Pagan Poems
אני משערת שהמקום מתאים לשירים בעברית ולא באנגלית - אולי כדאי שאשלח לך אותם בדוא"ל? טלה בר. MYTHS SEASONS I don’t believe in good and evil – Cool is the August Moon; I don’t believe in good and evil – On Midsummer noon; I don’t believe in good and evil – Flowery May so cries; I don’t believe in good and evil When my lover dies. RITUAL From my peak of a mountain I see you, all. God is sad, but Life awakens my laughter And I laugh the sadness of life. In my heart of a mountain A cry is born, in time! The procession passes in slow motion Round and round the mountain; We bury my god, in time! At the foot of my mountain He lies in peace… I love you, all! Laughter is love, and Love is born of sadness. Farewell! Come back Tomorrow… GORGON She is dead. The beautiful-ugly Goddess is dead. They killed her with horses and spears; They killed her with bombshells and guns; And she’s dead. Her serpents have turned Into the hangman’s ropes; Her blue eyes as dim as the grave; Green moss on her wine-red lips. She’s dead as the desert, As filth-sodden rivers, As animals black with crude oil. Won’t she ever again rise and blossom? Won’t she shine in her black ugly wisdom? In her lovely beauty alive? Say she will, sister! Say she will – For, if not – we also are dead, my friend, We also are dead… MYTHS
אני משערת שהמקום מתאים לשירים בעברית ולא באנגלית - אולי כדאי שאשלח לך אותם בדוא"ל? טלה בר. MYTHS SEASONS I don’t believe in good and evil – Cool is the August Moon; I don’t believe in good and evil – On Midsummer noon; I don’t believe in good and evil – Flowery May so cries; I don’t believe in good and evil When my lover dies. RITUAL From my peak of a mountain I see you, all. God is sad, but Life awakens my laughter And I laugh the sadness of life. In my heart of a mountain A cry is born, in time! The procession passes in slow motion Round and round the mountain; We bury my god, in time! At the foot of my mountain He lies in peace… I love you, all! Laughter is love, and Love is born of sadness. Farewell! Come back Tomorrow… GORGON She is dead. The beautiful-ugly Goddess is dead. They killed her with horses and spears; They killed her with bombshells and guns; And she’s dead. Her serpents have turned Into the hangman’s ropes; Her blue eyes as dim as the grave; Green moss on her wine-red lips. She’s dead as the desert, As filth-sodden rivers, As animals black with crude oil. Won’t she ever again rise and blossom? Won’t she shine in her black ugly wisdom? In her lovely beauty alive? Say she will, sister! Say she will – For, if not – we also are dead, my friend, We also are dead… MYTHS
