THE VORTICAL CURRENT
by
ION
P. IACOB
ANTI-BIOGRAPHY
hidden
in the piano
my out of tune ear
directed
to the world
you
may say
I
pawned the death
-but
not-
I
live in a fruit
as in a house
it was all built from flower
"so
enduring
spacious
beautiful
absent
of
the hate`s dictionaries "
streaming for the world
echo and
despair
trough the windows of the house
that we were building
slowly
in
a future of petals
closed the in hard nut
I
do not care
" hypocrite lecteur
what
counts is that you don`t see me
the
poem can also be
a beautiful lie "
ANOTHER NIGHT OVERWINTER IN ME
in a
gentle tremolo of the wind
over the barely glimpsed line of clouds
poetry
has
everything
under
control
on the
frozen map
where
a lost star
vibrates
and
ther it is
a
false portrait
in
full loneliness
close
to the heart
this
moment that
precedes
another
life full
of
whispers:
like
in a decrepit hotel
in
me
another night overwinters
INTELLECTUAL PERFORMANCES
in one afternoon of the last century
with buddy d. p.
were carrying on our arms
a bed through the city's central park
somehaw embarrassed by our mission
we were sneaking like thieves
near the bushes that were protecting us from curious eyes
was a huge bed which could have received generous
all the city`s brath
but
suddenly appeared on a side road alley
the poet g.e.
a bit confusing a bit dizzy from the alcool
"I did not talked for two days
please host me
among iambus and dactyls "
I politely invited him the east edge of the bed
the city was already preparing to sleep
while we were so awake
of all that poetry
wandering in late hour
until when captive into our words
like a black rag
the night has crashed
and finally we fell
in the first sleep
the amniotic condition
in which we now find ourself
with buddy d. p.
were carrying on our arms
a bed through the city's central park
somehaw embarrassed by our mission
we were sneaking like thieves
near the bushes that were protecting us from curious eyes
was a huge bed which could have received generous
all the city`s brath
but
suddenly appeared on a side road alley
the poet g.e.
a bit confusing a bit dizzy from the alcool
"I did not talked for two days
please host me
among iambus and dactyls "
I politely invited him the east edge of the bed
the city was already preparing to sleep
while we were so awake
of all that poetry
wandering in late hour
until when captive into our words
like a black rag
the night has crashed
and finally we fell
in the first sleep
the amniotic condition
in which we now find ourself
*
on me I hold your
hand
God
lest I stumble
in the scruffy dark
of the Beauty
*
what's
left
cat
jump
a
spot of blood
on
the road
THE REALM OF THE
BEAST
it's
easy to get into the realm of the beast
without
forcing a door
or can
hear
in
infinite illusions
the
sound of claw
THE POET OBSCURE
(instead
of epitaph)
my
friends
the
great poets
write
masterpieces
They
filter
light
of absinthe
directly
from
the brain
its
poems born
directly
from viscera paralyzed
of
reflection stellar
of
the pineal eye
they
are cannibals
of the small
facts
the
great poets
have
grass of beasts
and
thousands of brute
hide
in
their verb
the
great poets
will they become
exactly
like me
a
handful of dust
THE
VOICE SOMBER
WICH EXTRACTED ME FROM
THE URN
"your melancholy is acid rain
which
exfoliates
the
unspoken song
also
the halos scraped of holy light
far
away Homer road
my country is now the dark
and
the king is the shadow
of
this poem
that you follow him into nothingness”
INCOMPREHENSIBLE
something simplified
slaughtered
by
a world too complicated
the
denominator
of what
would not have
to
happen
the
binder
of
two principles apparently intangible
I am a reductio ad absurdum
in
an void plenty
NIGHT
SHIFT
three
thousand three hundred thirty three nights
with
van Rijn
for
rounds to be fully
I
have no frustration
I
am a man some
and
now feel nostalgic
words
which we have been
single use
of
them
happenings
hang
like
leather
skinned
of
a
thousand and one wheels
among
them
I
straining with dexterity
are
many mechanisms
useful
wheels
of torture
wonderful
ABOUT POET,
PROPHET IN HIS
COUNTRY
COUNTRY
he filtered light
until
essentially
