_the_passenger_
femmina - 18 anni, stabio city, Switzerland
Blog 16
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avalanche.
Well I stepped into an avalanche,
It covered up my soul;
When I am not this hunchback that you see,
I sleep beneath the golden hill.
You who wish to conquer pain,
You must learn, learn to serve me well.
You strike my side by accident
As you go down for your gold.
The cripple here that you clothe and feed
Is neither starved nor cold;
He does not ask for your company,
Not at the centre, the centre of the world.
When I am on a pedestal,
You did not raise me there.
Your laws do not compel me
To kneel grotesque and bare.
I myself am the pedestal
For this ugly hump at which you stare.
You who wish to conquer pain,
You must learn what makes me kind;
The crumbs of love that you offer me,
Theyre the crumbs Ive left behind.
Your pain is no credential here,
Its just the shadow, shadow of my wound.
I have begun to long for you,
I who have no greed;
I have begun to ask for you,
I who have no need.
You say youve gone away from me,
But I can feel you when you breathe.
Do not dress in those rags for me,
I know you are not poor;
You dont love me quite so fiercely now
When you know that you are not sure,
It is your turn, beloved,
It is your flesh that I wear.
<<leonard cohen>> -
on fashion.
-
.
WIR LIEBEN DI NEUE DEUTSCHE WELLE.
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people have the power
I was dreaming in my dreaming
of an aspect bright and fair
and my sleeping it was broken
but my dream it lingered near
in the form of shining valleys
where the pure air recognized
and my senses newly opened
I awakened to the cry
that the people / have the power
to redeem / the work of fools
upon the meek / the graces shower
it's decreed / the people rule
The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power
Vengeful aspects became suspect
and bending low as if to hear
and the armies ceased advancing
because the people had their ear
and the shepherds and the soldiers
lay beneath the stars
exchanging visions
and laying arms
to waste / in the dust
in the form of / shining valleys
where the pure air / recognized
and my senses / newly opened
I awakened / to the cry
Where there were deserts
I saw fountains
like cream the waters rise
and we strolled there together
with none to laugh or criticize
and the leopard
and the lamb
lay together truly bound
I was hoping in my hoping
to recall what I had found
I was dreaming in my dreaming
god knows / a purer view
as I surrender to my sleeping
I commit my dream to you
The power to dream, to rule
to wrestle the world from fools
it's decreed the people rule
it's decreed the people rule
Listen,
I BELIEVE EVERYTHING WE DREAM
CAN COME TO PASS THROUGH OUR UNION
WE CAN TURN THE WORLD AROUND
WE CAN TURN THE EARTH'S REVOLUTION
WE HAVE THE POWER
People have the power ...
<<Patti Smith>> -
howl - l'urlo (allen ginsberg)
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by
madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn
looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly
connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat
up smoking in the supernatural darkness of
cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities
contemplating jazz...
Ho visto le menti migliori della mia generazione
distrutte dalla pazzia,
affamate nude isteriche,
trascinarsi per strade di negri all'alba
in cerca di droga rabbiosa,
hipsters dal capo d'angelo
ardenti per l'antico contatto celeste
con la din-amo stellata nel macchinario della notte,
che in miseria e stracci e occhi ínfossati
stavano su partiti a fumare nel buio soprannaturale
di soffitte a acqua fredda fluttuando sulle cime
delle città contemplando jazz...
ALLEN GINSBERG IS GOD. -
la musica dei poveri
Lei non appartiene alla cultura
non la trovi sotto una bandiera
Lei non ha bisogno affatto di protettori
lei non può restare dentro, il suo posto è fuori!
Non l'avranno i figli del benessere
lei rimane ciò che deve essere
Non l'avranno gli avvocati ne i faccendieri
tantomeno i polizziotti o i carcerieri
La musica è dei poveri, la musica è dei poveri
Lei ha mille facce o solo una
più è lontana e più ti sta vicina
Lei ha centomila anni, è nuova
han cercato di ammazzarla ma lei è viva
La musica è dei poveri, la musica è dei poveri
Molti ne reclamano partenità
ma lei non appartiene neanche a chi la fa
Non l'avranno i venditori di dischi
o i pagliacci camuffati da grandi artisti
non l'avranno i criminali....distinti
lei non è dei vincitori, lei è dei vinti
La musica è dei poveri, la musica è dei poveri
La musica è dei poveri, la musica è dei poveri
-Mercanti di Liquore
