سه‌شنبه، دی ۲۴، ۱۳۸۷

Too Loud a Solitude...

"For thirty-five years I've been compacting old paper, and in that time I've had so many beautiful books thrown into my cellar that if I had three barns they'd all be full. Just after the war the second one - was over, somebody dumped a basket of the most exquisitely made books in my hydraulic press, and when I'd calmed down enough to open one of them, what did I see but the stamp of the Royal Prussian Library, and when next day I found the whole cellar overflowing with more of the same - leather-bound volumes, their gilt edges and titles flooding the air with light - I raced upstairs to see two fellows standing there, and what I managed to squeeze out of them was that somewhere in the vicinity of Nové Straseci there was a barn with so many books in the straw it made your eyes pop out of your head. So I went to see the army librarian, and the two of us took off for Nové Straseci, and there in the fields we found not one but three barns chock full of the Royal Prussian Library, and once we'd done oohing and ahing, we had a good talk, as a result of which a column of military vehicles spent a week transporting the books to a wing of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Prague, where they were to wait until things had simmered down and they could be sent back to their place of origin. But somebody leaked the hiding place and the Royal Prussian Library was declared official booty, so the column of military vehicles started transporting all the leatherbound volumes with their gilt edges and titles over to the railroad station, where they were loaded on flat-cars in the rain, and since it poured the whole week, what I saw when the last load of books pulled up was a constant stream of gold water cum pitch and printer's ink flowing down from the train. Well, I just stood there, leaning aginst a lamppost, flabbergasted, and as the last car disappeared into the mist, I felt the rain in my face merging with tears, [...]"
Bohumil Hrabal

دوشنبه، دی ۲۳، ۱۳۸۷

...هما ن طور كه سيگارش مانده بود گوشه لبش

سرد
سبكسر
آزاد
مثل بادِ زمستان كه افتاده باشد توي پيرهن ِ دختركي

چهارشنبه، دی ۰۴، ۱۳۸۷

Dream Strips

انگشت هايم را از روي كلاويه ها بر مي دارم ...صداي شاد جمعيت ؛ صداي دستها ...صداي تمام شدن
...همه پوستم دارد مي لرزد
همراه دستي كه با اشاره اي سرشار از رضايت مرا به جلوي صحنه مي خواند تا جلوي روشن ِ صحنه مي آيم
پاهايم بي اختيار خم مي شوند سرم مي افتد روي سينه ام و حلقه هاي موهايم كه از زير شال ِ مشكي بيرون مي ريزند پريشانيم را عريان مي گذارند جلوي چشم ِ آن همه آدم
...خالي پر مي شود توي زانو هايم
با سرم كه هنوز پايين است مي بينمت...همانجوري كه مدتهاست توي خواب ديده ام
ته ِ سالن توي چهارچوب ِ در ايستاده اي ...با همان پيراهن كِرِم ، دست به سينه با چشمهايي كه پريشانيت راعريان مي گذارند جلوي آن همه شرم سر به زير ِ من و غمگون ترين لبخندي كه توي دنيا ديده ام روي صورتت

یکشنبه، دی ۰۱، ۱۳۸۷

WALL-mE

Me or a trash compactor in waiting mood for his hands to come and ...

شنبه، آذر ۳۰، ۱۳۸۷

knock knock ...who is there???

: اينو تو برام نوشته بودي

آدمها بازي كردن با تو رو خيلي دوست دارن چون ميدوني دقيقا چي مي خوان ؛ اين انتخاب ِ خودته كه بازيچشون بشي يا همبازيشون

باشه ...تا اطلاع ثانوي : من مـــــــــــــو چم

سه‌شنبه، آذر ۲۶، ۱۳۸۷

Sadest woman with Martini ...

what you are inside me is fainting
as i am fainting
i am fainting
i am fainting
but i can still talk about white
gray and white
pure white
snow
that road
and a man who didn't get me right ...

دوشنبه، آذر ۱۸، ۱۳۸۷

قاب ِ عكس ِ ديجيتا ل


...پله ها تمام نمي شوند"
دلم به پاگرد خوش است
به درنگ ؛ نه داوري
"...آن شعري كه مي گويندم