in bondage of
darkness
now victorious
and blind
he begs
from its own shadow
*
one
by one
disappear
from the table of elements
one
by one
taking
with them
the
steam
of
mirror
friends
leave
behind
a
memory fog
in
the swamps which
I
sink
little
by little
HIPPOCRATIC
OATH
that's
fine
brains
does not have muscle
and
nobody from outside
can
not see the effort of the mind
and
all have finality
and
lies are hot
when
a patient wishes
another
ill:
health
OBJECTIVE
AND BENIGN,ADMIRE MY
BAGS OF VENOM
BAGS OF VENOM
are
not required to understand
you
just need to run the lives of these evidences
dressed
in a toga gray
I
can not get the Nobel Prize
"elements
table" is already full
and
SEPARATION
I
would like to sell car of your dream
coarse
light of wilted dandelions
umbrella
covered with stars
every
dream has its world
I
for example prefer
unique-verse
on
this side of Styx
just
the angel wings
are
not selling
FEAR
OF DEATH AND BROKEN
PITCHERS
PITCHERS
,
SMALLREPAIRS,IDIOSYNCRASIES
AND
OTHERS
OTHERS
THINGS
(a
replay of old papyrus)
heads
covered
with
diadems of snow
silhouettes
by
fog street
the
fear for a moment
borrowed
me the image:
in a
monday
an
old man
that
crosses street
populated
by huns
FEAR
OF FINITE THINGS
I
do not know to put
a
point
a
comma
something
there
because
I'm
afraid that
might
as after
the
one nameless
should to appears
"to
live or not live
I
left the day service
and of night
and
no matter
song is here forbidden
sirens have chords strangled
and there is no indication
no sign
to resurrect the Dead Sea "
sirens have chords strangled
and there is no indication
no sign
to resurrect the Dead Sea "
THE
BICKERING OF POET WITH SELF
poetry
is
a cell
of
which can escape
whenever
the
real
you
receive
royally
I
hunt the silence
of countless
flowers
but
only
one
is
crowned
of
butterflies
exiled in empty
I go on spider web
everyday
I
can feel
sword
slipped
among
shields
which
poetry
which
real
which
butterflies
THE
EARTH OF UNDER CHARIOTS.
WOKEN
UP BY NOISE,
BEGIN
TO TALKING
*
I'm
an entity
with
clear, precise rules
inhabited
by
transience
and
unwritten poems
I
am free
and
I don`t accept
this
communion
I
am free
and
refuse
eternity
*
on
me
not
claimed nobody
who
would
put his mind
with
an land
mined
*
are
million
of people
beside which
I careless pass
are moments
in which I
legitimize
the stranger man
who now occupy
my book of identity
*
without
God
you
have to assume the past
by monkey
THE
SAME RAILWAY STATION POETIC
we
met once
in
the same vers
in
fleeting
playful
light
in
history
at
which you are working
(your
skin of snake
tattooed
with Apocrypha)
"praise the workers
the one who
sown
the last
the last
to
admit his guilt "
on
the field
I
see
here
and there
ossicular
of poetry
familiar
for
what is more sublime
and
sad
same
lyrics
in
the unknown or large
of
course poets like brothers
on
the semantic field
I
recognize myself
in
some
in
others
WEBCAM LIVE STREAMING
termites that devour
the white
I see them
from great heights
My smallness of mind
is sufficient
for follow
all creatures
Late Morning
blackheads
on gray background
constantly moving
-I meditate are an drone-
terrestrial creature it struggling with life
I could be myself
one termite
but already it's late
and colony
is preparing
same brownian motion
that's fine that I am colorless
how else
the colony I ignore my
termites that devour
the white
I see them
from great heights
My smallness of mind
is sufficient
for follow
all creatures
Late Morning
blackheads
on gray background
constantly moving
-I meditate are an drone-
terrestrial creature it struggling with life
I could be myself
one termite
but already it's late
and colony
is preparing
same brownian motion
that's fine that I am colorless
how else
the colony I ignore my
*
I
will never grow old
because
I was born old
and tired
*
a
brilliant poet
a
candy
in
desperation mouth
*
disease
despair
and
hate
what
resume
can
be better
for death
SEAL
OF PURE-BLOOD
tenderizer
under saddles
now
broken
of
hoofs
is
just the heart
sometime with the little angel
sometime with poisoned arrows
*
Emptied
of senseless
small
train stations kept
my
childhood.
