The Star of Azazel - Azazelin Tähti

There is also quite beautiful and fitting video of the poem frater Nefastos just shared, for all those more audiovisual members out here: Moving poems - The Watcher, Filmmaker: Celia Qu

Somehow the poem, very beautiful in its own sensitive way, reminds me of a newer generation of Latin Rock acts from Chile, Los Pettinellis:
Even though the lyrics are in Spanish, many will enjoy the dark atmosphere and story which is very fitting to the lyrics

Hospital

No vuelvas nunca mas al hospital
son tus visitas las que me hacen mal
si son amigos no quiero hablar
de cosas que amo y que me hacen odiar

Le pido a ella que no piense en mi
si alguna vez me tocara morir
si algun vez me tocara morir
yo le pido a ella que no piense en mi

Enfermera no la deje entrar
no haga más cruenta esta enfermedad
con esta cancer ya no puedo mas
de apoco me hundire en la soledad soledaaaaad

Le pido a ella que no piense en mi
si alguna vez me tocara morir
si algun vez me tocara morir
yo le pido a ella que no piense en miiii

Enfermera no la deje entrar
no haga más cruenta esta enfermedad
con esta cancer ya no puedo mas
de apoco me hundire en la soledad soledaaaaad

Le pido a ella que no piense en mi
si alguna vez me tocara morir
si algun vez me tocara morir
le pido a ella que no piense en mi
le pido a ella que no piense en mi

---

Hospital
(I didn't find appropriate translation, so bare with me, this is mine and quickly translated with "one go")

Never return to the hospital
It's your visits that make me feel bad
If they are friends (visiting), I don't want to talk
of things I love, neither things that make me hate

I'll ask her to not think about me
If some day it's my time to die
If some day it's my time to die
I'll ask her not to think about me

The nurse won't let her enter
Don't make this sickness more cruel
With this cancer I can't stand anymore
And quickly I'll drown myself to solitude - solitude

I'll ask her to not think about me
If some day it's my time to die
If some day it's my time to die
I'll ask her not to think about me

The nurse won't let her enter
Don't make this sickness more cruel
With this cancer I can't stand anymore
And quickly I'll drown myself to solitude - solitude

I'll ask her to not think about me

Homage to Sharva,
the essence of the right-handed path
the lover of the left-handed path,
who belongs to all ways of practice
and to none at all.

- Utpaladeva-

Yinlong wrote:Listening to Marilyn Manson: somehow after breaking up you go back to your high school music. Yeah, not surprising, I wasn't "high school musical" type of person

Prick your finger it is done...
the moon has now eclipsed the sun...
the angel has spread its wings...
the time has come for bitter things

I would like to change this to the following form though already:

Count your fingers it is done...
the moon has now eclipsed the sun...
the angel has spread its wings...
the time has come for better things

I hope mr. M. Manson would agree with me. And I've been crying a lot. It's been years since I have truly done so.

It is interesting that you mention this. In my teenage years, I too was an avid follower of Marilyn Manson - perhaps at one point to an embarrassingly obsessive extent : p

I am currently going through something which, among other things, makes one look back over many memories and stages of ones life, and revisiting Marilyn Manson has indirectly featured in this process.
Thinking back to the times that he featured so prominently in my life (through his art at least), I always thought of him as a poet; even before my own interest and passion for poetry had been even vaguely realised.
I can still stand behind the opinion that his work is artistically powerful, valuable and of course provocative (in a positive sense). For me, Antichrist Superstar and Mechanical Animals were his most relevant and moving of works, and although I do not feel the same toward him now and am certainly not familiar with what he has done over the last decade or so, I can still return to those two albums with fondness and relevance.

