The Pomegranate Seeds For Persephone
Little Uncollected Poems By Michael Novakhov
The Pomegranate Seeds For Persephone - GS
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To Kostya
Sunday, January 22, 2017
The Stone
"Нет на земле твоего короля..."
Анна Ахматова "Сероглазый король"
Nothing but pain, crazy sweet-bitter pain
Blurry sepia trace down memory lane
Blond like white magic of Petersburg night
"Straight as an arrow" was gayish-eyed knight
We smoked some good grass and we walked all the way
Down memory lane on a warm summer day
"You're getting too close", coyly he smiled
I wasn't but distanced myself for a while
"You killed it, you're cold", I hear him say
Down memory lane in a sorrowful sway
Fireplace guard, grayish-eyed knight
Memory lane, cold long night
"You wrote me a poem, you killed me again
You needed the stone on your memory lane..."
M.N.
1.22.17 - 7.21.15
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"Нет на земле твоего короля..."
Анна Ахматова "Сероглазый король"
Nothing but pain, crazy sweet-bitter pain
Blurry sepia trace down memory lane
Blond like white magic of Petersburg night
"Straight as an arrow" was gayish-eyed knight
We smoked some good grass and we walked all the way
Down memory lane on a warm summer day
"You're getting too close", coyly he smiled
I wasn't but distanced myself for a while
"You killed it, you're cold", I hear him say
Down memory lane in a sorrowful sway
Fireplace guard, grayish-eyed knight
Memory lane, cold long night
"You wrote me a poem, you killed me again
You needed the stone on your memory lane..."
M.N.
1.22.17 - 7.21.15
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Saturday, January 7, 2017
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked...
ALLEN GINSBERG
Howl too:
Who-o-o-o? Who-o-o-o? Who-o-o-o?
Who? Who? Who?
That's who.
Howl now too!
The America of my dreams:
Shattered.
Raped.
That's who.
Ou-u-u... Ou-u-u... Ou-u-u...
That's who.
Howl now:
Ou-u-u... Ou-u-u... Ou-u-u...
Mother Wolf of Rome howls.
Your kids are lost;
Kidnapped,
Brainwashed,
Turned against you -
Howl now!
Where is my Kalashnikov?
Unzip the bag,
Howl now!
Ochlos rules:
Blind,
Mislead,
Seduced
By the Robot-Clown,
The quintessence of cheap posh,
The bankrupt puppet,
Pretending to be rich,
Staying afloat
On the oil soaked paper,
Controlled by the Kremlin's strings -
Howl now!
Mad, poor wretched soul,
A juvenile delinquent
Reaching to the stars,
Depressed, despondent, empty,
Deceptions shackled and afflicted with,
Afflicting others
With anger, ignorance, importance
Of birth rights laws;
Transmitting his infection,
His blindness virus
So readily, so fast;
Killing you softly with the foreign vengeance -
Howl now!
Your sons,
The best of Guardians,
To the slaughter sends he,
Repaying debt.
This is his payment,
Calculated by the accountants to a penny
On his mortgage -
Howl now!
Cry Naomi, howl:
The best is yet to come.
Lend me your delusions,
Your comfort,
Your respite, your escape,
I need them:
The mind is of no use,
Of no goal, of no purpose, and of no help -
Howl now!
2
"Wha happind", eah?
Your eyes were wide shut,
But mouths now are wide open,
Your brains apart, yelling in disbelief:
"Wha happind" to you, America?
Elected King to rule,
The Master of plantations,
Live-in bananas grower,
The seller of simplicities,
Store manager for neighbors,
Peaking through the walls
With hungry eyes.
I never traveled you,
But wanted so much
To see your cities,
Your towns, you hamlets,
Your churches, piercing heavens
With sharp demanding screams,
With the eternal quest:
"Not by the bread alone!"
Your churchbells,
Singing the hymn of your soul
That reached me in my old wilderness,
Making my soul vibrate
With resonance and longing,
With love and trust
In promise and unknown,
As if I knew it always.
