Category Archives: illustrated

I Saw A Peacock

The trick is the two ways it can be understood; read a line at a time, or read from the middle of one line to the middle of the next.

I Saw a Peacock, with a fiery tail,
I saw a Blazing Comet, drop down hail,
I saw a Cloud, with Ivy circled round,
I saw a sturdy Oak, creep on the ground,
I saw a Pismire, swallow up a Whale,
I saw a raging Sea, brim full of Ale,
I saw a Venice Glass, Sixteen foot deep,
I saw a well, full of mens tears that weep,
I saw their eyes, all in a flame of fire,
I saw a House, as big as the Moon and higher,
I saw the Sun, even in the midst of night,
I saw the man, that saw this wondrous sight.

My translation:



Павлина вижу с огненным хвостом
Комету вижу льющую дождем
Седую Тучу вижу Плющ в кольцо берёт
Дуб вижу царственный что по земле ползёт
Вошь вижу поглотившую Китов
Пучину вижу с Элем до краев
Цветную чашу вижу глубже грёз
Колодец вижу с бездной горьких слёз
Зеницы вижу в яростном огне
Домище вижу что под стать Луне
И Солнце вижу ночью забытья
Того кто видит это вижу я

The blue, the brown

For crying out loud:
blue, brown.
It’s dying, it’s reviving,
blue, brown.
The man, the woman, merging,
blue, brown.
Before- and afterlife
is blue, is brown.
The wood that has been touched
by living, by demise, and then – by human hand;
the china or the delft with stains of tea
and older lips along the rims;
the otherworldly blood on worldly earth,
and birds, and butterflies,
and copper-seen-it-all,
the solid and the running,
both changing,
the eyes, the hair.
The house we shall live in
built already and already painted
blue and brown-
it needs to grow scarred
so colours mesh
and cease to be just blue, just brown,
but brownblue.

O Leading Lady

O leading lady, elegized and hailed
As nothing else, we all live at your feet.
Yet roles of yours all different, but the same,
All flowers are yours, but you don’t need them.

You never do encores, you always leave.
You touch us all, but deeper touched are women.
Here on your temple is a sign of hare,
They do believe you feed some people’s madness.

The stage is yours in silent pantomime,
Your orchestra is tacit, enigmatic.
Dispassionate you are perceived, aloof,
But doors of mystery are also always silent.

O leading lady, hated and adored
By those who only watch the pointing finger
And not yourself, but those who really see
They see you not. No moon and no water.