I hope your rediscovery of him has in some way helped in such difficult times.

obnoxion wrote:
Well, this sounds just fascinating! I have of course heard of The Language of the Birds, but this is the first I hear of Prosodia of the Birds. This whole topic reminds me of Gabriel d'Annunzios "panism", of which the perfect example is his "The rain in the Pinewood" from his best collection of poems, "Halcyon". According to "Facts on File Companion to World Poetry" panism is "the ability to experience the vinrant life of nature in one's body and soul". In the above mentioned poem, d'Annunzio uses onometopesia and mimetics from nature to the degree where he and his companion completely merge with nature. He introduces this state by adopting in his poetry the changing rythms from the droplets of water. I suppose the the full effect could best be experrienced from the original Italian poem, but I like the translation very much, as I am naturally very attuned to its rythm:
https://www.lifeinabruzzo.com/the-rain- ... el-pineto/

This is wonderful. I have never heard of ‘panism’ in this context before, but as I read ‘The Rain in the Pinwood’, the personality of person and nature absolutely become one and the same. In one moment it feels as though the beauty and love for a companion is being expressed, the next the nature with which they inhabit.
Then the poem becomes like a mirror, reflecting each within the same expression, until they indeed entwine into one and the same thing.

In some respects, this reminds me of Ted Hughes’ early work. I can never quite settle on my feelings toward him, but some of his early work seeks something similar to this panism, in that it reflects the nature of man - predominantly its tendency for violence and brutality - within the wild world of nature and the behavior of predatory animals.
When he achieves this, his work becomes a similar mirror, and the animal(s) and its(their) nature with which he literally speaks of become the same as the nature of the human condition which he eludes to.

obnoxion wrote:I usually post on this forum by phone. But today I took out my laptop just to post a poem by Robert Browning, called "Porphyria's Lover". Please notice that we have had more posts this morning on this topic, dealing with Marilyn manson lyrics and break-ups.

I think the Brownings - both Robert and his wife Elizabet Barret Browning - are very interesting poets. Elizabeth's realization that "Christ's religion is essentially poetry—poetry glorified" is exactly what I learnt from William Blake whan I was a school boy. Now Robert, on the other hand, has an amazing insight into morbid psychological states. For example, his poem "Porphyria's lover" must be one of the best descriptions of homicidal psychopathia available. It also has an interesting rythmic structure of A/B/A/B/B, which makes the endings of the sentences sort of bounding and weighty.

I cannot get the structure of the lines right by copy-paste, so you can go read it in Poetry Foundation:

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/ ... rias-lover

Although I am familiar with Elizabeth Barrett Browning, I am much less so with her husband, Robert Browning, so thank you for prompting me to read at least some of his work.

Regarding Elizabeth Barrett Browning; for me, it was John Donne whom truly taught me the lesson that she gives, and which William Blake gave to you.

I have always held strongly to the sentiment behind the following words of hers. (Regardless of what one thinks of Christianity, I think this speaks truly of spirituality in general. Indeed, I hold the sentiment strongly in relation to Satanism).

“We want the sense of the saturation of Christ's blood upon the souls of our poets, that it may cry through them in answer to the ceaseless wail of the Sphinx of our humanity, expounding agony into renovation. Something of this has been perceived in art when its glory was at the fullest. Something of a yearning after this may be seen among the Greek Christian poets, something which would have been much with a stronger faculty....Christ’s religion is essentially poetry....poetry glorified”.

As for Robert Browning - specifically ‘Porphyria’s Lover’, which you have shared - it is beautiful, even in light of its content.
Although I had briefly read your comments regarding it, I hadn’t really taken them in properly before following the link straight to reading it, so when the poem turned to the act of murder, it came as quite a shock. But it maintains a real sense of beauty. Achingly so, actually, and of course tragically.
I think the weight of the structure also really works into the impact that the reveal has.
Even in their love, there seems to almost be this sense of loss and uncertainty in the perpetrator before hand, but a kind of peace after.

