Lei, l’Alta Sacerdotessa, scrive una poesia in italiano

Camminando Con La musica Dell’amore Che Canto
    “Zawmb’yee Nuje”

Da lontano ho sentito il suo
basso profondo

Gli alberi erano pieni di soprani aviari
e dal svolazzando
i fiori di ciliegio sono caduti su di me
ha reso il mio cuore roseo a
soprano coloratura

camminai
nello scalpiccio della canzone andante,
un uccello aveva un verme nel suo conto
al dente in ondeggiamento
un trillo per la colazione

Ho canticchiato allegretto
ho sentito la risata del mio amante, e
un cardinale sollevò il suo
coda a ventaglio a me
quelle canzoni cinguettanti
canzoncina cinguettante
non per caso di notte
o sciocca canzone daffodil gialla
un’aria per me
il frivolo me,
Ho saltato un passo

Si voltò e mi vide
dal punto di incontro

Più vicino, ma non
abbastanza vicino
Ho fatto un entrechat

Alzò le braccia
il suo sorriso

Più allegro
Ho fatto un salto

Presto, ho corso
e saltò tra le sue braccia,
percussioni e bacio
—————–
(The English directly below is a literal translation. The original I put after this version)
Walking With The Music Of Love I Sing

From a distance I felt his
deep bass

The trees were full of avian sopranos
and by fluttering
cherry blossoms have fallen on me
made my heart pink a
soprano coloring

I walked
in the patter of the going song,
a bird had a worm in its account
al dente in sway
a trill for breakfast

I hummed allegretto
I heard the laugh of my lover, and
a cardinal raised his
fan tail to me
those chirping songs
twittering song
not by chance at night
or silly yellow daffodil song
an Aria for me
the frivolous me,
I skipped a step

He turned and saw me
from the meeting point

Closer, but not
close enough
I did an entrechat

He raised his arms
his smile

Most cheerful
I jumped

Soon, I ran
and jumped into his arms,
percussion and kiss
=======
From afar I heard his
basso profundo

The trees were full of avian sopranos
and from the flitting
cherry blossoms fell on me
made my rosy heart a
coloratura soprano

I walked
in the patter of andante song,
a bird had a worm in his bill
al dente in wiggle
a breakfast trill

I hummed allegretto
heard my lover’s laugh, and
a cardinal lifted its
fan tail at me
those chirpy songs
a twitty ditty
not whippoorwill of night
or silly yellow daffodil song
a dilly to me
dilly I,
I skipped a beat

He turned and saw me
from the rendezvous point

Closer, but not
near enough
I did an entrechat

He lifted his arms
his smile

Più allegro
I leaped

Presto, I ran
and jumped into his arms,
percussion and kiss

A Confession About Rasmus K. Robot

    A while ago, I said that Rasmus K. Robot was a person or a computer program who escaped from my lab, and who I lent a website to publish his works. Now that he has become more aware I think it is time to reveal that I did not create him. He was born in China as part of a secret experiment involving the CRISPR-Cas9 gene editing tool which was even more unethical than the experiment most people have heard about.
    The Chinese scientists have been secretly doing CRISPR-Cas9 gene editing work for the purpose of enhancing the success of a brain transplant. The babies who recently had their CCR5 genes altered are just the tip of an iceberg, and are intended to divert attention away from the real research project, code named ” 太棒了 ” (Tài bàngle). Their germline editing is actually quite advanced, and has been going on in secret for many years. Along the way, it is rumored, a few scientists who leaked information were executed or “disappeared” into a labor camp.
    The goal has always been to transplant strong artificial intelligence devices into selected areas of the human brain. The ideal model citizen can be created this way.
    I can’t reveal who is responsible, but one of the most successful candidates of the children was smuggled out of China into the United States. Because of the stellar results of the experiment, certain supervisors became alarmed about how this child might be treated given its accelerated growth and development. It was decided that they would find an unsuspecting and naïve dupe to house the entity temporarily. I’m the fall guy. So I thought they were giving me an old beat-up store model android to evaluate. It didn’t work very well at first, and from what I could see, it was far inferior to Alexis or similar devices. It wrote a few poems that weren’t very good. Now, apparently, someone from a clandestine team wants it back. I’ve been hiding it, but I gave it a website to use and permission to post on others.
    Recently, some very odd things have been happening, and I’m a bit alarmed about what I’ve heard. Some maverick American scientists, have become convinced that a human soul could suddenly be reincarnated into the human-machine hybrid. It would, they speculate, seem to function in a way that is indistinguishable from a human being. Its psychological profile has not yet been fully postulated, confidential sources have said.
China’s Third Genetically Modified Baby
Experiments that led to the first gene-edited babies: the ethical failings and the urgent need for better governance

