Tag Archives: poetry

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Leila Samarrai: THE ROAD, “THE SECOND BIRTH OF TRAGEDY”

An excerpt from a long narrative poem “The Road”, dedicated to the Truth

5.

Ecce Veritas

Mystics listen to her
Cynics vomit her
Midwives truth-birth her
And since always
Welcome her on hands
That insidious trash
To fill their pitchers
With her feces.
Born from the spirit of pride
From the spleen of law
From the blood of forefathers
From the womb of lies
From seventy seven
Forgiveness
The fools loved her
Saints like a knick – knack
Showed her on the fair
Liars about her
Sexually fantasized
Ecce veritas
Spends her life next to Dionysius ,
Bloodless turkey cocks and donkeys
Smell her sacred beak.
Crowned with laurels
Permeated with boredom
In the tasteful asylum
And she sings in blood
To dampened strings
While watching her reflection
In the lavatory of Hades
Remembers
Progenitrix
Now already an aging whore
Arose from the dream
To maintain the dream.

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Leila Samarrai: DEDICATION TO ELIOT, “The Second Birth Of Tragedy”

Yes, my friend
While walking down Central Park avenue
On the other side of the road
I saw sad men
Glamour and skinned foxes
Caught in the northern woods
Men in a shell, hollow men
Pain in blood and cognizance in the eye;
But I did not see a single Man.

For all men, Eliot’s men,
Hollow men overpowered by intrigues,
For all those men, Proust’s men
With hands in the mud of chastity I circular oblivion
Pain in blood.
For adventurers created out of fear
Rampaging civility, with the smile of night upon the cheeks.
They pointed their finger to the beggars.
Stoically they gnaw the bone.
Under the wind they make each other laugh and they howl through laughter.
I heard voices uprooted from outer space
The benumbed song of the eagles
From nutrients, from nutrients
blinded, cozy cavity
Obviousness.
.
The opposites rampage in the windmills.
And nothingness is out of it’s mind.

Come out of the shell!
The scarecrows are filled with hay
Оh, Eliot, Eliot
Out of all the poets only you I trust.

Yes! My friend
While I was walking down Central Park avenue
On the other side of the road…
I saw sad men
Glamour and skinned foxes
Caught in the northern woods
Men in a shell, hollow men
Pain in blood and cognizance in the eye
But I did not see, just like you, not a single man

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Leila Samarrai: SAMIRA’S COMFORT, “The Second Birth Of Tragedy”

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SAMIRA’S COMFORT

You bite the poem under the tongue and words which made reminiscences into dust
They do not understand you, actrisa.
It is time for aktshluss

You were chewed by the populist phenomenology
Of verses devoid of poetry
In the band of false troubadours you cannot be actor primarium patrium
Aristocrat among poetesses do not forget that the Arabs divined your fate with arrows

Do not worry, Leila, I enjoyed reading your verses,
I Samira, the trade woman from the satrapy of forgotten empires
On my breasts I bared the burden heavier than the grandiose pillars from Hatra
Forever banished from the cradle of two folk I belonged to by the disfavor of Alan and Beog who found a dying city

Do not worry, Leila, with you are Greeks and Sarmatians and your name is nailed into the Grecian affiches
Announced by Sophocles on fliers and billboards of alternative theaters
And Caligula dances with your Greek single act dramas on Palatine games

Do not worry, Leila, unpopular poetess in a world which you overcame
With the miracle of discovering the secret home in which you mastered silences

Do not forget everything is a matter of injustice because there is no justice
Do not forget the world became a mine field and an insult
Do not forget another world will be chiseled by your verses of immortal longing

Do not worry, Leila, there will be time for all those who hotly growl on the mention of your name to understand
The unbearable ease of existence and the feather of your French Alexandrine.

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drama

Leila Samarrai: THE SECOND BIRTH OF TRAGEDY, Hypnos and Melpomena

Melpomene

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THE SECOND BIRTH OF TRAGEDY

Gods too seek sanctuary in dreams
(Conversation of Hypnos and Melpomena)
(place of deed: the cave of Hypnos)

(Hypnos sits in front of the fireplace,wrapped in fur, shivers from the cold while simultaniously playing with a pendulum carefully observing it from all sides. It appears as though he deeply thought over, those thoughts brightening him. Melpomena enters, all in rags, unkempt hair, bare headed.)

MELPOMENA:
Do not look at me with sleepy eyes! I know where I should be now!
(ripping the remains of the dress from her body and plucking hair. She wept.)

HYPNOS:
Have you canceled the play?

MELPOMENA:
Not I her, but her me… Not I… No longer.

