"Poet's Obligation" Pablo Nerouda / Obligation by Adarcah Ianku

SOUND DESIGN

obligation by adarcah [ianku]

Poet's Obligation

To whoever is not listening to the sea

this Friday morning, to whoever is cooped up

in house or office, factory or woman

or street or mine or harsh prison cell;

to him I come, and, without speaking or looking,

I arrive and open the door of his prison,

and a vibration starts up, vague and insistent,

a great fragment of thunder sets in motion

the rumble of the planet and the foam,

the raucous rivers of the ocean flood,

the star vibrates swiftly in its corona,

and the sea is beating, dying and continuing.

So, drawn on by my destiny,

I ceaselessly must listen to and keep

the sea's lamenting in my awareness,

I must feel the crash of the hard water

and gather it up in a perpetual cup

so that, wherever those in prison may be,

wherever they suffer the autumn's castigation,

I may be there with an errant wave,

I may move, passing through windows,

and hearing me, eyes will glance upward

saying 'How can I reach the sea?'

And I shall broadcast, saying nothing,

the starry echoes of the wave,

a breaking up of foam and quicksand,

a rustling of salt withdrawing,

the grey cry of the sea-birds on the coast.

So, through me, freedom and the sea

will make their answer to the shuttered heart.

Pablo Neruda

Adarcah Ianku - Facebook

when getting dark, in the yards, we grew up - DECEMBER

SOUND DESIGN

adarcah [ianku]- when getting dark, in the yards, we grew up

a darker stranger - soundcloud

Adarcah Ianku - Facebook

read the poem

DEEMBER
December is a cold month.
So cold.
So incomplete.
A time when nature dies,
Along with parts of me.
December is a month of dreary days.
Lit up with lights to mask the pain.
Holiday spirit.
Just an excuse to drink.
Food, family, friends.
It's all just more fuel to think.
I grew up to understand the Grinch.
Whose heart became so small.
And although these lights do warm me,
I want to crush them all.
December is a month of lies and of deceit.
It's not at all about spirit, rather a receipt. 
I'd prefer sit alone.
A fireplace and a book.
Than sit along beside others, to have my heart led astray by some crook.

by

Anne Krysllene Kho

read more
HELLO POETRY

Η ΠΟΛΙΣ - When the city is sleeping ...

... το ΟΝΕΙΡΟ είναι ΜΑΚΡΥΑ 

κι εσύ νομίζεις 

πως το έχεις στην αγκαλιά σου ...

SOUND DESIGN

when the city's sleeping (the city) from the feather of time by adarcah [ianku]
ΑLBUM
the feather of time by adarcah [ianku]

ΔΙΑΒΑΣΤΕ

Η Πόλις

Είπες· «Θα πάγω σ’ άλλη γη, θα πάγω σ’ άλλη θάλασσα.

Μια πόλις άλλη θα βρεθεί καλλίτερη από αυτή.

Κάθε προσπάθεια μου μια καταδίκη είναι γραφτή·

κ’ είν’ η καρδιά μου — σαν νεκρός — θαμένη.

Ο νους μου ως πότε μες στον μαρασμόν αυτόν θα μένει.

Όπου το μάτι μου γυρίσω, όπου κι αν δω

ερείπια μαύρα της ζωής μου βλέπω εδώ,

που τόσα χρόνια πέρασα και ρήμαξα και χάλασα.»

Καινούριους τόπους δεν θα βρεις, δεν θάβρεις άλλες θάλασσες.

Η πόλις θα σε ακολουθεί. Στους δρόμους θα γυρνάς

τους ίδιους. Και στες γειτονιές τες ίδιες θα γερνάς·

και μες στα ίδια σπίτια αυτά θ’ ασπρίζεις.

Πάντα στην πόλι αυτή θα φθάνεις. Για τα αλλού — μη ελπίζεις—

δεν έχει πλοίο για σε, δεν έχει οδό.

Έτσι που τη ζωή σου ρήμαξες εδώ

στην κώχη τούτη την μικρή, σ’ όλην την γη την χάλασες. 

(Από τα Ποιήματα 1897-1933, Ίκαρος 1984)

Κ.Π. ΚΑΒΑΦΗΣ - ΠΟΙΗΜΑΤΑ

 Είσαι η πατρίδα που έχασα

 Σε μια παρτίδα που το

 Όνειρο είναι μακριά, και συ νομίζεις

 Πως το έχεις στην αγκαλιά σου.

