And it's Time Time Time...

Watt will not
abate one jot
but of what

of the coming to
of the being at
of the going from
Knott’s habitat

of the long way
of the short stay
of the going back home
the way he had come

of the empty heart
of the empty hands
of the dim mind wayfaring
through barren lands

of a flame with dark winds
hedged about
going out
gone out
of the empty heart
of the empty hands
of the dark mind stumbling
through barren lands

that is of what
Watt will not
abate one jot

 

Ω χρόνε, γοργέ άρπαγα των ποιημάτων! Πόσους βασιλιάδες, πόσους ανθρώπους αφάνισες! Πόσες και πόσες αλλαγές καταστάσεων και περιστάσεων δεν ακολούθησαν αφότου χάθηκε εδώ, μέσα σ' αυτή την κοίλη και ελικοειδή κόγχη, η θαυμαστή μορφή τούτου του ψαριού; Τώρα, αφανισμένο από τον χρόνο, κείτεσαι καρτερικά μέσα σ' αυτή τη στενή γωνιά και τα απογυμνωμένα κόκκαλά σου έγιναν αρματωσιά και στήριγμα για το βουνό που ορθώνεται πάνω σου.

Leonardo da Vinci, Σημειωματάρια

 

Και στο δρεπάνι του χρόνου τίποτα δεν μπορεί να αντισταθεί
εξόν από μια γέννα, για να τον αψηφήσεις σαν έρθει να σε πάρει.

William Shakespeare, Σοννέτα (XII)

 

Όταν γεράσει ο χρόνος και ξεχάσει τον εαυτό του,
όταν οι Βροχοστάλες θα έχουν φάει της Τροίας τις πέτρες,
και λησμονιά τυφλή θα έχει ρουφήξει πολιτείες,
μεγάλα κράτη αφανιστούν χωρίς σημάδι
και γίνουν σκόνη...

William Shakespeare, Τρωίλος και Χρυσίδα

 

Ματαίωση

Θα ήμουν εκείνη την ημέρα συνεπής
μα ένα κοράκι καταβρόχθισε το μονοπάτι
και χάθηκα στο δάσος
ύστερα κάποιος μετατόπισε τους δείκτες
στο κουρδιστό ρολόι τοίχου στο σαλόνι
κι άργησα είκοσι χρόνια.
Θα σε ειδοποιούσα σίγουρα
αλλά τα ταχυδρομικά περιστέρια
καθηλώθηκαν υπέρβαρα στα σύρματα.
Και όταν ερχόμουν
θα σ’ αγκάλιαζα
αν δεν υπήρχε το σιδερένιο τραπεζάκι ανάμεσα.
Γι αυτό σου λέω. Μην λυπάσαι.
Και στείλε αυτήν την τενεκεδένια απουσία
για ανακύκλωση.

( Χλόη Κουτσουμπέλη )

Παιδικό

Να είσαι το παιδί που θα γινόσουν.
Στις μύτες των ποδιών
με ένα λευκό φόρεμα ποδιά
σ' ένα τραπέζι ενηλίκων.
Με άδειες θέσεις
για τους συγγενείς που αποχωρούν
με μαχαιροπήρουνα ερπετά
πάνω στα πιάτα.
Με καλοδιπλωμένες πετσέτες
που κρύβουν ψίχουλα τα μυστικά.
Γιατί ανάλογα με τον φακό
αλλάζει το παρελθόν
στις παλιές φωτογραφίες.

( Χλόη Κουτσουμπέλη )

 

ύστερη εφηβεία..

When the moon child is crying
And silence has broken the darkest truth
The things she remembered had never been her own
Replicant or human, I know the way to show you

What do I see? What will I find?
Know the answer inside, it's your last step

Time what is time, I wish I knew how to tell you why
It hurts to know, are we machines
Time what is time unlock the door
And see the truth, then time is time again

Whispering these dreams were never mine, it's cold inside
It's gone forever the things he saw
Who can say what's wrong or right, the vision of a free life
His eyes had seen it all for what he's asking
The vision, I know it's all a lie

I'll remember his past life
And I'll remember time

What did I see? What have I done?
God I knew the answers when he felt so tired

Time what is time, come lock the door don't let me in
I am the one, your destiny
Time what is time, reality it hurts me so
When time is time again

Look into my eyes, feel the fear just for a while
I'm a replicant and I love to live
Is it all over now, only these years
I'll leave but I'm singing

Time what is time, he saw it clearly it's too late
It does not heal, it let's us forget
Time what is time, we'll never know, so don't take care
Then time is time again

Should I forget the way I feel
God he knows how long I've tried
Feel there is no reason to cry
I live my life in fortune dreams forever

 

Υπάρχει κάτι συγκεκριμένο στον χρόνο που μπορεί να αποβεί μοιραίο και είναι το 'περίμενε'.
Αλλά ανεξέλεγκτα μοιραίο είναι το τέλος του χρόνου.

 

The Timeweaver's abode is deep under ground
As interweaving history he us creates
He weaves in eternity not to be found
The Elder's legend that braids our fates

Hoary and hollow-eyed, older than sun
Abiding his destiny to reverberate time
There's no one to remember how it began
In rooms filled with candles he reverberates time

Timeweaver, tell me my history that I've been searching so
Timeweaver, reveal the mystery that I've been letting grow

He once was given his mission by three...
The Holy, The Sacred and The Ancient Dream
He doesn't exist for those who don't believe
He's nothing but stories for those who don't deem

Hoary and hollow-eyed, older than sun
Abiding his destiny to reverberate time
There's no one to remember how it began
In rooms filled with candles he reverberates time

Timeweaver, tell me my history that I've been searching so
Timeweaver, reveal the mystery that I've been letting grow

Spider's webs decorate dusty shelves lightened by old candles glow
Ancient prescriptions from times that don't even exist
In memories


Guarded by spells he reincarnates time
Gives birth once again to a century's child

Hoary and hollow-eyed, older than sun
Abiding his destiny to reverberate time
And now I can remember how it began
In rooms filled with candles I reverberate time

Timeweaver told me a history I didn't want to know
Timeweaver revealed the mystery - two became one to grow!

Timeweaver...
...time...will...be...here...now...and...

Now!

 

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes before.
In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,
Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,
Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time, that gave, doth now his gift confound.
Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth,
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow;
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,
And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.
And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand,
Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

William Shakespeare, Σοννέτα (LX)

 

Life, death, time

 


( Philippe de Champaigne )

 

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack!
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

William Shakespeare, Σοννέτα (LXV)