ZNAK SAGITE — više od fantastike — edicija, časopis, knjižara...

Gledao sam danas klasicnu [i neprevazidjenu] ekranizaciju jos klasicnije price H. Jamesa THE TURN OF THE SCREW.
Film se zove THE INNOCENTS [1961], i odlican je.

U njemu, u jednom trenutku, u polumracnoj sobi, decak svojoj guvernanti recituje sledecu pesmu:

What shall I sing to my lord from my window
What shall I sing for my lord will not stay
What shall I sing for my lord will not listen
Where shall I go for my lord is away

Whom shall I love when the moon is arisen
Gone is my lord, and the grave is his prison
What shall I say when my lord comes a-calling
What shall I say when he knocks on my door
What shall I say when his feet enter softly
Leaving the marks of his grave on my floor

Enter my lord, come from your prison
Come from your grave, for the moon is arisen
Welcome, my lord

Pesma, odlicna vec po sebi, tri put je efektnija nacinom na koji je klinac izgovara, dok se sheta po sobi sa svecom i prilazi prozoru [decko je inace ubedljivo najjeziviji klinac u istoriji horor filma: igrao je i u VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED].

Ova pesma se ne nalazi u Dzejmsovoj prici, niti sam na netu uspeo da nadjem nesto o njoj. Izgleda da je plod Trumana Kapota, koji je pisao [odlican!] scenario... Ako neko ovo prepozna odnegde, neka javi.

Takodje, dajte svoje predloge za najjeziviju pesmu...

aa

please do.

perhaps you meet a potential scipt writer here...

aa

Kojak, pa ti uopste nisi tako blesav kako se pravis!

Imas li jos svojih radova na nekom sajtu, negde... a ako ne, daj jos malo toga ovde, ili na zasebnom topiku: nemoj da se stidis.

Sigurno si vec negde objavljivao? Hvali se malo!

Stvarno izgleda dobro a i sajt koji je Kojak prijavio je odlican, steta nije zavrsen do kraja.

Evo ga ovdje




http://www.aktv.lt/~skrusna/mano/manokuryba.htm

Kojak, Edgar Allan Poe is my hero! Everywhere I go I  have the book of his poetry with me.

nisam baš ljubitelj poezije
osim partizanske

QuoteGhoul::
Takodje, dajte svoje predloge za najjeziviju pesmu...

Aaargh , ne sada i ne ovde!
Previse toga o E. A Pou i o horor poeziji ima da se kaze, ali samo kad bi mi to procenat razno-raznih supstanci u krvi dozvolio. Moda bih se i raspisao?!?!?!?
U stvari, sigurno bih - my guts are burning, but stigoh sa ispracaja ortaka mi sa faksa, te sam malo dezorjentisan.
Mnogo neponovljivih horor pesnika (ah, od "Grobljanskih pesnika" do Tomasa Ligotija):
Mnogo njih pre romantizma i srednjovekovne knjizevnosti Dz. Vebster + Lord Dz. Bajron + S. T. Kolridz + Dz. Kits + M. G. Luis + E. A. Po + H. F. Lavkraft + R. E. Hauard + Klark Eston Smit + T. Ligoti + Dejvid Panter +  Piter Krouter + Tomas Picirili + Majkl Arnzen + mnogo toga o E. A Pou i njegovoj horor i ne-horor poeziji ima da se kaze.
Sutra, prekosutra...
...u ponedeljak u "Lazi"?
Ali, oh friend of mine, pa ti si na plodnom i trulom zapadu   . Blago li se tebi... onda ces sacekati trenutak dokolice i bezanja od obaveza, da se tada ovde prospem.
'Till then...  

Evo pesme jednog od najvecih horor pesnika svih vremena

--- A Dead City ---
   
    Clark Ashton Smith

Twilight ascends the abandoned ramps of noon
Within an ancient land, whose after-time
Unfathomably shadows its ruined prime.
Like rising mist the night increases soon
Round shattered palaces, ere yet the moon
On mute, unsentried walls and turrets climb,
And touch with pallor of sepulchral rime
The desert where a city's bones are strewn.

She comes at last: unsepultured, they show
In all the hoary starkness of old stone.
From out a shadow like the lips of Death
Issues a wind, that through the ruins blown,
Cries like a prophet's ghost, with waiting breath,
The weirds of finished and forgotten woe.

Naravno, ova je daleko od njegovih ostvarenja poput The Hashish Eater -or- The Apocalypse of Evil , ali je ovde prvenstveno zato sto nije predugacka pa postoji sansa da ce je neko i procitati.

A sada...

