Poem of the day: About Death and Other Things

About Death and Other Things

by Aleksandar Ristovic
translated by Charles Simic

How strange will be my death, of which I've been thinking since childhood:
A sedentary old man leaving a small-town library
leans to one side and eventually collapses on the lawn.

I've every reason to believe that I'll experience what the others have
experienced
while I climb the stairs carrying my supper in a plastic bag,
not even turning to look at the one who in that moment descends curly-haired
and wearing a party dress.

It could be an ordinary death on a train:
a man who carefully studies the fields and hills in snow,
shuts his eyes folds his hands in his lap, and no longer sees what only
a moment ago he admired.

I'm trying to remember other possibilities and so, here I am once again,
disguised as myself in a small, merry company,
where, after emptying my glass, I fall on the floor laughing, and pulling after
me the tablecloth with the vase full of roses.

My death, of course, would have a spiritual meaning
in some mountain sanatorium for the insane
where croaking we complain to each other in beds with freshly changed sheets.

It could happen that I'll die in some way very different from the one I
anticipate:
in the company of my wife and daughter, surrounded by books,
while outside a neighbor is trying to start a car that the night has surprised
with snow.

It doesn't have to be about you

it doesn't have to be about you

My poems: reconheces-me

reconheces-me

quando me perguntas ‘reconheces-me’ ao ouvido
durante o que parece ser uma dança
palavras e silêncios me contas
com a pontas dos dedos

sinto o que dizes
mas não entendo as pausas
a insubordinação do teu corpo

não entendo
as perguntas que me fazes
contra uma luz a vazar os sentidos
que ainda me restam

podes tirar-me esta protecção
o intervalo entre nós
para me enfraquecer

mesmo assim
não entenderei
porque estremeces
com o som que dispara no coração

e quando me perguntas ‘reconheces-me’ outra vez
respondo-te com segredos
comunicamos assim
como se fôssemos estranhos
estranhos
que não sabem o que fazem
que não sabem do que têm mais medo:
de se perderem ou de se acharem

Metal: headbang for life

When I listen to metal I have a smile on my face, I'm enjoying myself. I'm not mad to the world and hating everybody around me. It actually, truly, makes me feel better, I have fun, I enjoy it, I headbang, it makes me a better person. It makes smile. It makes me want to listen to what else is out there that I haven't explored and it can be anything, metal is just the beginning of my journey. It makes me smile. It makes me smile. It makes me smile. It makes me smile.

Album of the month: Words That Go Unspoken, Deeds That Go Undone

Words That Go Unspoken, Deeds That Go Undone

Akercocke hail from England and their music would be considered pretty terrifying for someone who isn't familiar with extreme metal. I, on the other hand, am and know how to recognize a masterpiece when I see one. Again, they are a progressive metal band but they are much more than that, they throw death metal and black metal in there as well. What intrigued me about them was that they seemed to have built a sound of their own, very individual and standing out in the scene. And then I listened to 'Words That Go Unspoken, Deeds That Go Undone' and it was love. This, I think, is one of the best extreme prog albums I ever heard, without a hint of doubt. It's as diverse as any prog masterpiece and everything seems to fit to perfection, revealing a really inspired group of songwriters. Being so diverse in extreme metal is a rare thing, I find, and that's probably what got me addicted to this album and this band. It's pure headbanging violent madness at times, yes, it's heavy metal, but its tasteful and dare I say delicately put together. I've been inclined for the more extreme metal genres lately, which is something I welcome because that's where I started. The lyrics are a slap in the face of religion and since I can relate, it makes perfect sense for me but there's also this underlying questioning of life and what we are told by society to believe in. It's done in a smart way and it elicits an emotional response. Needless to say that in metal so much is about our emotional responses, about what's beneath the surface, under the skin, about what scares us to death deep inside, about our mental demons, about our alter egos, about our pain. Akercocke makes us go there. And it's never easy, is it?

Poem of the day: Affirmation

Donald Hall

Affirmation

To grow old is to lose everything.
Aging, everybody knows it.
Even when we are young,
we glimpse it sometimes, and nod our heads
when a grandfather dies.
Then we row for years on the midsummer
pond, ignorant and content. But a marriage,
that began without harm, scatters
into debris on the shore,
and a friend from school drops
cold on a rocky strand.
If a new love carries us
past middle age, our wife will die
at her strongest and most beautiful.
New women come and go. All go.
The pretty lover who announces
that she is temporary
is temporary. The bold woman,
middle-aged against our old age,
sinks under an anxiety she cannot withstand.
Another friend of decades estranges himself
in words that pollute thirty years.
Let us stifle under mud at the pond's edge
and affirm that it is fitting
and delicious to lose everything.

Poem of the Day: If My Voice Is Not Reaching You

Afzal Ahmed Syed

If My Voice Is Not Reaching You

If my voice is not reaching you
add to it the echo—
echo of ancient epics

And to that—
a princess

And to the princess—your beauty

And to your beauty—
a lover's heart

And in the lover's heart
a dagger