*
are
sentenced to nausea
I
can not express myself:
the
executioners whom
I
can not denounce
are
here
and
keep me alive
HATE
DESPAIR RUINS
the
great poet
that
burned smoldering
in
me
was
rich
rivers
orchards bees
the
great poet
was
poor
hatred
despair ruins
great
poet
really
existed?
THE
SOWER OF MINE
landmines
antitank
the prechamber of poem
in
which agonize
are
full
of
course
by
me
perched
on
the fence of the poem
I'm just looking around
in
the trenches others
What
to see
all
over
only
ruins
one
day
I get bored of me
of mine
of mine
*
I
whipped
sensitivity
to
the blood
presumed
between
minus
and
plus
in
my country
of
paper
wrapped
like a mummy
in
autochthonous air
between
God
and
atom
NIGHT
OF THE NEW YEAR
snowing
on TV
a
snow
which
do not sit
in
the light of the night
a
whole people
dozing.
.SALON
OF ICE
(Poem
with tmusical directions)
a
lady
with
a dog on a leash
enters
in the library
and
ask a book of Borges
*
while
the
dog
sits down
on
the ice floor
an
elderly lady
recounts about dog
with the bleached eyes of darkness
"Will
die soon
is
a special dog
which remained from my dead daughter
is
my connection to nothingness "
during
** in which she recounts
My
soul is spread
as
an oil spill
in
water
my
heart is a country
only
good
to
be conquer
"a
well-bred dog"
in the world beyond
it may be your guardian and brother
your
passport
for
death
"
in
a time where ****
all
seemed to be incomprehensible
a
lady
wich skim to infinity
wich skim to infinity
a
volume of Borges.
*
tempo (cuv. it. "time" to pl. tempi; wide. tempus) 1.
(Original meaning) Time (I, 2) the measure *. 2. Degree of rapidity
with which a musical work to be executed
** (l) primo tempo (Loc. it., "the first
tempo"), indication of a return to the
original
motion after one or more changes of tempo
tempo"), indication of a return to the
original
motion after one or more changes of tempo
*** IL
TEMPO is a
GALANTUOMO (It.) time
is a good man - Mazarin's
motto: show the importance of
time in solving things. V. and
Chronos eumares theos gar.
GALANTUOMO (It.) time
is a good man - Mazarin's
motto: show the importance of
time in solving things. V. and
Chronos eumares theos gar.
****tempo
rubato (Loc. it.
"stolen time"), indication and
hence manner of interpretation
is to change to metric pulse
durations while maintaining
unchanged. Terminological
confusion between * and tempo
rubato occurred (after
Eggebrecht, 1955) after missing
practice he accompanied. *
Baroque type, while the term
temporary * has lost its sense of
"time value time" and became
synonymous with the words
"movement speed".
"stolen time"), indication and
hence manner of interpretation
is to change to metric pulse
durations while maintaining
unchanged. Terminological
confusion between * and tempo
rubato occurred (after
Eggebrecht, 1955) after missing
practice he accompanied. *
Baroque type, while the term
temporary * has lost its sense of
"time value time" and became
synonymous with the words
"movement speed".
