Poetry Writings Artwork and stories from Neil Furby

Aug 26, 2008 at 00:13 o\clock

old shoes / fallen leaves of humanity / pick me

Aug 26, 2008 at 00:06 o\clock

A used shoe store

A USED-SHOE STORE



Rain threatening any moment in the May sky.
In a grungy port town, a used-shoe store.

All the used shoes hung from the eaves, every one of them,
heels worn, leather torn, all repaired as long as possible, trash no longer mendable.
Delicate types whose rundown state you feel all the more keenly,
dated deep rubber shoes,

student shoes covered with coloured patches,
boots that haven't lost suggestions of power and prestige, children's shoes,
each in its own way, crossing which ocean routes, these ragtag vessels,
now gathered here, all tired.

Oh, what metaphoric views all this.

Even so I try to find a companion that fits my feet.
Yes
I know. Leather soles that have turned gritty with the sweat and foot
grease of someone somewhere, the pain of a stud sticking out.

Yes I know. The cold of the water that seeps in, the urge to cry,
the deeply sympathetic words that touch us two, that we the down-and-out can understand in our hearts.




© 1926, Mitsuharu Kaneko
© Translation: 2008, Hiroaki Sato

Aug 21, 2008 at 10:40 o\clock

Heron

on the roof of the house with the wind vane
a heron takes off on a steep incline
all the guests walk slowly to
the pond that is filled to the brim

this is an afternoon and it's raining
windows become doors to step through
a dog chases after a child on the lawn
voices stay behind above the grass

the sound is muffled by the sound of the motorway

the man who went upstairs without asking is asleep
with his head deep in the pillows
at the party someone is being sick
at the party there's always someone with a noose around his neck

the bin liner hangs from the door handle
a knife is stuck into the cake



© 2006, Els Moors
© Translation: 2008, Willem Groenewegen


Aug 20, 2008 at 11:12 o\clock

Юному поэту/To a Young Poet by Valerii Yakovlevich Bryusov

Pale youth with burning gaze,
I give you three commandments now:
Follow the first: don't live by the present,
The future is a poet's only place.
Second, remember: feel for no one,
Love yourself without bounds.
Safeguard the third: worship art,
Art alone, without thought or goal.
Pale youth with embarrassed gaze!
If you follow my three commandments,
I'll die in peace, a defeated warrior,
Knowing I leave a poet behind.
15 July 1896
'''

Aug 20, 2008 at 10:47 o\clock

step by step

Aug 6, 2008 at 10:12 o\clock

Catching the rays

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