The Verse of Alfred Lichtenstein - BestLightNovel.com
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Cloud
A fog has destroyed the world so gently.
Bloodless trees dissolve in smoke.
And shadows hover where shrieks are heard.
Burning beasts evaporate like breath.
Captured flies are the gas lanterns.
And each flickers, still attempting to escape.
But to one side, high in the distance, the poisonous moon, The fat fog-spider, lies in wait, smoldering.
We, however, loathsome, suited for death, Trample along, crunching this desert splendor.
And silently stab the white eyes of misery Like spears into the swollen night.
The City
A white bird is the big sky.
Under it a cowering city stares.
The houses are half-dead old people.
A gaunt carriage-horse gapes grumpily.
Winds, skinny dogs, run weakly.
Their skins squeel on sharp corners.
In a street a crazed man groans: You, oh, you-- If only I could find you...
A crowd around him is surprised and grins derisively.
Three little people play blind man's bluff-- A gentle tear-stained G.o.d lays the grey powdery hands Of afternoon over everything.
The World
(Dedicated to a clown)
Many days tread upon human animals, In gentle oceans hunger-sharks fly.
Heads, beers glisten in coffee-houses.
Girls' screams shred on a man.
Thunderstorms come cras.h.i.+ng down. Forest winds darken.
Women knead prayers in skinny hands: May the Lord G.o.d send an angel.
A shred of moonlight s.h.i.+mmers in the sewers.
Readers of books crouch quietly on their bodies.
An evening dips the world in lilac lye.
The trunk of a body floats in a winds.h.i.+eld.
From deep in the brain its eyes sink.
Prophecy
Some day--I have signs--a mortal storm Is coming from the far north.
Everywhere is the smell of corpses.
The great killing begins.
The lump of sky grows dark, Storm-death lifts its clawed paws; All the lumps fall down, Mimes burst. Girls explode.
Horses' stables crash to the ground.
Not a fly can escape.
Handsome h.o.m.os.e.xuals roll Out of their beds.
The walls of houses develop fissures.
Fish rot in the stream.
Everything meets its own disgusting end.
Groaning buses tip over.
Winter Evening
Behind yellow windows shadows drink hot tea.
Yearning people sway on a hardened pond Workers find a soft woman's corpse.
Glowing blue snows cast a howling darkness.
On high poles a scarecrow, implored, hangs.
Stores flicker dimly through frosted windows, In front of which human bodies move like ghosts.
Students carve a frozen girl.
How lovely, the crystalline winter evening burning!
A platinum moon now streams through a gap in the houses.
Next to green lanterns under a bridge Lies a gypsy woman. And plays an instrument.
Girls
They cannot stand their rooms in the evening.
They creep out into deep starry streets.
How gentle is the world in the streetlights' wind!
How strangely buzzing life melts away...
They go by gardens and houses, As though very far off there might be a light, And they look upon every h.o.r.n.y man As a sweet gentleman savior
After the Ball
Night creeps into the cellars, musty and dull.
Tuxedos totter through the rubble of the street.
