Poetry Writings Artwork and stories from Neil Furby

Jul 15, 2008 at 02:51 o\clock

Poem from Siena

Translated by Janet Butler

ci siamo parlati ai confini della vita
dove la voce diventa sussurro
e tutto vede l'infinito anche
le passioni più nascoste.
E indovinare spiriti si può
in questo remoto dipartire
ch'è un lasciarsi solo
per un po'.

we talked at the edge of life
where voices become a whisper
and all partakes of infinity
even the most hidden passions.
In this distant leave-taking
the spirit bare, reveals itself.
A leave-taking

* * *

Jul 15, 2008 at 02:44 o\clock

Jay Furby


Jul 3, 2008 at 03:07 o\clock

Guns and Gods in Sardinia

Jul 2, 2008 at 02:22 o\clock


What was the point of it? The stoned
life, the chased, snorted, shot life. Some low
comedy with a cast of strangers. Time
squashed flat. The 1001 names of heroin
chewed like language. Nothing now to know
or remember but the dirty taste

of it, and the names: snuff, Death, a little taste,
H-pronounce it etch-, sugar, brownstone,
scag, the SHIT, ghoda gaadi, #4 china, You-Know,
garad, god, the gear, junk, monkey blow,
the law, the habit, material, cheez, heroin.
The point? It was the wasted time,

which comes back lovely sometimes,
a ghost sense say, say that hard ache taste
back in your throat, the warm heroin
drip, the hit, the rush, the whack, the stone.
You want it now, the way it lays you low,
flattens everything you know

to a thin white line. I'm saying, I know
the pull of it: the skull rings time
so beautiful, so low
you barely hear it. Itch this blind toad taste.
When you said, "I mean it, we live like stones,"
you broke something in me only heroin

could fix. The thick sweet amaze of heroin,
helpless its love, its know-
ledge of the infinite. Why push the stone
back up the hill? Why not leave it with the time-
keep, asleep at the bar? Try a little taste
of something sweet that a sweet child will adore, low

in the hips where the aches all go. Allow
me in this one time and I'll give you heroin,
just a taste
to replace the useless stuff you know.
Some say it comes back, the time,
to punish you with the time you killed, leave you stone

sober, unknowing, the happiness chemical blown
from your system, unable to taste the word heroin
without wanting its stone one last time.

© 2008, Jeet Thayil
From: These Errors Are Correct
Publisher: Tranquebar (EastWest and Westland), Delhi, 2008