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locus desperatus
Kritikos:
That’s your magisterial appellation, My small insightful designation. I could be la poeta, poeta: bella Sappho, the dead donna. der donna daemon, der vampir (I mean the ruinous lover); la lovely lamia, femme flamma, the jinni of tender smiles. Here linger old insinuations: Judex: Deceptive Ananias, low deceiver, Shall I Christen you faithless believer? I could be elle Una, l’una, one virgo divina der dulcinea; or maiden Mary, Mariam, l’angel d’imagination, luminis as bella Helena la lady seule sacra As femme of foi Beatrice, beauté that burns as a flambé. Nay— Know you not I am Salomé? — La dame des situations, la belle dame sans mercy La lady Lazarus, Le rossignol (that bird singing) of pureté pericula: Existence, the hopeless place where you Search as Dante through misconception, To prick as Herod into apparent perfection, Where fear flies, fly fears Forth from my hystera, Staved of ton vira; Virility stains la virga— juge juge juge— the apex of verity est le flambeau… A terrible beauty is born: Themis: Men write as the muse of false Inspiration Of those powers first possessed by women born to wild oxen, weibchen. From varun- to uran- Now I come as Urania, Kween Zena Queen Ura la Mousa ouros era moon-cow and Ana le godas gorgopa and summer sveta of Eadha. I wield the wild dance well you know atop the skulls of my old foes Samsara valere, samskara validus L’ejade, ijada, yjada Deep in jade’s jardin where (the bloody blossom blooms per pulse the virginal apparition, l’idée false) Lives the White Goddess With Titans titainein Tanaous Stretched tight to her holly-oak trees arms stretched forth to the Immortal iotes Death goddess Athene dare deyja dâd dead ouraios and falta femella falla into the valley of white poplar, Where Lions’ heads are eaten off silver platters. |
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