Lots of coats from bags, bags,
Blueprint pipes and roller bags are arriving
Subway level. They are not afraid
Local Moses, Mort, sliding and running
Before the highest level, forward and forward, preaching
About the weather god for infidels –
“Azuwa whispers and the world goes round!”
Happy teens make fun of him.
The trains will continue to thunder underground.
New York is like a drug, “high”, where numbers like numbers are “rotated” and the daily bell is controlled “between walking and running, teasing and applause.” . “Union Square, New York City Violence, a large digital clock set up with the New Gash Sky building over thirty years ago, crazy people preaching out loud to anyone who wants to listen – the city’s exciting, unstoppable energy lessons. The Dakota are amazing, but they have no chance here. But North Dakota, like the poet Itaka, a place for the poet, in a poem of the same name as Kavafi, “Itaka gave you a wonderful journey. / She has nothing to give you now.
Faith is another big topic American divinity, The more the poet has his own religious feelings and the search for divinity or the more powerful he is in the universe. He is still a teenager. The author tries to stop Satan from trying to call the state of the “emerging nations” a childhood joke. These young boys and girls call Lucifer, but for O’Ochigian they are also “parishioners,” so here Satan’s rites and religious ceremonies become one and the same.
“A woman, a boy.
Hunted, with candles
And all the good things
The demons rejoice, ”(1)
We dug a well
As a mix bowl
And it is thrown in the honeycomb,
And milk and wine –
Then for money,
Pig blood. ”
And then comes the comedy – “You know me. Are you there “Come to me, They really look forward to seeing him. There is no devil, so he tries to bribe Chigi to go to hell – “I dropped a penny / to cover the price.” If he had thrown it in dollars instead, Lucifer might have arrived, with a long tail and a fig horn.
And even though there is no spirit
I raised my hair…
We always share
It was a disappointment
(If not completely love)
This is an angry dumb thing
We did it when we were young ”
“We felt we were around,” he said. Why is the question “crazy”? Why “stupid”? Satanism is not only the antithesis of Christianity in some way, but is Satan not an inverted vision of our Lord Christ? After all, who gave Satan such a bad name?
In another deadly poem, “Stupid at Christmas”, Chichian attacks our financially secular religion. Christmas itself is a pagan Christian holiday, with no doubt about the latter. Here, the poet turns his attention to the Christmas tree, the symbol of the festival itself, when he hears the cries of the rescue squad.
“Let them be crowned
Each one, with a star. Let them be bright and great.
I need their hands and feet to protect my childhood needs
Desire: Fulfillment. Every sweet, spelling
Breathe in the air like never before.
In the “Multimia” for the divine feminine hymn (“The gods have come down here, and they can be hard to see, heavy – heavy, heavy”). Pregnant woman – heavily posted, doesn’t pay much attention to him and will continue. And in the “Gospel of Prosperity,” Chichian slipped a tenth of a penny of fine capitalist fashion into a very delicate rib cage from a parishioner: “Why should we pay?” In return, something // someone has to earn money.
When Ochian offers a tour of Buddhism, Hinduism, paganism, the reader’s head really spins – you name it. It ends with a section on his religion, the American Osiris, the god of fertility in Egypt, and the Made-in-USA version. The poet begs Osiris to prove his existence and to clear his doubts.
“The dead God, the living God, is alive
In verse five.
One Two Three Four Four ”
Interestingly, Oo Kichian connects America as a real, real place with religious or abstract aspects of human existence. Everything we hold dear and permanent in “that, too” – monuments, churches, racing horses, stock exchanges will not continue and will one day disappear. Considering climate change and global warming, its forecast may come soon:
The wind blows,
Great statues in the square,
The words I play,
Good times, and despair.
Everything I do
And say –
The wind blows.
Relax, Pachhogie seems to speak to the reader, there is nothing you can do. Eventually the trees and the grass, the mountains and the seas, even our great cities and even the great pyramids themselves will be reduced to dust. And yes, he concludes, the poet is just one day away.
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