Newsgroup: it.arti.poesia
Titolo: aiutatemi

Salve a tutti!
Avrei bisogno di un grossissimo favore!
Sto cercando una poesia scritta da un soldato inglese durante la seconda
(credo) guerra mondiale.
La poesia si chiama Kismet e ovviamente il testo originale è in inglese. Io
avevo letto la traduzione italiana in un libro di un mio amico e mi
servirebbe il testo in inglese.
Chi può aiutarmi?

 ha
scritto:

Ho fatto una ricerca tra gli ebook del mio hard disk ed ho trovato
questa. In un altro file la paternità della poesia veniva attribuita a
tale Luther B. Davis, ma non so se è questa. E' molto lunga, spero
possa aiutarti.
ciao
Alberto
Here's a happenstance -- you'll hear it? --
Though it's wickedly romantic.
Could be, not a soul alive that
gives a hoot for Once-Upon-A...
Once upon a time, however,
Lord of Luristan, Thelorak,
kissed a mighty kiss of kisses.
West of Babylon it happened,
south of Kirman Shah, by Shiraz.
Nomad from the North, Thelorak,
feared in Ku Galu and Shushtar,
feared in Luristan: his armies
hovered like the sign for thunder.
Luristan, that made the bronzes:
charm, for shooing witch from pony,
helmet, for the eyes to glow in,
chain mail, casing boy as beetle.
But in all that land of clangor,
none so bronze as he, Thelorak.
Bronze, the scowling brow of helmet,
bronze, the scowling brow beneath it;
couldn't tell where cheek met cheekpiece;
couldn't tell the one fist, naked,
from that other fist, in gauntlet.
Shuck his body-armor off, and
there's a man of bronze beneath it.
See that face: as gashed with acid,
like the war god's own, in temples.
That's his love, the war god. Other
love he mocks as pig-sty pother.
On that day: a surf of warriors
churns around Thelorak jaunting,
jounced about on choppy cruppers
over cobblestones in Kush Lo.
Holiest of cities, Kush Lo,
where the war god's temple threatened,
columns baring tusks, above them
cornice like a boar-snout curling.
There Thelorak came, steed rearing;
there he dared the darkened gullet,
flung like knives his glances 'round him.
Under gloom of porch, those glances
glitter on a couple kissing.
Deaf to all, that pair, the fellow
pasted to his she, she leaning
back on stone, a pallor rippling
-- think of little waves in moonlight.
Slits of eye like slits of helmet,
hoarse Thelorak stared, cheek flaring,
saw the god of war besmirched where
lips were swabbing lips -- their lapping
minding him of hogs in offal.
"Shove," he shouted, "shoats apart there!"
Chutes from saddlebow and stirrup,
tears the pair in two -- ha! -- hurls them:
her against the stonework, him half
scrambling under hooves of horses.
Her! He'd measure her, each feature:
widened eye and lips that widen,
widen not in love -- in terror,
are about to scream. He stops them,
plugs a heel of hand across, but
head against the grime behind, she
tries to writhe away; on stone her
curls, a rustled cornsilk, crinkle,
spread -- like grated spice -- a fragrance.
Eyes beneath their floral fringes,
lilac -- temple pools at evening
show so in a dusk of starlight.
Felt her lip against his calloused
palm -- that lord -- a-tremble, like some
newborn mite of life, a nestling.
With a thrust, his palm unstopped her
mouth, the lip drained pale, one corner
vivid with a fleck of crimson,
as she bit to hold despair in,
breast against his bruising buckle.
"Swiller of men's lips," he mocked her.
"Mopper of wet snouts in temples!"
Words she didn't hear, she twisting
as to see, beyond her shoulder,
panic under hooves of horses.
"What's this lapping lips?" he lashed with.
From her not a sound; lips breathless
held his eye
-- an impulse --
"Show me!
Do your kiss-thing once forever.
Kiss to end these kisses." Bristling,
face all growl and grit he took her,
rolled her lip in his lips, this way,
that way, outside, inside, out --
but
sudden, as if struck, a strangeness.
Shivered -- he, the warrior? -- loosed their
mouths, drew back a breath, as puzzled,
mulling on her lips, her lashes.
Once again, but slow, as groping,
laid his earthen lip to earthen
hers
O rich and fertile earth is!
How it flowers! How clean the furrows
where the glossy plow unfurls them;
how, with corn and wheat for promise, it cajoles with nurse and
nourish.
Savored mother earth, the man did,
learned the way of roots exploring
toward a breathless dark, the haunts of...
Came on springs that -- chilly, thrilling --
croon like flutes afar, a spell that
wild things in their burrows stir to;
croon through sod, rock, lava, gravel,
swell to -- flood of floods! demolish
fences, farmhouse, castle -- kingdoms.
Came on roots that heave earth-waters
up through thew of spruce, of moosewood;
hoist them high as boughs go, sluice them
in the life of leaves, in bird song,
stir a windy surf in tree tops,
surf a-bob with moon, sun, planets.
Then -- amazement! -- earth was airy,
drinking every breath of heaven:
North, white apple-scent of snowflake;
East, the salt marsh, sea mist, sea bird;
South, blue noon, anana, mango;
West, the redfinch, cedar, sunset.
All of this -- the earth, air, water --
burst in flame, a blinding moment's
insight into...? into...? Back toward
fertile earth we go, its furrows.
So it was, that kiss of kisses.
Seconds long. The horses stamping.
Lord Thelorak stared within him,
clouded brow, with back of fist on
newfound lips. Then slowly drew his
broadsword, glint of bronze, regarded
all its length...
What happened next?
Well,
here the story ends. We wonder.
Judgment's up to you, and you there.
Maybe -- you suppose? -- he killed her?
Libro eccellente è quello che suscita più pensieri di quanti ne contenga" Julien De Valckenaere