Wednesday, June 10, 2015

Noel Negele- Two Poems

Who Would've Known.

Who would've known
that to merely exist
would become more and more 
In front of the mirror,
just standing there thinking or not thinking
-it makes little difference-
or when you wake up
and your feet fall flat on the floor
like shoes of someone dead
like a casket on its hole;
Or when you fall on the bed at night or morning
to fall asleep
- to switch off the horror for as long as possible-
20 beers drunk
or as sober as a staggering knife
jabbed into your mind.

Who would've known
that to merely exist
would increasingly climax
to terror and despair;
There should be signs of some kind
for some of us that can’t quite club this to inexistence
with our logic
( our "force of mind"),
there should be more kind women
to exceed more often and in more ways
than the simple glorious transcendence of lying on our beds
brushing the badness out of our hair and chest
pulling strings and inflating our egos, love and endurance;
There should be lectures
for us amateurs completely defeated by this, driven mad by this :
" Be careful, it all might become unbearable for a very long time."

You're left sprayed on the carpet
like someone's guts
wishing of being more brave,
of lifting the head above the level of this sadness
the sadness of existing
the pain of existing
the intolerable confusion, the abysmal awe
of being a human.
But in the end you are,
maybe more than the usual or maybe less
and kind of pathetic
( if not completely pathetic)
saying I love you more easily, just like them
weeping more often, just like them
drinking more often, not quite like them.

Who would've known
that to merely exist
would become such a lousy matter,
after all those years of simplicity
( childhood)
with a tick of conscience
mindless impulses
and love, so much love, so much innocence
like a fence around you
and the pain so minor
and the love so large
holding on to it
like a balloon lifting you away from
a world so much similar to an overfilled ashtray.

Demanding things from this world
like digging spurs into the sides of a horse,
all those tendencies to become something more 
all those expectations to evolve and progress
washed away and abandoned…

No one prepares you for this madness
some poets implied it,
but most of them did when they got old
and terrified of dying
and wrote only of the despair of the clock
only of the countless deaths hiding between each ticking;
but  you are young, still
with more future, supposedly, than past, more plus than minus.

I'll have to improvise upon this
grow some balls
thicken my insensitivity
or else it will brake me
it will brake me so badly
there won’t be any turning back,
you can tell by the distress it creates
when it takes hold of you
you can tell
that if the hold 
gets tighter
there will be no salvation.

Loneliness Is A Patient Friend.

Everything becomes less discouraging at the beach bar.

I order another shot with my beer
I observe the companied people
Not with anger any more, nor jealousy, or discontent
They don’t seem luckier anymore, nor happier,  
Nor meaningless,
The only meaningless thing is to pursue conclusions,

The waitress approaches me
Some shots are on the house
The bartender says
And I wave and wink at him
And the waitress asks how I do
I say I’m fine
How about you
She says just bored

I wave

The waitress’s cousin strikes a conversation
Loneliness gets up from next to me
And sits three chairs away
It raises its glass to me
It’s a natural thing now
Not an enemy,

The waitress’s cousin talks about her life
I wave when I must
And agree when is needed

The waitress says to her:
“ Noel doesn’t talk much”
“ Oh he’s like a machine.
You’ll have to throw a coin to make him talk.”
“ He is of a silent nature” says the bartender.

“ He just drinks a lot and doesn’t say much” says the waitress
And her eyes are fixed on me.

I wish I could tell them
That they bore me with their mediocrity
But I would look like a snob
Life is composed of mediocre things now

The waitress helps me light my cigarette
By shielding my lighter with her palms
We talk about her school
Something that doesn’t interest me in the least,
The conversation widens to a two hours extent
And the sun begins to go down.

I purpose a walk on the beach.

She accepts.

Loneliness follows from behind.

In the night we end up in my hotel room.
I say to her that she makes me feel alive
That that is very important to me
She says that now that she’s met me
Everyone else seem the same

An hour later she sleeps like a child.

I watch in awe and in confusion and disbelief.
She is so healthy and careless.
I watch her perfectly shaped ass and I smile. 
She is so healthy and careless and kind.

I wish for the time to stop.

In the morning she wakes up
And leaves for work.
From the balcony I watch her get on her motorcycle
And drive off.
I listen to the engine.
I listen to the birds.
I listen
I listen to the waves

The farther away you are 

The more peaceful they sound.

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