--- Nemesis ---
 
   H. P. Lovecraft

Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
  Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
  I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.

I have whirled with the earth at the dawning,
  When the sky was a vaporous flame;
I have seen the dark universe yawning
  Where the black planets roll without aim,
Where they roll in their horror unheeded, without knowledge or lustre or name.

I had drifted o'er seas without ending,
  Under sinister grey-clouded skies,
That the many-forked lightning is rending,
  That resound with hysterical cries;
With the moans of invisible daemons, that out of the green waters rise.

I have plunged like a deer through the arches
  Of the hoary primoridal grove,
Where the oaks feel the presence that marches,
  And stalks on where no spirit dares rove,
And I flee from a thing that surrounds me, and leers through dead branches above.

I have stumbled by cave-ridden mountains
  That rise barren and bleak from the plain,
I have drunk of the fog-foetid fountains
  That ooze down to the marsh and the main;
And in hot cursed tarns I have seen things, I care not to gaze on again.

I have scanned the vast ivy-clad palace,
  I have trod its untenanted hall,
Where the moon rising up from the valleys
  Shows the tapestried things on the wall;
Strange figures discordantly woven, that I cannot endure to recall.

I have peered from the casements in wonder
  At the mouldering meadows around,
At the many-roofed village laid under
  The curse of a grave-girdled ground;
And from rows of white urn-carven marble, I listen intently for sound.

I have haunted the tombs of the ages,
  I have flown on the pinions of fear,
Where the smoke-belching Erebus rages;
  Where the jokulls loom snow-clad and drear:
And in realms where the sun of the desert consumes what it never can cheer.

I was old when the pharaohs first mounted
  The jewel-decked throne by the Nile;
I was old in those epochs uncounted
  When I, and I only, was vile;
And Man, yet untainted and happy, dwelt in bliss on the far Arctic isle.

Oh, great was the sin of my spirit,
  And great is the reach of its doom;
Not the pity of Heaven can cheer it,
  Nor can respite be found in the tomb:
Down the infinite aeons come beating the wings of unmerciful gloom.

Through the ghoul-guarded gateways of slumber,
  Past the wan-mooned abysses of night,
I have lived o'er my lives without number,
  I have sounded all things with my sight;
And I struggle and shriek ere the daybreak, being driven to madness with fright.

HPL ima i boljih stvari, no ovde se zbog duzine (opet) nisu pojavile.  

Zabranjeno voce! Ali ne mogu da odolim...

  --- WHAT GOOD IS YOUR HEAD? ---

             Thomas Ligotti

The mysteries of a nightmare
or the ill magic of hallucinations
or even the way you are
conditioned to react
to an image of the moon
delivered straight into your eyes -
Why do they hide
what these things really are
and how they operate?
Why do they only answer
in such confused and conflicting terms?

The reason is simple.
Because who knows what might happen
if you could understand
the whining of nightmare-dogs
in your dreams
or the voices in your head
that never tell you
anything you want to hear
not to mention why you feel
a certain way
when images invade your eyes
and intrude upon the brain
that floats in the darkness
inside your head?

What would happen
if you knew what
these things really are
and how they operate -
What would happen to you
as a person who understands
what it means to have a head?

With this knowledge
you certainly might decide
to take your head right off
and just sit quietly in the dark
of your new headlessness.


Koliko toga samo ima. Od Vergilija do Majkla Arnzena i Toma Picirilija. Horor poezija je cudo zato sto poetskim kazivanjem, metaforicnoscu, slikovitoscu (poetic imageries) moze se iskazati srz onoga sto horor cini hororom. Ponekad, cak i efektnije nego kod proze.

aa

--- VALKYRIES' MADNESS ---

Robert E. Howard

A black horn screams
And the dawn recends
As the horsemen ride on
Ride on, ride on

To the crags of fire
And the pits of hell
And he horsemen ride on
Ride on , ride on

'Though the battle be lost
And blood gurgles forth
The horesmen die on
Die on, die on

Yet, off the field
A loon awaits
Insane he drones on
And on, and on

"In death I live
In dream I stay
And in dream I may
Prevail! Prevail!"

------------------

Enough for you, Kojak?

aa

Gde nalazite te stvari?
Uh-Oh, watcha say about this?
                                   
                                       RECEDE
                              Lost my brain, allright!
                              My sister's smile faded out...
                              She made me a voodoo doll,
                              I heard her freaky call!
                             
                              I took a butcher knife,
                              Went to my room.
                              The walls were screaming mad,
                              dark songs of doom.

                              Lost my brain, no doubt!
                              I didn't even shout...
                              Knife edge glittered blue,
                              I stabbed my neck that's true!