*
I
want to happy
but
any miracle
take
three thousand moments
enough
to sketch out
a
nightmare
in
a state of well
and
tomorrow comes maturity:
I
defy anyone
*
when
I was appointed treasurer
there
was no stain in the sky
the earth
was perfect
all
were good and angelic purity
but
come nightfall suddenly
and
gold began to rusted
*
illusion
is clear
and
the cut is precise
through
the hole in the sky
see
the world
promised
promised
CERVANTES
IS MAN AND ACCEPT ANY VICINITY IN LIBRARY
life
is a great critic
she
did not indexed on me
in
any books
exist
a
chance
for
each
and
a death
LIT
CANDLE IN WAX MUSEUM
a
poet
is
loved and visited
as a father
as a father
of other
poets
poets
when
they is recognize in it
finally
steals his air
full
of
seals
RHYTHM
BREAKS
indulged
storm
close
to being
satyr
or faun
in the book air
as a precious scribe we note
"under
the sky covered with earth
(echo:
in
heaven
cover
with earth
starts
diurnal
from
one end to another
only see themselves)
mustard
seed growing
together with the thought
until it were broken
the barriers of sky
and
on
the blacks horse
with
long legs
arrived
reaping
time"
THE
JAIL OF SALT
with the teeth of milk
of my brief biographies
I bit symbolic
the realm of gentleness
on plain paper devoured teeth
in a time without space
in an space without season
Lao Tze
contemplate for me
the corpse a word:
"untill nirvana
is a long and dangerous way
most valuable is the light
of the salt mine "
in a time in which
we have forsaken
the territories wordy
on dead horse
of the fixed formes
of my brief biographies
I bit symbolic
the realm of gentleness
on plain paper devoured teeth
in a time without space
in an space without season
Lao Tze
contemplate for me
the corpse a word:
"untill nirvana
is a long and dangerous way
most valuable is the light
of the salt mine "
in a time in which
we have forsaken
the territories wordy
on dead horse
of the fixed formes
SPRING
CLEANING
"a
step back
certify
perspective
haughty "
of
the bridge ancestral house
he
throws
the old
books
the pressed
flowers
barrel
organ
and
made a concession
of the crammed
the piano
with
stars
"are
out
of tune
I work
with the mercy "
FAREWELL MONTALE !
"Poetry
is as
honey
in
large quantities
becomes
toxic "
in
the inner courtyard
of
my block
a
dog
foreign
is
a poem
full
of bones
(farewell
Ossi di sepia
farewell
Montale)
He
looks me
with
respect famished
bring
him manuscripts
and
do not touch
they
chose dust
of
my feeling
of
communion
I
was able
to
show him
one
ossicular one vertebra
a
finger
My
fingerprint holograph
tattooed
skin with stars
a
apocryphal text
about
poet
"when
is born
draw
it
like
a hunk of meat "
when
a poem is born
I
was born
and
I am the
scream
THE
VORTICAL CURRENT
because
I did not know
about
the celestial betrayals of poem
I
started craftsmen
wooden
tongue
which
out now
is
moving toward me
of
the mouth
Hindu
doll
THE
KING OF THE DEAD LEAVES
owner
of abyss
of
night
on
the destiny street
vis-a-vis
I
tried
to
climb
to
force
all
over
were
only doors
painted
on walls
I
wanted to enter
with
counterfeits keys
and
playing
cards rigged
in
the school of whispers
covered
by the orange mantle
there
I agonize
are
the
emperor
of
the death leaves
DARKNESS
OF EVERY DAY
Old
buildings gray were
with
a strange atmosphere
I
loved
because
in their halo
Our
youth bathe once
another
time intervened routine
and
then the earthquake from `77
which
completely extinguished
light
11/24/1973
OR
A
RAID IN FORCE
,
,
IN
BANALITY
with
bandages on neck ... a train- to be
passional -last train of mine
... personal ... traveling in the area between
two
wagons ... so-
bellows called ... in a crowded dantesque ... with
brown leather
suitcase (shriveled and swollen) lost somewhere
in the crowd
... emaciated ... freshly operated ... literally and
figuratively
... stolen... hopeless .. no identity without
emotion without...just a
strange halo warming my sad reality
....Christmas season
approaching and I go to my parent's house with
a personal train ...
passional -last train of mine
... personal ... traveling in the area between
two
wagons ... so-
bellows called ... in a crowded dantesque ... with
brown leather
suitcase (shriveled and swollen) lost somewhere
in the crowd
... emaciated ... freshly operated ... literally and
figuratively
... stolen... hopeless .. no identity without
emotion without...just a
strange halo warming my sad reality
....Christmas season
approaching and I go to my parent's house with
a personal train ...
delicate
that the idea of a poet
an
orchid grows
discreete
in
my heart
.
