Thursday, August 26, 2010

This And That by Peycho Kanev

I had rejected the whole discipline of
the arts and the governments and I
understand everything that was
understandable for others:
I lift my whiskey glass now
in this mist
in this grey night
and I get everything:
the gentleness of the morning, the silence,
the walls weep like old paintings
burning at the bonfire, the sky, the black sky
everything is real, unbent, and
shining and burning like the fire in my
this thing in me
screaming, wailing, wanting, demanding
this thing in me
black as the night, eternal
as the face of the mountain, long as
the rope at the gallows, regally as the
dance of the fly in the web.

the spider…

but I have a little more whiskey
and therefore chance.


Anonymous said...

Wonderful poem! Hard and witty...
Great, just great.

Anonymous said...

I second that. Wondreful poem. This poet got it!