                              Curtains were splattered red,
                              I never cleaned.
                              Blood soaked my clean death-bed,
                              I screamed RECEDE!

Must have left my house at eight, because I always do,
My train, I'm certain, left the station just when it was due,
I must have read the morning paper going into town,
And having gotten through the editorial,
no doubt I must have frowned,
I must have made my desk around a quarter after nine,
With letters to be read
and heaps of papers waiting to be signed,
I must have gone to lunch at half past twelve or so,
The usual place, the usual bunch,
And still on top of this I'm pretty sure it must have rained,
The day before you came.

I must have lit my seventh cigarette at half past two,
And at the time I never even noticed I was blue,
I must have kept on dragging
through the business of the day,
Without really knowing anything, I hid a part of me away,
At five I must have left, there's no exception to the rule,
A matter of routine,
I've done it ever since I finished school,
The train back home again
Undoubtedly I must have read the evening paper then,
Oh yes, I'm sure
my life was well within it's usual frame,
The day before you came.

Must have opened my front door at eight o'clock or so,
And stopped along the way
to buy some Chinese food to go,
I'm sure I had my dinner watching something on TV,
There's not, I think,
a single episode of Dallas that I didn't see,
I must have gone to bed around a quarter after ten,
I need a lot of sleep,
and so I like to be in bed by then,
I must have read a while,
The latest one by Marilyn French
or something in that style,
It's funny, but I had no sense of living without aim,
The day before you came.

And turning out the light,
I must have yawned and cuddled up for yet another night,
And rattling on the roof
I must have heard the sound of rain,
The day before you came.

Hmm... Poezija?
Evo kako to rade majstori.

Blue Oyster Cult:
(Don't Fear) The Reaper
Baby Ice Dog
I Love The Night
Unknown Tongue
Monsters
Joan Crawford
Flaming Telepaths

Izbor je ličan. Uživaj, Ghoule, a vala i vi ostali.

(Don't Fear) The Reaper
by Donald Roeser
BLUE OYSTER CULT - Agents of Fortune (1976)

All our times have come
Here but now they're gone

Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain
We can be like they are
Come on, baby
Don't fear the reaper
Baby, take my hand
Don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly
Don't fear the reaper
Baby, I'm your man

La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la

Valentine is done
Here but now they're gone

Romeo and Juliet
Are together in eternity
Romeo and Juliet
Forty thousand men and women everyday
Like Romeo and Juliet
Forty thousand men and women everyday
Redefine happiness
Another forty thousand comin' everyday
We can be like they are
Come on, baby
Don't fear the reaper
Baby, take my hand
Don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly
Don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man

La, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la

Love of two is one
Here but now they're gone

Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear that she couldn't go on
And the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew and then he appeared

Saying don't be afraid
Come on, baby
And she had no fear
And she ran to him
Then they started to fly
They looked backward and said goodbye
She had become like they are
She had taken his hand
She had become like they are
Come on, baby
Don't fear the reaper


Baby Ice Dog
by Albert Bouchard, Eric Bloom and Patti Smith
BLUE OYSTER CULT - Tyranny And Mutation (1973)

I had this bitch you see
She made lies to me
Her deceit ah, it gave me a chill
But I found out now
That baby, that baby ice dog

She said we would wed
In Mongolian country
Lilies shoot free
But she was a-stoning me
In the mountains, no
Her intent it was all too clear
All too clear

It was quite a sin
How the ice caved in
I was numb
I could not assist
Baby ice went down
To the cold, cold, cold ground
I said "Baby...that's the breaks"

Turn me 'round like a broke down hound now
Crossing me once too often
Now she's bound for a lower station
She crossing me once too often

Hey baby, don't cross me, baby
I'm bad

And now the ladies all fear this Mongolian man
With ice down his face
You know I get involved
In unnatural acts
With the aid of my cold, cold stare

They'd like to make it
With my big black dog
But they just don't know how to ask
You know they'd like to try
Anything that comes into their minds

Ahh, Freeze on now, baby

Freeze on, freeze on, freeze on bone to bone
Freeze on, freeze on, freeze on
Freeze on freeze on freeze on freeze on freeze on bone
Freeze on freeze on freeze on freeze on freeze on

I Love the Night
by Donald Roeser
BLUE OYSTER CULT - Spectres (1977)

That night her kiss told me it was over
I walked out late into the dark
The misty gloom seemed to soak up my sorrow
The further I went on
I felt a spreading calm
Then suddenly my eyes were bathed in light
And the lovely lady in white was by my side
She said, "Like me I see you're walking alone
Won't you please stay?"
I couldn't look away

