Melankolia Melancholy

“and God was there like an island I had not rowed to,
still ignorant of Him, my arms, and my legs worked,
and I grew, I grew,
I wore rubies and bought tomatoes
and now, in my middle age,
about nineteen in the head I'd say,
I am rowing, I am rowing
though the oarlocks stick and are rusty
and the sea blinks and rolls
like a worried eyebal,
but I am rowing, I am rowing,
though the wind pushes me back
and I know that that island will not be perfect,
it will have the flaws of life,
the absurdities of the dinner table,
but there will be a door
and I will open it
and I will get rid of the rat insdie me,
the gnawing pestilential rat.
God will take it with his two hands
and embrace it”
― Anne Sexton, The Awful Rowing Toward God

“If I could blame it on all
the mothers and fathers of the world,
they of the lessons, the pellets of power,
they of the love surrounding you like batter ...
Blame it on God perhaps?
He of the first opening
that pushed us all into our first mistakes?
No, I'll blame it on Man
For Man is God
and man is eating the earth up
like a candy bar
and not one of them can be left alone with the ocean
for it is known he will gulp it all down.
The stars (possibly) are safe.
At least for the moment.
The stars are pears
that no one can reach,
even for a wedding.
Perhaps for a death.”
― Anne Sexton, The Awful Rowing Toward God

“كلام مضحك جداً،
هذا الذي يقوله الشعراء في العيون.

لو كانتا طبقي عسل
سيعيش الذباب فيهما.

لو نافذتان من الليل،
سترشحان دموع الأطفال،
المرعوبين من الأشباح
في الظلام.

لو بحيرتان زرقاوان،
ستعوم فيهما جثث الغرقى،
ويفقأهما الصيادون بصنانيرهم.

و شجيرتان خضراوان، سيتعشى بهما خروف صغير.

هكذا يمكن لأي شاعر مبتدئ، اليوم،

مسخرة هذه الرومانسية الزاعقة.

أنتِ عيناك قاذفتا قنابل، ورموشهما متاريس

حاربي لأجلنا
اصطادي بهما اللصوص والقتلة
وأقيمي العدل في العالم
ما عاد يجب أن نخجل، نحن الرجال، من أن نختبئ خلف امرأة.”
― عماد أبو صالح, جمال كافر

“جسدها النحيلُ ينتفضُ من البرد
فتتناثر منه بقية قُبُلات الماضي”
― عماد أبو صالح, عجوز تؤلمه الضحكات