I think that the beginning of the Porphyria's Lover is quite speaking of deranged emotion. Nature is a mirror, after all, so one needs to worry about someone for whom the wind tears the elm-tops for spite and does its worst to vex the lake. Though one must remember that this is a poem from the 19th century, when words still carried weight. Today such use of words would not necessarily mean anything else but poetic silliness. But, on the other hand, one could just as easily miss the ill omen in the first lines, because one would not expect such a horrible turn of events in a 19th century poem. But that, in the end, is just the unexpectedness of homicidal psycopathy and the genius of Robert Browning. He manages to mask a very forward nature of his very first lines, just as people would say of the serial killer, "we would have never known, but now it seems so obvious!".

John Blades, whom I have mentioned before in connection with Wordsworth, has again done a brilliant job analysing the first 25 lines of this poem in his brand new "Robert Browning: The Poems" (published by Palgrave, and so new that my copy says that it is published 2018!). Blades notices how the tumult outside is in contrast with the quiet in the cottage, establishing yet another accurate metaphor of the inner state of the murderous self, comfortably detached from his immature and unchecked enotion.

On the topic of Marilyn Manson, last night I had a dream where I saw three concerts, last of which was by MM. He played about 20 songs that I had never heard before, but they were all very good. Between each concert, I went to a bookstore, and flipped through dozens of beautifully illustrated books. This really makes me relate strongly to the Tantric ideas of spontanity and the svatantrya-shakti.

He Comes
Pelle Åhman


Like flowers in the tracks of loss
He comes, he comes.
Like treading water
He comes.

Like ailment in the veins of love
He comes, he comes.
Like the death of a child
He comes.

Amidst the brooding trail to dust
He comes, he comes.
A promise bred to exceed trust
He comes.

Within the vale of our escape
He comes, he comes.
Beyond these walls, a winding way
He comes.

obnoxion wrote:
I think that the beginning of the Porphyria's Lover is quite speaking of deranged emotion. Nature is a mirror, after all, so one needs to worry about someone for whom the wind tears the elm-tops for spite and does its worst to vex the lake. Though one must remember that this is a poem from the 19th century, when words still carried weight. Today such use of words would not necessarily mean anything else but poetic silliness. But, on the other hand, one could just as easily miss the ill omen in the first lines, because one would not expect such a horrible turn of events in a 19th century poem. But that, in the end, is just the unexpectedness of homicidal psycopathy and the genius of Robert Browning. He manages to mask a very forward nature of his very first lines, just as people would say of the serial killer, "we would have never known, but now it seems so obvious!".

Hard to know what to add, other than complete agreement and appreciation for such observations.
I am also very grateful for this prompt to look more into Robert Browning, whose writing, is as you say, inhabiting genius.

Makes me think of something else you said a while ago....

obnoxion wrote:

The nature we see is never not a thought.

Omoksha wrote:It is interesting that you mention this. In my teenage years, I too was an avid follower of Marilyn Manson - perhaps at one point to an embarrassingly obsessive extent : p

I am currently going through something which, among other things, makes one look back over many memories and stages of ones life, and revisiting Marilyn Manson has indirectly featured in this process.
Thinking back to the times that he featured so prominently in my life (through his art at least), I always thought of him as a poet; even before my own interest and passion for poetry had been even vaguely realised.
I can still stand behind the opinion that his work is artistically powerful, valuable and of course provocative (in a positive sense). For me, Antichrist Superstar and Mechanical Animals were his most relevant and moving of works, and although I do not feel the same toward him now and am certainly not familiar with what he has done over the last decade or so, I can still return to those two albums with fondness and relevance.

I hope your rediscovery of him has in some way helped in such difficult times.

It truly has helped my mind and me through- and I think it's good to sometimes go through your past selves and bring the important stuff to present. Actually, this particular interview has been on my mind a lot too: One of my favorite M.M. interviews

Yea, thou shalt die,
And lie
Dumb in the silent tomb;
Nor to thy name
Shall there be any fame
In ages yet to be or years to come:
For of the flowering Rose,
Which on Pieria blows,
Thou hast no share:
But in sad Hades' house,
Unknown, inglorious,
'Mid the dim shades that wander there
Shalt thou flit forth and haunt the filmy air.

Sappho