She said
I love the night
The day is OK and the sun can be fun but I live
To see those rays slip away
I love the night
There's so much that I can show and give to you
If you will welcome me tonight

If only you had been there my dear
We could have shared this together

No mortal was meant to know such wonder
One look in the mirror told me so
Come darkness I'll see her again
Yes, I'm gonna go
'Cause now I know

I love the night
The day is OK and the sun can be fun but I live
To see those rays slip away

I love the night
I love the night
I love the night

Unknown Tongue
by Albert Bouchard and David Roter
BLUE OYSTER CULT - Cultosaurus Erectus (1980)

There was no light shining through the window
As Margaret lie in her bed
She was wearing her cotton pajamas a crucifix above her head
She awoke from a dream
Her eyes were open
Her lips were moving
In the dark

Speak to me in many voices
Make them all sound like one
Let me see your sacred mysteries
Reveal to me the unknown tongue
Reveal to me the unknown tongue

She put her hands upon her breasts
And they were small and hard and young
And everywhere she touched she felt a fire
Waiting for the answer that must surely come
Is this the way to love
Or is this just the way to die?

Speak to me in many voices
Make them all sound like one
Let me see your sacred mysteries
Reveal to me the unknown tongue
Reveal to me the unknown tongue

Then she took her father's razor
And watched it cut into her palm
She put her hand up to her mouth to taste the blood so holy and warm
She got up in the morning
Put on her dress and patent leather shoes
Ate her cereal and kissed her mother
Caught the bus and went to school

Speak to me in many voices
Make them all sound like one
Let me see your sacred mysteries
Reveal to me the unknown tongue
Reveal to me the unknown tongue

Reveal to me Reveal to me Reveal to me
Reveal to me Reveal to me Reveal to me
Reveal to me Reveal to me Reveal to me
Reveal to me Reveal to me Reveal to me
Reveal to me Reveal to me Reveal to me
Reveal to me Reveal to me Reveal to me
Reveal to me Reveal to me Reveal to me
Reveal to me Reveal to me Reveal to me
Ah ha ha ha ha Ah ha ha ha Ah ha ha ha...

Monsters
by Albert Bouchard and Caryn Bouchard
BLUE OYSTER CULT - Cultosaurus Erectus (1980)

Keep goin' getting higher
New worlds waiting in the skies
Escape the feasting and the hunger
Not the monsters in our minds

Got our hands on a ship
And stole away into the night
The four of us and Pasha dear
She to steer and we to fight

Fed up with rules and regulations
No more laughter left on Earth
Outer Space our one salvation
May God help us in our search

We fled so fast that we grew younger
Put the ship on cruise control
We all did our best with Pasha
But not as good as good old Joe

Monsters, monsters, monsters In the night
Monsters, monsters, monsters In black and white
Monsters, monsters, monsters Out of control
Monsters, monsters, monsters When you're alone
Monsters, monsters, monsters Feed on themselves
Monsters, monsters, monsters On the road to hell

Love never should have entered
It was never in the plan
We were finally going to have her
And let Joe be damned!

Joe awoke from his stupor
It was clear something was wrong
He rushed in and found us with her
And in his rage he aimed his gun

One shot and it was over
Pasha smiled and then was gone...

Joan Crawford
by Albert Bouchard, David Roter and Jack Rigg
BLUE OYSTER CULT - Fire Of Unknown Origin (1981)

Junkies down in Brooklyn are going crazy
They're laughing just like hungry dogs in the street
Policemen are hiding behind the skirts of little girls
Their eyes have turned the color of frozen meat

No, no, no, no
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no
Joan Crawford has risen from the grave
Joan Crawford has risen from the grave

Catholic schoolgirls have thrown away their mascara
They chain themselves to the axles of big Mack trucks
The sky is filled with herds of shivering angels
The fat lady laughs, "Gentlemen, start your trucks!"

No, no, no, no
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no
Joan Crawford has risen from the grave
Joan Crawford has risen from the grave

Christina
Mother's home No, no, no, no
Christina No, no, no, no, no, no
Come to mother No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no
Christina No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no

Joan Crawford has risen from the grave
Joan Crawford has risen from the grave
Joan Crawford has risen from the grave
Joan Crawford has risen from the grave

Joan Crawford has risen from the grave
Joan Crawford has risen from the grave
Joan Crawford has risen from the grave
Joan Crawford has risen

Flaming Telepaths
by Albert Bouchard, Eric Bloom, Sandy Pearlman and Donald Roeser
BLUE OYSTER CULT - Secret Treaties (1974)