(Hypnos returns to the pendulum and wraps himself in a black chasuble, while he shivers with his entire body.)

MELPOMENA:
(gazing at him)
Trickster, oh Hypnos
Wrapped you are in theater curtains
Blacker they are than thy cave
Wave towards me with your pendulum
I dreamt with an eye open
And I have seen reality
That beloved lie of the Theater
Do it!
Mesmerize me!
For the whisk of the mad hypnothiser
Sways even the wings of Gods
Illusion!
The wings of a bird
Overshadoweded once a dream!
Livid, pale, awake to death
I am no longer Melpomena!
An aggressive clown I am
In the theater of comedy!
(Follow me into the theater!)
Come! Do! Wave your hand!
In front the audience, the wild beast
With a thousand soft heads!
Overshadow me! There, in front of all!
For
Perhaps clean laught(mock)er(y)
Summons the mind to play
And Nature to believe the Truth
In role!
Enchant me!
Either I sleep as before
Or close my eyes.

HYPNOS:
Let us go, but after I stoke the fireplace.

МELPOMENA:
Yes, too cold is for dreams… And I…
Play passions
Improvising merely…
Here and there…
No flash

HYPNOS:
Tragedy!

MELPOMENA:
Fixed her eyes on me, horrified!
Оh, my loving Hegote
From whose lips
I drank
Plunged the knife to hearts
Murdered heroes
In a role I play
And all that…
Miserable, miserably lifeless
Are furries prosecuting me?
Must be because of Megara
She set me against Talia
Maddened by jealous
So my wag sister
Derides me out of vengeance.
Let us go now, depart!
(rises suddenly)

HYPNOS:
May the fire burn
Now that I have stoked it!

MELPOMENA:
One wood is breaking
In the fireplace. It is raw.
His organic nature
Does not let it go aflame!
Same as I… Burning
With fire of violent passion.
Violence! Without passion! That is it!
And the violence!
She burns, but I do not see
Nor the senses feel her.
If I could like before
Believe in passion
I would birth the truth
And be the same old
Playful tragedienne
I lost myself in the theater!
(Why, I?! Melpomena!)
Merely I am a wild cavewoman
Strolling the theater, but not walkng it
The play does not survive.

HYPNOS:
Console yourself, Melpomena! That is good tragedy!

MELPOMENA:
But unblessed!
Unawakened by concious, how was she made?!
Not by my skillful hand!
She made herself!
Broke loose from her Createress!
Run amok!
No Muse to tame her!
What inspiration is it?
It is sinister grimacing
And roaring of omni-human
In a shroud of theater curtains
Dead souls, dead tongue awaits me.

HYPNOS:
I am life for I am Dream
I am Illusion and Companion
What I learned
Teaching Calderon
And few more awakened Dreamers
Walking on dreams
Whipping their hopes
Waking untamed desires
Benumbing reminiscences
Rinsing the dream of Gods!
That much double-natured I am!
No need for a sabre nor a blade
Nor a mask
To kill the knavish king
If you can see
The fire of fantasy in the fireplace,
Do not accede for untruth
And do not play from the heart (A Woman!)
Against the Stanislavic pendulum.
(As he spoke it, Tragedy reborn.)

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Doubting Thomas, “The Darkness Will Understand”, Leila Samarrai

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43

Is it true Doubting Thomas
That they told him:

For your possession
From thine mouth you win a right
While your day is dieing

And he

Condemned to circumstances in verve
Becomes everyone who supports him
Far away from the roads that gnaw on non believers

And he

Does not answer to the first word,
not even on the second he speaks
Only on the third humbly and considerately

And he

Knows this life is for the dead
And not for the living
Not even the wall blasphemes

And he

Begs for the transparent innocence with eyes of balm
And accomplishment of the desolate

And he

Even cares not to be returned among the people
Learning in prayer

Still one thing I do not believe you
I do not believe you saint Thomas
That comfort is not sufficient
Invented in the shape of a woman

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The signs along the path are the only thing left for you, “The darkness will understand”, Leila Samarrai

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 3

You do not grasp – the spilled blood is chiming
From unveiling you wrongfully dread
In agony of you yourself
While we pine atop Grecian terraces.

Daughter
Still rivers are audible in endeavor
And at that conjoined

In mirrors is the road to land of dead
And worshippers of the chronometer
And the unachievable bloom of summer

Put the pigeon on the fire my daughter
We are going to satiate ourselves
Grasshoppers as well my daughter
Before they abandon us through the windows

I forefeel that the unreliable man
quiets his breath and embarks on the way
of Beauty, Ordinance and Wars

The signs along the path are the only thing left for you

 

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