
sais pas. Je n'ai jamais vu les creations de ce mec. Chez nous,
on travaille de jour a nuit. (off) Oui, oui, la collection
Bonaparte, ca me dit quelque chose. (on) Ma nouvelle collection
porte le nom de Belgrade, Belgrade aux Etats Unis !
*LA ROSERAIE DE L'HAY-LES-ROSES - EXT. JOUR*
___La camera se rapproche d'une petite fontaine.
LAZAR. (off) Aujourd'hui, c'est la date de son apparition.
C'etait le 5 Mai 1991 a midi. Ici, devant cette fontaine.
(pause) Il etait un beau garcon. Ca, tout le monde sait, bien
sur. (pause) Il disait...
___La camera fixe le visage de Lazar.
LAZAR. (on) Je voudrais faire la guerre de nouveau. T'es Lazar,
tu portes le nom de Saint Lazar. Moi, je veux, aussi, jouer avec
vos armes nouvelles... Une nouvelle guerre se prepare aux
Balkans. La guerre, c'est pas la merde, pas la merde ! Oui, je
sais que tu adores la force. Je connais bien ton ame.
*PAVILLON KRISTOF - SALON - INT. JOUR*
___La camera fixe le visage de Kristof.
KRISTOF. Onze cordes cosmiques, c'est ma musique. Chaque personne
porte dans son corps les onze cordes... Alors, le passe n'existe
pas. Le rhytme de mon ou ton coeur degrade le temps, pas
l'univers.
*LA ROSERAIE DE L'HAY-LES-ROSES - EXT. JOUR*
___On passe a un plan tres large de la roseraie.
LAZAR. (off) La force, c'est tres sexuel.
*APPARTEMENT BO - SALON - INT. JOUR*
___Appartement luxueux. Une jeune femme energique, Bo Kaper, en
tailleur, arrange les papiers.
BO. (l'air tres responsable) La force, c'est trop sexuel. On
peut mourir en faisant l'amour. Mourir ou vivre, chaque individu
choisit sa philosophie. (pause) La mienne ? Comme l'avocat, je
ne peux que plaider pour la vie, (en souriant) meme dans mon
lit. (pause) Suis-je mauvaise ? Une femme n'est jamais mauvaise,
son corps cree un autre corps, (en souriant) et une ame avec.
(pause). Qui dirige ? Surtout pas Napoleon !
*COURS DE WEEK-END - SALLE DE COURS - INT. JOUR*
___Le professeur, un jeune homme, devant ses eleves, les enfants
de 7 a 11 ans. Plan large. Le professeur marche vers la camera.
Il parle serbe.
LE PROF. (sous-titre) Alors, mes enfants, pour la semaine
prochaine, preparez un sujet de Napoleon. Na-po-le-on !
___On passe a un plan rapproche de professer.
LE PROF. (face camera) Bien sur, Napoleon n'est pas un heros
serbe, (en souriant) mais quand meme. Nous aimons les heros
francais, son histoire et tout ca.
*ATELIER LAZAR - INT. JOUR*
___Derriere Lazar, un poster de general Mladic. Lazar assis sur
une chaise.
LAZAR. Moi, je raconte. Vous, comme vous voulez. Je ne suis pas
fou ! Ma femme s'appelle Josephine, une tres belle Francaise;
tres, tres, tres... La dame de "first class". My darling.
(pause) Alors, Napoleon m'a choisi a cause de ma femme, je ne
sais pas. Il disait...
___Plan rapproche de poster.
LAZAR. (off) Je veux doubler la personalite d'un general serbe.
Je ne veux pas l'inspirer, non, je serai ce general !
J'utiliserai son corps pendant les prochaines batailles. T'es
mon temoin, mon chroniqueur.
*GALERIE NADA - SALLE - INT. JOUR*
___Une femme de trente cinq ans, Nada Cisie, en tailleur.
NADA. Alors, un historien, ce machin serve a quoi ? Pour manger
tous nos carottes. Napoleon aujourd'hui, le betisier de ce type
me fatigue. (pause) Lazar, il est fou, plus fou qu'un vrai fou
parce qu'il ose dire que Napoleon dirige avec ce machin la-bas.
*BANC MONTMARTRE - EXT. JOUR*
___Kristof tres perplexe.
KRISTOF. Le futur n'existe pas. Quand je touche ce banc, il se
degrade. On peut sentir la musique de cette degradation.
Zaaaaap - timtamtamtim - zaaaap ! Le rhytme de notre univers.
___Letitia, une jeune femme, vient et s'assis aupres de Kristof.
LETITIA. J'ai achete un bon bouquin pour toi, mon cher.
KRISTOF. Bouquin, quel bouquin ? Je n'ai rien demande.
LETITIA. Comment devenir normal, en 40 lecons !
KRISTOF. Ce n'est pas le sujet de...
LETITIA. Ce n'est pas le sujet de mon fou. Onze cordes de je
n'sais pas quoi ! Napoleon aux cieux ! La musique sans aucun
sentiment...
KRISTOF. E, ma belle, tu bouges bien.