.
was
a strictly personal
for
me
Light
created an channel:
often
I escaping
of
the animal kingdom
HEY...
COME
(Words
in which are buried words)
I
wait you
In
the here and in now
where
nobody
not
able to penetrate
But
otherwise, but how
you
can see
the
hidden butterfly
at
me
in
fist
*
good
words to chew
good
words to milking
words
in which are buried
words
*
hidden
in the mystery
a people immortal
buried
in the fright
perpetual
FULL
MOON
"Poetry
is by his nature human
the
vehicle that a seducing
is-
sometimes - celest "
full
moon
yellow
echo -
I
asleep my despair
on
your shoulder
TO
BE OR NOT TO BE
in
my homeland of words
to
be is a cut language
and
not a crime
for
some to be
e
last rhyme
*
Dante's
circles :
where
I throw my eye
like
a stone
LETTERS
FROM LENDERS:
"ON
THE PERDITION STAIRS AWAIT
YOU BEATRICE"
YOU BEATRICE"
"I
steal lyrics at hard"
-cried
the poet -
"Be
gentle when you stir the earth
for
my bones wasted "
when
they discovered
boundless
realm
the relatives the friends
the
rigid postman
they
no longer sounded
not
even once:
suddenly
they penetrated
in
the coded gallery
BOUNDARY
BETWEEN THE REALMS
a
meeting with yourself
an
unknown
met
in
central square
and
a small guide
about
working pragmatically:
file
of your own book
spread
on the ordinary stall
and
mechanichal
gesture of the seller
that packs elegant
a
cone with seeds
ultimately
lie has long legs
and the sun of evening
carry me on his back
lie has long legs
and the sun of evening
carry me on his back
FLAG
OF HELPLESSNESS
one
body
a
single feelings
dreaming
sinecures:
the
hate with a thousand mouths
HIDDEN
IN LIGHT OF THE QUINCES
the
light that pours
is
a song
a
discrete halo
one
kick
in
the door fall
in
fog
that
it dissolved like life
one
day
when
you drawing
loneliness
from
a breathing
on
the window with rime
is
how to tell others
from
outside
comers
are
still alive
until
up tonight
BLINDS
IN THE CHAOS WORK
"Like
worm
to
swim
in
the fat of time
in
they size
lacks
backbone "
far
away
someone
wants to open heaven
and
the key is the infinite
of
an orbit from the other
DEATH
OF A MASTER
"It's
late are hurt
of the
bullet of a verse
Grinding
prepared my bed of glycine "
coryphaei have breathed a sigh of relief:
sunset
was free now
for
everyone
ABOUT
THE NAMELESS
in
all my cells
she
digs one black hole
and
dig and dig
into
light
how
far can penetrate
on
the border
between
anywhere
and nowhere
POST
MORTEM GLORIA SHOW THEIR FRAGILE CLAWS
was
considered post-modern
but
come to hell
was
thought about to immortelles
most
often passed over them
with
heavy boots
WONDER
YOU EXPECT
like
a train
with
the routes and predetermined schedule
Miracle
which
we expect
found
me
at
last
old
sick tired
without
taking into account that one
could
pull the alarm
it
could
to
slide on rails
miracle
that I found
left as it came:
old sick tired
old sick tired
14
JUNE 1974
on its own his arms
worn
I
really seen her
was
Venus de Milo
reconciled
to itself and the world
her
eyes over me
I
was blind shore
from
sea of tears
I
just fear guiding
-when
I passed around her-
on
dark alleys of the poem
with
the heart burn
of the hot
steel of that moment
Mr.