ΔΙΑΒΑΣΤΕ

ΘΕΟΣ ΕΛΕΥΘΕΡΟΣ - Π. ΑΡΑΜΠΑΤΖΗΣ

ΑΚΟΥΣΤΕ
the feather of time by adarcah [ianku]

FACEBOOK

Pete Arabatzis - Facebook

Adarcah Ianku - Facebook

"When I Am Dead, My Dearest" - mnemosyne [acrimonious scars on a cremated missionaries' palms] by Adarcah Iancu

And if thou wilt, remember,

And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,

I shall not feel the rain;

I shall not hear the nightingale

Sing on, as if in pain:

SOUND DESIGN

mnemosyne [acrimonious scars on a cremated missionaries' palms] by adarcah [ianku]

Adarcah Ianku - Facebook

When I Am Dead, My Dearest - Poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti

When I am dead, my dearest,

Sing no sad songs for me;

Plant thou no roses at my head,

Nor shady cypress tree:

Be the green grass above me

With showers and dewdrops wet;

And if thou wilt, remember,

And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,

I shall not feel the rain;

I shall not hear the nightingale

Sing on, as if in pain:

And dreaming through the twilight

That doth not rise nor set,

Haply I may remember,

And haply may forget. 

Hymn of the Triumphant Airman 1929 flying east to west at 1000 m.p.h

SOUND DESIGN

king of the hump by captain ianku

… ΓΗ είναι η γυναίκα

 Άντρας ο γιαλός

 Παιδί του η θάλασσα...

 Θάλασσα θα ‘ναι η μορφή.

 Θα ‘ναι ταξίδι αεργιανό ...

ΑΠΟ

ΑΜΝΗΣΙΑ - Π. ΑΡΑΜΠΑΤΖΗΣ

Pete Arabatzis Facebook

READ

 Rudyard Kipling Hymn of the Triumphant Airman 1929 FLYING EAST TO WEST AT 1000 M.P.H.

TΗΕ BROKEN OAR - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow / OAR by ADARCAH [IANKU] / ΣΤΑΧΤΕΣ - Παναγιώτης Αραμπατζής

A poet wandered with his book and pen,

Seeking some final word, some sweet Amen,

Wherewith to close the volume in his hand.

Απαρνήθηκα ο ποιητής και στίχους ακόμα να γράψω νέους.

Ωραίους ντυμένους με πολύχρυση χλαμύδα βασιλέως.

Μα η αυταπάρνηση σε κάμνει ποιητή και αυτή μονάχα.

SOUND DESIGN

oar by adarcah [ianku]

THE BROKEN OAR

Once upon Iceland's solitary strand

A poet wandered with his book and pen,

Seeking some final word, some sweet Amen,

Wherewith to close the volume in his hand.

The billows rolled and plunged upon the sand,

The circling sea-gulls swept beyond his ken,

And from the parting cloud-rack now and then

Flashed the red sunset over sea and land.

Then by the billows at his feet was tossed

A broken oar; and carved thereon he read,

"Oft was I weary, when I toiled at thee";

And like a man, who findeth what was lost,

He wrote the words, then lifted up his head,

And flung his useless pen into the sea.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

ΤΟΥ ΘΛΙΒΕΡΟΥ ΜΑΣ ΚΟΣΜΟΥ Η ΠΙΟ ΠΕΡΗΦΑΝΗ ΑΛΛΑΞΙΑ

Κι αν κάποτε, κάποια τυχαία ώρα.
Με ρωτούσες τι είναι οι στίχοι. 
Τώρα ξέρω να σου πω.
Είναι μαγκιά πιο δυνατή κι απ’ τη μαγκιά.
Στου πεζοδρόμιου τα εκστατικά καμώματα.
Είναι σοβαρότητα ανεξήγητη από εκείνους.
Που μόνο σκοπό της ζωής –λένε-
Θέλουν να χαμογελούν αγαπημένοι.
Στων ξένων θεών και των θνητών τις συναθροίσεις ρητορεύουν.

Reset Sunset by The Lantern Project

... he the man with the sly eyes

and the friendly smile

he the man you trust

til his blade burst

your heart apart ...

LISTEN 

Reset Sunset by The Lantern Project

BY 

Vitality MC - FACEBOOK

AND

Pete Arabatzis - FACEBOOK

ADARCAH IANKU - FACEBOOK

POETRY and IMAGE by

Maria Manuela Cardiga -FACEBOOK
MANUELA CARDIGA'S BLOG

PIED PIPER WIND-CHIME

SING A SWEET SONG

MAKE A RHYME

hanging on the fence

wind shaking

my bones

waitin for

the mean man

to bore some holes

for tones

he the mean man

the bad man

the sand man

the stone man

with the cold

dead hands

he the man with the sly eyes

and the friendly smile

he the man you trust

til his blade burst

your heart apart

he don't want your life

he don't want your soul

he want the long bones

of your thighs

to make his flute

and play a song

Maria Manuela Cardiga
Maria Manuela Cardiga - FACEBOOK
MANUELA CARDIGA'S BLOG

VOCALS

Alice Wanders - FACEBOOK