LETITIA. Je ne bouge pas, je vomis.
*ATELIER LAZAR - INT. NUIT*
___Lazar est derriere son chevalet.
LAZAR. La guerre, cela fait du bien. Conquerir le monde, violer,
voler, bruler. (pause) Mon art fervent predit la fin de ce monde
pourri. Un dieu re-createur viendra... (l'air tres responsable)
Je sais, Napoleon est son apotre. (pause) Imaginez la France,
grande et jolie, comme le maitre absolu d'un monde tres nouveau,
different, different, different.
*APPARTEMENT BO - CUISINE - INT. JOUR*
___Bo prepare un sandwich.
BO. Il n'est jamais trop tard pour devenir heureuse, meme avec
un homme. (pause) J'aime quand il m'attrape par derriere, quand
il viole mes principes catholiques. (pause) Non, je ne crois
pas, mais j'y tiens, (en souriant) quand meme. (pause) Mon
dieu ? C'est la verite. L'argent, surtout pas l'argent !
-- Milan Georges Djordjevic
============================================================================
**************************************************************************
[ POST SCRIPTUM ]
**************************************************************************
Windows 95
~~~~~~~~~~
Eram pequenas palavras,
as grandes janelas
Nem as procurei
achei-as
uma a uma
por debaixo das pedras
por detras das luas cheias
Eram o meu pequeno segredo,
as grandes janelas
Eram apenas palavras,
palavras a medo,
as grandes janelas...
. . .
Windows 95
~~~~~~~~~~
They were small words,
the big windows
I didn't even look for
just found them
one by one
below the stones
behind the highmoons
They were my little secret,
the big windows
They were just words,
fear words,
the big windows...
-- Luis Palma Gomes
============================================================================
+=====================================================================+
| A New Age: The Centipede Network Of Artists, Poets, & Writers |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------|
| - An Informational Journey Into A Creative Echonet [9310] |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------|
| (C) CopyRight "I Write, Therefore, I Develop" By Paul Lauda |
+=====================================================================+
Come one, come all! Welcome to Centipede. Established just for
writers, poets, artists, and anyone who is creative. A place
for anyone to participate in, to share their poems, and learn
from all. A place to share *your* dreams, and philosophies.
Even a chance to be published in a magazine.
Centipede offers ten echo areas, such as a general chat area,
an echo of poetry and literature, and also on dreams and
speculated history & publishing. In all of the ten conferences,
anyone is allowed to post their thoughts, and make new friends.
For that is what CentNet is here for: for you. Ever wonder how
to accent a poem at the right meter? Well, come join our
PoetryForum, and everyone would be willing to help you out.
Have any problems in deciphering your dreams? Select The Dreams
echo, and you're questions shall be solved.
The Network was created on May 16, 1993. I created this because
there were no other networks dedicated to such an audience.
And with the help of Klaus Gerken, Centipede soon started to
grow, and become active on Bulletin Board Systems.
I consider Centipede to be a Public Network; however, its a
specialized network, dealing with any type of creative thinking.
Therefore, that makes us something quite exotic, since most
nets are very general and have various topics, not of interest
to a writer--which is where Centipede steps in! No more fuss.
A writer can now download the whole network, without phasing
out any more conferences, since the whole net pertains to
the writer's interests. This means that Centipede has all
the active topics that any creative user seeks. And if we
don't, then one shall be created.
Feel free to drop by and take a look at Centipede; simply dial up
BITTER BUTTER BBS at 1-503-692-5841, enter "downloader" as the name,
and "guest" as the password for fast access.
If you are interested in joining Centipede, please fill out the
following form and email it to Tom Almy at 1:105/290.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------+
| THE CENTIPEDE NETWORK APPLICATION FORM |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------+
| Systems Name: system's name |
| BBS Software: system software & version |
| Main Board #: full public main data number |
| Modem Speeds: protocol & uncompressed modem speed |
| Fidonet Adrs: system's Fidonet address |
| Sysop's Name: full real name |
| Sysop E-mail: sysop's email address |
| Sysop Voice#: sysop's full voice phone number |
| Sysop D.O.B.: date of birth |
| Sysop Address: street address |
| Sysop Address: city/state/zip code/country |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------+
============================================================================
** ** ******
** ** **
[ YGDRASIL INTERNET ]
**** **
** **
** ******
**************************************************************************
RESOURCES
The collection of Ygdrasil Press is now available on Internet through
the World-Wide Web, accessible as "http://www.rdrop.com/~igal/ygdrasil".
This site contains the collections as: 8-bit MS-DOS ASCII text,
universal 7-bit ASCII, ANSI color graphics, GIF pictures, word-processor
laid-out files and other goodies. The entire collection can also be
accessed by FTP as "ftp://ftp.rdrop.com/pub/users/igal/ygdrasil". Each
month, the Ygdrasil Magazine is posted to the Usenet newsgroup
rec.arts.poems.
We hope this will give readers a break from having to dial long distance
and figure out which BBS has Ygdrasil available for them; provide a more
intimate link to the world outside our beloved Centipede; and increase &
broaden the audience & coverage of Ygdrasil to better serve the readers.
