Poetry Writings Artwork and stories from Neil Furby

Jun 5, 2008 at 14:25 o\clock

5.46, Andheri Local

by: falcon82

5.46, Andheri Local
In the women’s compartment
of a Bombay local
we search
for no personal epiphanies.
Like metal licked by relentless acetylene
we are welded –
dreams, disasters,
germs, destinies,
flesh and organza,
odours and ovaries.
A thousand-limbed
million-tongued, multi-spoused
Kali on wheels.

When I descend
I could choose
to dice carrots
or dice a lover.

I postpone the latter.

© 2001, Arundhathi Subramaniam
From: On Cleaning Bookshelves
Publisher: Allied Publishers, Mumbai, 2001
ISBN: 81-7764-176-X

Jun 5, 2008 at 01:37 o\clock

Endre Ady,

by: falcon82

Biography:
Ady, Endre b. Nov. 22, 1877, d. Jan. 27, 1919, is generally considered the greatest Hungarian poet of the 20th
century. His innovative poems, influenced by French symbolism, countered the earlier poetic tradition of Janos Arany and
Sandor Petofi.

Ady left the study of law to become a journalist. After he met Adel Brull, called "Leda" (reversed reading of her name) in many of his poems, he followed her to Paris, where he came in contact with new literary fashions. When he returned to Hungary, his unconventional beliefs and attacks on the Hungarian aristocracy made him a controversial figure. His break with poetic and social traditions came with Uj versek (New Poems, 1906) and continued in nine subsequent volumes. Beginning about 1909 he contributed poetry and prose to Nyugat (West), a leading literary and social journal. Ady's lyrical and religious verse draws on colloquial and biblical sources and explores suffering and death in a world that has lost God.

Jun 5, 2008 at 01:26 o\clock

The poet of the Hortobágy written by Endre Ady,

by: falcon82

The poet of the Hortobágy

He was a large-eyed, Hunnish youth,
smitten with many a fair mirage,
and with his herd he struck into
the famous Magyar Hortobágy.

Woman and dreams have seized his soul
a thousand times with magic snare;
but when his heart would sprout a flower
the herds of cattle grazed it bare.

He often thought of wondrous things,
of wine and woman, death and birth;
he could have been a holy bard
in any other land on earth.

But he gazed upon the herds
and on the breeched, illiterate crowd,
straightway he buried all his songs;
he whistled or he swore aloud.

Tr: Anton T. Nyerges

A Hortobágy poétája

                       Kúnfajta , nagyszemű legény volt ,
                       Kínzottja sok-sok méla vágynak ,
                       Csordát őrzött és nekivágott
                       A híres magyar Hortobágynak .

                       Alkonyatok és délibábok
                       Megfogták százszor is a lelkét
                       De ha virág nőtt a szívében
                       A csorda-népek lelegelték

                       Ezerszer gondolt csodaszépet
                       Gondolt halálra , borra , nőre
                       Minden más táján a világnak 
                       Szent dalnok lett volna belőle

                        De ha a piszkos , gatyás , bamba
                        Társakra s a csordára nézett
                        Eltemette rögtön a nótát :
                        Káromkodott , vagy fütyörészett .
 

Jun 5, 2008 at 01:18 o\clock

Tivadar CSONTVÁRY KOSZTKA Preacher

by: falcon82

Jun 5, 2008 at 01:07 o\clock

Bobby Furby

by: falcon82

Jun 5, 2008 at 00:57 o\clock

Walking in the trees at Waikawa Beach

by: falcon82

Walking in that strange place of pine trees growing in the steep sided sand dunes with toadstools and rabbits scatchings/ coming across a dusty wine bottle and a plastic cup lying on the river bank/ who would drink alone?/sitting in that place / shipwrecked humanity/ or just enjoying a pleasure in a different setting/ I left the bottle and its plastic cup/ a shrine a sign /hope things get better drinker

Jun 5, 2008 at 00:48 o\clock

Winter Poem for the Southern globe

by: falcon82

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Richard The Third Act 1, scene 1, 1–4 by William Shakespeare