Well I've opened up my veins too many times
And the poisons in my heart and in my mind
Poisons in my bloodstream
Poisons in my pride
I'm after rebellion
I'll settle for lies

Is it any wonder that my mind's on fire
Imprisoned by the thought of what to do
Is it any wonder that my joke's an iron
And the joke's on you

Experiments that failed too many times
Transformations that were too hard to find
Poisons in my bloodstream
Poisons in my pride
I'm after rebellion
I'll settle for lies

Yes I know the secrets of the iron and mind
They're trinity acts, a mineral fire
Yes I know the secrets of the circuitry mind
It's a flaming wonder telepath

Well I've opened up my veins too many times
And the poisons in my heart and in my mind
Poisons in my bloodstream
Poisons in my pride
I'm after rebellion
I'll settle for lies

Is it any wonder that my mind's on fire
Imprisoned by the thought of what to do
Is it any wonder that my joke's an iron
And the joke's on you
And the joke's on you
And the joke's on you
And the joke's on you

And the joke's on you
And the joke's on you
And the joke's on you
And the joke's on you

And the joke's on you
And the joke's on you
And the joke's on you
And the joke

My, my, at Waterloo Napoleon did surrender
Oh yeah, and I have met my destiny in quite a similar way
The history book on the shelf
Is always repeating itself

Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war
Waterloo - Promise to love you for ever more
Waterloo - Couldn't escape if I wanted to
Waterloo - Knowing my fate is to be with you
Waterloo - Finally facing my Waterloo

My, my, I tried to hold you back but you were stronger
Oh yeah, and now it seems my only chance is giving up the fight
And how could I ever refuse
I feel like I win when I lose

Waterloo - I was defeated, you won the war
Waterloo - Promise to love you for ever more
Waterloo - Couldn't escape if I wanted to
Waterloo - Knowing my fate is to be with you
Waterloo - Finally facing my Waterloo

So how could I ever refuse
I feel like I win when I lose

Waterloo - Couldn't escape if I wanted to
Waterloo - Knowing my fate is to be with you
Waterloo - Finally facing my Waterloo
Waterloo - Knowing my fate is to be with you
Waterloo - Finally facing my Waterloo
Waterloo - Knowing my fate is to be with you

Komi, kako ti tumacis pojam HOROR POEZIJA?

Bojao sam se da ce ovo da se desi: mislim, postoji vec topik na 8k pod naslovom Kako morbidan pogled na poeziju odavde, gde su ljudi postovali svoje omiljene hevi metal, rock, industrial, whatever, hororichne textove pesama.

Mislio sam da ovaj topik ipak bude za poeziju u uzem smislu, dakle POETRY, not LYRICS (mada, naravno, it's a free country, post whatever makes you tick...)

Quote from: "Nyarlathotep"Komi, kako ti tumacis pojam HOROR POEZIJA?

zašto me svi zovu Komi

mislim da je najveći HOROR usamljenost      

Quote from: "komunjara" zašto me svi zovu Komi

Zato  sto te ja tako zovem.

Od milja.

Krace je, a i prijatnije. Tvoj mazohisticki nick zvuci kao uvreda. A mi ti tepamo.
Ili vise volis da te tepamo?

Ako promenis ideoloske boje, mozda neces biti usamljen.

S druge strane, mnogi veliki ljudi su to bili uprkos (ili zbog?)  svoje usamljenosti...

Quote from: "ghoul"Gledao sam danas klasicnu [i neprevazidjenu] ekranizaciju jos klasicnije price H. Jamesa THE TURN OF THE SCREW.
Film se zove THE INNOCENTS [1961], i odlican je.

film je naručen    

samo ti nastavi klat moj novčanik

prva faza čujem za film (internet)
druga faza čujem za film od nekoga drugog
treća faza a Ghoul kaže
treća faza b kupujem

Quote from: "komunjara"treća faza a Ghoul kaže
treća faza b kupujem

ako je tako, pod hitno narucuj film BLOOD ON SATAN'S CLAW, poznat i kao SATAN'S SKIN.
bas  sam mislio na tebe dok sam ga gledao: cak 3 razlicite curice pokazuju svoje bujne jedre grudi, i to ne na sekund-dva, nego bas obilno: najmladja od njih (17 god. u vreme snimanja) pokazuje SVE (sifra: BUSH)  

kao da 3 para sisa nije dovoljno, film je i kao horor odlican= neces se pokajati ako nabavis...
napisao sam prikaz, pa ako ZNAK SAGITE pokrene rubriku GHOUL ISKOPAO ZA VAS, poslacu im ovo...