E-MAIL USER'S GUIDE TO YGDRASIL
Any person that can access Internet e-mail (ie. FidoNet, Prodigy, AOL)
can access Ygdrasil's online resources. To get a E-MAIL USER'S GUIDE TO
YGDRASIL GUIDE, send e-mail to the Internet address
"listproc@www0.cern.ch" (if you don't know how to send Internet e-mail,
please ask your system administrator for instructions). In the message,
leave the subject line blank, and in the body enter two lines into the
message: "www http://www.rdrop.com/~igal/ygdrasil/wwwmail.html" and on
the second line "quit". The Guide will be waiting in your e-mailbox
within a day. NOTE: CASE IS SIGNIFICANT - "www" is not the same as
"WWW"; if you don't type it the exactly same way, your request will
fail.
COMMENTS
Klaus Gerken, Chief Editor - for general messages and ASCII text
submissions. Use Klaus' address for commentary on Ygdrasil and its
contents:
Internet: klaus.gerken@bbs.synapse.net
Igal Koshevoy, Production Editor and Distribution Coordinator - for
submissions of anything that's not plain ASCII text (ie. archives,
GIFs, wordprocessored files, etc) in any standard DOS, Mac or Unix
format, commentary on Ygdrasil's format, distribution, usability and
access. Igal's PGP key is available on request to ensure privacy of
transaction.
Internet: igal@agora.rdrop.com
Fidonet: Igal Koshevoy, 1:105/290
We'd love to hear from you!
============================================================================
**************************************************************************
[ YGDRASIL PUBLICATIONS LIST ]
**************************************************************************
THE WIZARD EXPLODED SONGBOOK (1969), songs by KJ Gerken
FULL BLACK Q (1975), a poem by KJ Gerken
ONE NEW FLASH OF LIGHT (1976), a play by KJ Gerken
THE BLACKED-OUT MIRROR (1979) a poem by Klaus J. Gerken
THE BREAKING OF DESIRE (1986), poems by KJ Gerken
FURTHER SONGS (1986), songs by KJ Gerken
POEMS OF DESTRUCTION (1988), poems by KJ Gerken
DIAMOND DOGS (1992), poems by KJ Gerken
KILLING FIELDS (1992), a poem by KJ Gerken
THE AFFLICTED, a poem by KJ Gerken
FRAGMENTS OF A BRIEF ENCOUNTER, poems by KJ Gerken
LADIES (1983), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken
BARDO (1994-1995), a poem by Klaus J. Gerken
MZ-DMZ (1988), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
DARK SIDE (1991), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
STEEL REIGNS & STILL RAINS (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
BLATANT VANITY (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
ALIENATION OF AFFECTION (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
LIVING LIFE AT FACE VALUE (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
HATRED BLURRED (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
CHOKING ON THE ASHES OF A RUNAWAY (1993), ramblings by I. Koshevoy
BORROWED FEELINGS BUYING TIME (1993), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
HARD ACT TO SWALLOW (1994), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
HALL OF MIRRORS (1994), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
ARTIFICIAL BUOYANCY (1994), ramblings by Igal Koshevoy
THE POETRY OF PEDRO SENA, poems by Pedro Sena
THE FILM REVIEWS, by Pedro Sena
THE SHORT STORIES, by Pedro Sena
INCANTATIONS, by Pedro Sena
POEMS (1970), poems by Franz Zorn
All books are on disk and cost $5.00 each. Checks should be made out to
the respective authors and orders will be forwarded by Ygdrasil Press.
YGDRASIL MAGAZINE may also be ordered from the same address: $2.50 an
issue to cover disk and mailing costs, also specify computer type (IBM or
Mac), as well as disk size and density. Allow 2 weeks for delivery.
Note that YGDRASIL MAGAZINE is free when downloaded from Tom Almy's
"Bitter Butter Better BBS" (1-503-692-5841) or Ygdrasil's world-wide web
site (http://www.rdrop.com/~igal/ygdrasil/).
============================================================================
**************************************************************************
[ COPYRIGHT INFORMATION ]
**************************************************************************
All poems copyrighted by their respective authors. Any reproduction of
these poems, without the express written permission of the authors, is
prohibited.
YGDRASIL: A Journal of the Poetic Arts - Copyright (c) 1993, 1994, 1995,
and 1996 by Klaus J. Gerken.
The official version of this magazine is posted on Tom Almy's "Bitter
Butter Better BBS" (1-503-692-5841) and on Ygdrasil's world-wide web site
(http://www.rdrop.com/~igal/ygdrasil/). No other version shall be deemed
"authorized" unless downloaded from there.
All checks should be made out to: YGDRASIL PRESS
Information requests, subscriptions, suggestions, comments, submissions or
anything else appropriate should be addressed, with a self addressed
stamped envelope, to:
+----------------------------+
| YGDRASIL PRESS *** |
| 1001-257 LISGAR ST. |
| OTTAWA, ONTARIO |
| CANADA, K2P 0C7 |
+----------------------------+
============================================================================