STATE, Mrs. MOTHERLAND
*
I
banished her
after
a long cohabitation
I banished the hope
was
as old as me
RIGHT
NOW
homeland
dog
barking
at hanging heart
in
front of the butcher of books
right
now
bulldozers
indifferent
pass
over a known author
contemporary
bones
crackle
in the air
easy
*
then
they came the journalists
of
the cameras
ambulances
firefighters
crowd
of onlookers
eager
for a hot random
how
much squandering
to
Good day
to
respond with a million words
*
about
the condition of my people
about
his mood pacifist
about
how succeeded
to
how sublime
to
disarm
the
concrete
INFLATION,
LYRICS, PHONEME
I read
verses
"Dead
Sea
wait
other
peoples
other
written of salt
tattooed
on body
of
the poet
thrown
on shore
yellowed
papyrus
the
great sea
his
heart lying on the shore
eggplant
cloth still palpitating
in
the clutches of a seagull
which
will bear
to
the living world waiting
to
taste
blood
fresh
hunk
nice
boneless "
still
alive
I read
verses
in dying
languages
ON
ANOTHER VOCAL COORDS OF SUNSET AN POET BANKRUPT
I
want to write a poem tragic
deeply
serious
but
I cried Madame Bovary
from
off from stalls from underground
"Broke
down the kitchen sink
an
intergalactic Icicle is ready
get
away from the balcony
dog
and still appeared adenoma
canary
cage toy repaired
a
gentleman undertaker
came
with offers of holidays "
all
are like conveyor belt
not
first in the world
and
already a lady came rent:
"Tomorrow
leave home
country
town
planet
What
to talk it down
do
not forget
to
take and trumpet
but
hurry
to
catch the evening boat "
over
Styx
is
discretely insinuate
the polar light
UNDERGROUND
"
to be is now
follows
the final station
someone
down
in
eternity? "
BOX
OF CANDOR
if
you are sad ... and what?
Open
box of candor
and
then
a
change destiny of the amarylis
pupils
will achieve
rising
freshly invented
cold
winter will be discharged directly into the rut heats
will
escape from prison contemplation
of course
will be applauded
crippled
hands of powerlessness
you
should know
Your
sorrow does not help the world
Your
smile is just a face
the
slaughterhouse pictorials
a
dry leaf
the
area next season
just
a moment
Lost
in the light of the world
et
cetera et cetera
your
eternity
is
already a monstrous past
a
broken pocket perpetual search of history
that
write right now
our
eyes
blinded
*
exceedingly
sweet
and
beautiful
my
despair
iridescent
in wax caps
of
planetary the beehive
whoever
can blind
*
hmmm...
is O.K.
I
did not care for tomorrow
are
a poet nesting
in
the hot dough
of bread
*
poetry
is
a piece of rock
like
a snake
in
the midday sun
there
I hiding
I'm
not alone
in
the realm of outlaw
helplessness
working
in me
like
a car
of
writing
TIME
OF ANATOMY
arcades
vaulted
skulls
aura
of stardust
here
silence
is operated
of
angels
Memories
blind
sad and lonely
thrown
into the abyss
by
my friends
Spartans
S.O.S.
an
angel
clean
my dreams
and
I borrowed halo
"saved
my life"
a
raindrop fallen
in
the desert
*
may
be
a
whiff of past
of
the present
which
eludes me
a
shred of the future
my
angel
guardian
*
a
life
toiled
the angel
for
me to become man
a
lifetime
how
an illumination
of
angel
*
an
angel
on
each eyelid
what
blindness
can
be
the
brighter?
JACOB'S
LADDER
on
angel scale
fine
and precise
on
angel scale
I
are
the
missing step
*
have
finished our time
and
purpose?
like
a breeze
the
infinite patience
of
our Lord
MEMORIES
ARE BEATIFULLY
PRESERVED IN THE
PRESERVED IN THE
WOMB`S HIVE
I
forgot my luggage in the train station
what
crappy
there
was and my
heart
coated in wax
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