2011 m. kovo 21 d., pirmadienis

"Oil and Blood"

William Butler Yeats

Oil and Blood

IN tombs of gold and lapis lazuli
Bodies of holy men and women exude
Miraculous oil, odour of violet.
But under heavy loads of trampled clay
Lie bodies of the vampires full of blood;
Their shrouds are bloody and their lips are wet.

Jamie McKendrick

Oil and Blood

Sleep on my chosen one it's only me
intent as a Madagascan sloth that moves
through the tall twilight of mahogany,
padding down the wall towards your pillowcase
and the hollows of your neck I ache for.
Lifting one knee, you shape a linen vault
that frees the scent of nard and nightflowers.
Does my dark disturb you, sweetheart, do you dream
of the rooftree burdened by a roost of bats,
your outline inscaped by their squeaky jargon?

Within a tongue's length of your ear lobe,
I could consume whole nights in this vestibule
of paradise if waiting weren't such hell
or if Van Helsing, that bony eunuch,
weren't striding upstairs with his cricket bag
full of sharpened stumps and oil of garlic,
the paraphernalia of intolerance.
Let him come. Rather than leave you be
I'd have the sun impale me and the breeze distress
my mouldy flavoured, still enamoured dust.

(Tai ką tik tapo mano mėgstamiausiu vampyrišku eilėraščiu)

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