Quote from: "ghoul"
kao da 3 para sisa nije dovoljno

3 x 2 = 6          

oho oho

samo ti nastavi uništavati moju, krvavim radom stečenu, ušteđevinu

Quote from: "ghoul"

ako je tako, pod hitno narucuj film BLOOD ON SATAN'S CLAW, poznat i kao SATAN'S SKIN.
bas  sam mislio na tebe dok sam ga gledao: cak 3 razlicite curice pokazuju svoje bujne jedre grudi, i to ne na sekund-dva, nego bas obilno: najmladja od njih (17 god. u vreme snimanja) pokazuje SVE (sifra: BUSH)  

nažalost slovenački pirati nemaju pristup ovom bujnom filmu    

budi uporan, druze.

trazi ga pod oba ova naslova.

mani slovence, idi trazi dalje, ne odustaj tako rano.

3 para ODLICHNIH, mladih sisa...mmmm [i ne samo sisa ]

ok
never give up never surender

uskoro dobivam Caligula (1979)  s onim malkomom mkdovelom iz paklene naranče

i to CALIGULA NECENZURISANU VERZIJU OD 160 MINUTA

Quote from: Harvester on 31-08-2003, 00:53:03
Kojak, Edgar Allan Poe is my hero! Everywhere I go I  have the book of his poetry with me.

ala laaaaažeš!
TI, od svih ljudi, da knjigu poezije nosiš svuda sa sobom?
bič, pliz!

The Eldritch Dark
by Clark Ashton Smith

Now as the twilight's doubtful interval
Closes with night's accomplished certainty,
A wizard wind goes crying eerily,
And on the wold misshapen shadows crawl,
Miming the trees, whose voices climb and fall,
Imploring, in Sabbatic ecstacy,
The sky where vapor-mounted phantoms flee
From the scythed moon impendent over all.

Twin veils of covering cloud and silence, thrown
Across the movement and the sound of things,
Make blank the night, till in the broken west
The moon's ensanguined blade awhile is shown....
The night grows whole again....The shadows rest,
Gathered beneath a greater shadow's wings.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Cassilda's Song
by Robert W. Chambers

Along the shore the cloud waves break,
The twin suns sink beneath the lake,
The shadows lengthen
    In Carcosa.

Strange is the night where black stars rise,
And strange moons circle through the skies
But stranger still is
    Lost Carcosa.

Songs that the Hyades shall sing,
Where flap the tatters of the King,
Must die unheard in
    Dim Carcosa.

Song of my soul, my voice is dead;
Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed
Shall dry and die in
    Lost Carcosa.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Night on the Mountain
by George Sterling

The fog has risen from the sea and crowned
    The dark, untrodden summits of the coast,
    Where roams a voice, in canyons uttermost,
From midnight waters vibrant and profound.
High on each granite altar dies the sound,
    Deep as the trampling of an armored host,
    Lone as the lamentation of a ghost,
Sad as the diapason of the drowned.

The mountain seems no more a soulless thing,
    But rather as a shape of ancient fear,
        In darkness and the winds of Chaos born
Amid the lordless heavens' thundering—
    A Presence crouched, enormous and austere,
        Before whose feat the mighty waters morn.

kasildina pesma je vaistinu masterpis horor pojezije.

"Daimonica" by Matt Cardin


Is there someone inside you?

Is there someone inside you?
There are demons among us
There are demons among us
I am the puppet master

Demons

It is not a breakdown
I've never felt more orderly in my life
A shocking eruption of great electrical energy

Demons
I want, I must

I am imbued with some special spirit
It's not a religious feeling at all
It is a shocking eruption of great
Electrical energy. I feel vivid
and flashing as if suddenly I had
Been plugged into some great electromagnetic
Field, some great unseen living force, what I
Think the Hindus call prana. It is a
Shattering and beautiful sensation
It is the exalted flow of the space-time
Continuum, save that it is spaceless
And timeless and of such loveliness. I
Feel on the verge of some great ultimate
Truth

A shocking eruption of great electrical
Demons
The power of darkness is more than just a superstition
It's a big conspiracy
It is a living force

Is there someone inside you?
Demons are taking over the world

I am the puppet master
Electrical energy
The power of darkness
It's a big conspiracy
I manipulate many of the characters and events you will see

Rex Weldon was a pseudonym for Duane Weldon Rimel, a personal friend of H.P. Lovecraft, Clark Ashton Smith and other writers of the "Lovecraft Circle". Mr. Rimel was the editor (with Francis Towner Laney) of The Acolyte, the first Lovecraft-related amateur magazine. He also contributed to some of the earliest fanzines, including Fantasy Fan.