Your people,
So mysterious, and yet so close:
I never felt apart from them,
I always felt American,
And proud was and am.
"I want you to be happy here",
Said the hotel manager,
Where I stayed my first days.
These words did strike me
With kindness and sincerity,
They rang of truth and custom,
I heard them often.
Your parks, your mountains,
Your hills, your valleys,
Extensions of infinity,
With no horizons,
Covered with flowers,
So simple, elegant, unique,
Erotic in the mental mix,
The mystery of scents,
The knowledge so close yet so far,
Beyond the edge unreachable...
I didn't see you, I didn't know you,
And know not you still:
Intriguing puzzle,
Heart of the bulb
Of coming flowers: free-blooming,
Unsuppressible, the gift of man and nature
Delight of mind and senses
Defying definitions:
Your essence not for words,
They are too simple,
Good only for simple minded sellers,
And simple price tags, dollar signs in bold.
God's gift of the Unknown,
And the Unknowable,
You are just magic flower,
A field of flowers,
Free-blooming, different, diverse,
Unique, inimitable, fascinating
For the world to love,
To hate, to envy, to admire,
And to fear, and to respect your will.
My America was always in me,
Within me, merged with my soul.
Cerebral and abstract?
Devoid of life, of flesh,
And pain, and struggle?
Do I really know her?
The mystery that is forbidden, unresolved,
Unanalyzable, a "thing in itself"...
And better left as is and undefined?
Who knows her?
Who has the right to claim
Elusive knowledge, beyond the daily truths?
Beyond the words, the tags, and empty definitions?
3
What happened then?
Who blinded you with hatred?
Who stole your mind?
Who wants to steal your freedom?
Who wants the slaves and zombies
To roam your streets,
Ready to discharge the hidden weapons
By ordered hateful push of their deadly triggers?
Howl!
Michael Novakhov
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Thursday, November 12, 2015
In A Nutshell
Happy Holidays!
The Dark Lady, my love
http://mn-3.blogspot.com/2015/08/
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Monday, August 10, 2015
The Dark Lady, my love
I see your eyes filled with rage
I hear your screams that nobody hears
You're turning gray, you're ageless, I will always love you
The glass is always full, you fool
The brawn and brains are just the tool
The life is life; it's always cool
And love in potion makes you drool
Saturday, August 8, 2015
I am not a leftist, I am not a rightist
I am just "agnostic" Judaeo-Christian scientist
In the Dark Night of my Soul,
With passion burning; oh, lucky me -
I went away in secret and unseen,
My being joyful and at ease
In the darkness and invisible
I climbed the secret ladder up; oh lucky me -
In darkness, in disguise,
My being joyful and at ease.
The night of joy,
In secret, unobserved, and shouldn't be;
Without light or guidance
But the one inside
The midnight sun lead me,
Sun brighter than at noon
To where He, I knew; I knew it well,
Awaited me, and nobody else.
The night lead me,
More perfect than the dawn
The night of love:
We merged, we mixed, one in another
My yearning breast, my breath
Was only for Him and Him alone
He slept, I touched Him,
And the cedars with breeze us cuddled...
His breath - my healing breeze,
His pure golden hair,
Sweet wounding touch, both gentle and exciting -
And, senseless, I was lost,
And consciousness dissolved,
His cheek by mine,
And all the world abandoned,
I've lost my troubles there, I've tossed them into lilies...
M.N.
http://mn-3.blogspot.com/2014/08/older-men-drape-their-snow-white-towels.html
Monday, August 18, 2014
Older men drape their snow white towels around their shoulders...
Younger men wear their towels wrapped around their loins,
They know the game, eager to play and enjoy it.
Older men drape their snow white towels around their shoulders;
This is their mantle, their burden and their game:
They carry the world on their shoulders till they die
And pass their mantles to the next few who will carry them on,
The ever snow white towels unsoiled by time and tribulations;
They know the game by now, they are driven to win it,
The Young Man and The Child do always live in them,
Till they die.
M.N.
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