Rimel's short story, "The Music of the Stars", considered one of the key contributions to the making of the Cthulhu Mythos.

His Mythos poetry, "The Dreams of Yith" was later revised by Lovecraft, with possible notes from Robert Barlow and Clark Ashton Smith as well. One of Rimel's original stanzas follows:



Amid dim hills that poison mosses blast,
     Far from the lands and seas of our clean earth,
Dread nightmare shadows dance - obscenely cast
     By twisted talons of archean birth
On rows of slimy pillars stretching past
     A daemon-fane that echoes with mad mirth.
And in that realm sane eyes may never see -
     For black light streams from skies of ebony.

Georg Trakl - Grodek

At evening the autumn woodlands ring
With deadly weapons. Over the golden plains
And lakes of blue, the sun
More darkly rolls. The night surrounds
Warriors dying and the wild lament
Of their fragmented mouths.
Yet silently there gather in the willow combe
Red clouds inhabited by an angry god,
Shed blood, and the chill of the moon.
All roads lead to black decay.
Under golden branching of the night and stars
A sister's shadow sways through the still grove
To greet the heroes' spirits, the bloodied heads.
And softly in the reeds Autumn's dark flutes resound.
O prouder mourning! - You brazen altars,
The spirit's hot flame is fed now by a tremendous pain:
The grandsons, unborn.

(Istina, nije Trakl horor, ali veoma mracni ekspresionizam is close enough. Inace, prosle godine je obiljezeno sto godina od smrti GT pa vec u aprilu mozete kupiti hardcover-new translation izdanje u tri toma, ali nece biti jeftino - 20E svaki.)

Quote from: Ghoul on 30-08-2003, 12:25:46
What shall I sing to my lord from my window
What shall I sing for my lord will not stay
What shall I sing for my lord will not listen
Where shall I go for my lord is away

Whom shall I love when the moon is arisen
Gone is my lord, and the grave is his prison
What shall I say when my lord comes a-calling
What shall I say when he knocks on my door
What shall I say when his feet enter softly
Leaving the marks of his grave on my floor

Enter my lord, come from your prison
Come from your grave, for the moon is arisen
Welcome, my lord

u međuvremenu
a) ova pesma se našla kao moto / prolog mog romana ZAVODNIK
i
b) saznao sam da je 'starija' od kapotijevog scenarija, tj. da potiče još iz dramatizacije novele na kojoj je, nominalno, njegov sc. za film zasnovan.

CellQ

Trakl, vau, svaka cast!  Potpuno se slazem, nightmarish i neverovatno expresivno, atmosferican do srzi.

Nisam preveliki ljubitelj poezije...Da preskocim Poa, pomenutog Trakla ili Gotfrida Bena, nemackog patologa koji je voleo da opisuje svoju svakodnevicu u pesmama (ne mogu trenutno da nadjem jednu pesmu koja je ilustrativna), malo pop kulture;

Nik Kejv, Lovely Creature


There she stands, this lovely creature
There she stands, there she stands
With her hair full of ribbons
And green gloves on her hands

So I asked this lovely creature
Yes, I asked. Yes I asked
Would she walk with me a while
Through this night so fast

She took my hand, this lovely creature
"Yes", she said, "Yes", she said
"Yes, I'll walk with you a while"
It was a joyful man she led

Over hills, this lovely creature
Over mountains, over ranges
By great pyramids and sphinxs
We met drifters and strangers

Oh the sands, my lovely creature
And the mad, moaning winds
At night the deserts writhed
With diabolical things

Through the night, through the night
The wind lashed and it whipped me
When I got home, my lovely creature
She was no longer with me

Somewhere she lies, this lovely creature
Beneath the slow drifting sands
With her hair full of ribbons
And green gloves on her hands

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds - Lovely Creature

Quote from: Ghoul on 30-03-2015, 02:35:14

Quote from: Ghoul on 30-08-2003, 12:25:46
What shall I sing to my lord from my window
What shall I sing for my lord will not stay
What shall I sing for my lord will not listen
Where shall I go for my lord is away

Whom shall I love when the moon is arisen
Gone is my lord, and the grave is his prison
What shall I say when my lord comes a-calling
What shall I say when he knocks on my door
What shall I say when his feet enter softly
Leaving the marks of his grave on my floor

Enter my lord, come from your prison
Come from your grave, for the moon is arisen
Welcome, my lord

u međuvremenu
a) ova pesma se našla kao moto / prolog mog romana ZAVODNIK
i
b) saznao sam da je 'starija' od kapotijevog scenarija, tj. da potiče još iz dramatizacije novele na kojoj je, nominalno, njegov sc. za film zasnovan.

Evo i celog filma na Jutjubu:
The Innocents (1961) Full Horror Movie | Deborah Kerr Full Movie

Quote from: Dybuk on 30-03-2015, 14:05:04



Nisam preveliki ljubitelj poezije...Da preskocim Poa, pomenutog Trakla ili Gotfrida Bena, nemackog patologa koji je voleo da opisuje svoju svakodnevicu u pesmama (ne mogu trenutno da nadjem jednu pesmu koja je ilustrativna)

Da nije ova?

Lepa mladost - Gotfrid Ben


Usta devojke koja je dugo ležala u ševaru
izgledala su tako izgrickana.
Kad su otvorili grudi, jednjak je bio sav izbušen.
Naposletku su u kupoli ispod dijafragme
našli leglo mladih pacova.
Jedan od male braće bio je mrtav.
Ostali su živeli od jetre i bubrega,
pili hladnu krv i tu
proveli lepu mladost.
A lepo i brzo ih je snašla i smrt:
pobacali su ih u vodu.


Ah, kako su njuščice cičale!




Sad je pravi trenutak za sledeću anegdotu: kad sam nekoliko sličnih Benovih pesama poslala kumu patologu, dobila sam hitar odgovor koji je počinjao sa "Možda je radio u mrtvačnici, ali neki administratorski posao..." i detaljno objašnjenje šta gde u kojim pesmama nije izvodljivo   


Malo raspitivanja kod jednog našeg ozbiljnog stručnjaka za Bena urodilo je saznanjem kako je brojne pesme iz ciklusa "Mrtvačnica" Ben zaista pisao pre nego što je time počeo da se bavi u praksi...

Quote from: JevtropijevickaDa nije ova?

Lepa mladost - Gotfrid Ben


Usta devojke koja je dugo ležala u ševaru
izgledala su tako izgrickana.
Kad su otvorili grudi, jednjak je bio sav izbušen.
Naposletku su u kupoli ispod dijafragme
našli leglo mladih pacova.
Jedan od male braće bio je mrtav.
Ostali su živeli od jetre i bubrega,
pili hladnu krv i tu
proveli lepu mladost.
A lepo i brzo ih je snašla i smrt:
pobacali su ih u vodu.


Ah, kako su njuščice cičale!

Bas ta!!!
Hahaha, i raskrinkan, dakle...

Setih se Vaska Pope i njegovog genijalnog, apsurdnog, pomalo jezivog ciklusa 'Igre'. I setih se Male Kutije, Posebno Zrtve Male Kutije je odlicna.

PRE IGRE

Zažmuri se na jedno oko
Zaviri se u sebe u svaki ugao
Pogleda se da nema eksera da nema lopova
Da nema kukavičjih jaja

Zažmuri se i na drugo oko
Čučne se pa se skoči
Skoči se visoko visoko visoko
Do navrh samog sebe
Odatle se padne svom težinom

Danima se pada duboko duboko duboko
Na dno svoga ponora

Ko se ne razbije u paramparčad
Ko ostane čitav i čitav ustane
Taj igra


IZMEĐU IGARA

Niko se ne odmara

Ovaj stalno premešta svoje oči
Stavi ih na leđa
I hteo ne hteo pođe natraške
Stavi ih na tabane
I opet hteo ne hteo vrati se naglavce

A ovaj se sav u uvo pretvorio
I čuo sve što se ne da čuti
Ali mu dojadilo
I žudi da se ponovo pretvori u sebe
Ali bez očiju ne vidi kako

A onaj je otkrio sva svoja lica
I jedno za drugim vitla preko krova
Poslednje baci pod noge
I zagnjuri glavu u šake

A ovaj je zategao svoj pogled
Zategao ga od palca do palca
Pa hoda po njemu hoda
Prvo polako posle brže
Pa sve brže i brže

A onaj se igra svojom glavom
Hitne je u vazduh
I dočeka je na kažiprst
Ili je uopšte ne dočeka

Niko se ne odmara

Sakutarō Hagiwara:


Face at the Bottom of the World

Face at the bottom of the world:
A sick, a lonely face,
One invalided out
Of every inner place;
Yet, slowly there uncurled,
Green in the gloom the grasses sprout.

And, as a rat's nest stirs,
Its million tangled hairs
One queasy quivering,
Thinnest of winterers,
The bamboo shoot prepares
Its green grope to the spring.

Sad in the ailing earth,
Tongue-tender with despair,
Green moves through grief's grimace;
And, sick and lonely, there
In the gloom of the under world,
At the bottom of the world, a face.

ah ta posast od zelenog!