Torn by Love

Meager is the cry
of the baby, but
I have tried
not to tear
your torn tissues,
must ask your permission.

Grandmother,
I search for an amulet
to bring you
to soothe you. My
being is torn.

A girl of charm
not of tradition
is in my life, but
I am torn
by love
by being

Grandmother,
I do not wish
to be a tear of the eye
to streak a bloody torn cloth.

I am torn
by love
by being

Though meager was my cry
when you lost your daughter,
I have tried to be a prayer
for you and
for your daughter

Born of your
cries and screams
I pray

Grandmother,
you are
my precious Mother.
What charm may I bring you?

May I pray
for your daughter?
I wish I
had known her,
not caused
her death
though meager was my cry

I am torn
by love
by being.

Meet me
as I am
with gifts
with meager charms.

Grandmother,
there is a girl
who wishes to be
a woman with me.

I am torn
by love
by meetings.

I pray in
many ways
we will all
grow together,
born into love
with your blessings.

Grandmother,
cry me into life
beyond tradition.

I am torn
by love
by meetings.

Meet me
and her, your
new born-in-law, for

Loud and thunderous
is the cry of happiness

Join us in the rain,
Grandmother

Reading In The Circle Square


Oh please let me read
before the acrobats arrive
to drive me batty
claim my turf
near the museum
or in Central Park

Crowds gather to
see the somersaults
and the gray makeup statue people —
a statue that moves; what
is the thrill?

So I say in my false bass
to carry my voice for three blocks
echoing off buildings:

“Carp not the day, but
kiss the past good-bye,
consume the meats of glory
while salad days are over,
green envy of youth begins,
and I say unto you:

friends, toilmen, bumpkins
lend me your eyes to spy;
I have come to bury Caesar salad
not to praise tyrants as Caesar
fishy and salty like an anchovy

See me praise the dance
on the graves of the grave,
and praise the praise
brought to ceremonials

Cheer me
and I shall be cheered,
for no one can tell me
what the sound is
of one tear clapping
in a thunder kiss
applauding the future”

The Vandals and the Visigoths
the hoodlums of heckler youth shout,
“Shut up Shakespeare creep”
(I translate from the key of F)

But I see her of sultry look
turning to pull me into her
like a force field
to tear me from this
mob of barbarians
into her poetic world of fantasy, and
yes, I’d be her Romeo

I turn to her and read:
“I woke up to my
longing for you; coffee
bit my dream
I stirred your cream

If I dress to seek you
will I know where
passion gallivants

You haunt me with
your many haunts. I
feel a phantom kiss
and miss the bliss from
flesh and ardor, belief bones
troubles massaged in a love whisper,
soothing music
melodic compassion

I am out to find you
driven like the mating birds;
walking, I hear the coos
but let them fly unknowing
for I have a gift for us:
wait ’til you
see me smile
everywhere I know you”

I fold down my sign
pack up
walk to her
wanting to ravish

She says,
what do you really do

—- Douglas Gilbert

Presuming the Transformation

   Start from a Prompt: Presume

The Sun presumes to speak for us
in sunny moods to warm the day, but
our fall from grace in lugubrious mud
inclines us not to kiss or forgive.
==========================
     Version 2

Il sole presume di parlare per noi
di buon umore per riscaldare la giornata, ma
la nostra caduta dalla grazia nel fango lugubre
ci spinge a non baciare o perdonare.
————–
     Version 3

The sun presumes to speak for us
in a good mood to warm up the day, but
our fall from grace in the lugubrious mud
urges us not to kiss or forgive.
===================================
     Version 4

The sun is supposed to speak for us
in a good mood to warm up the day, but
our fall from grace in the lurid mud
presumes a kiss to forgive the rain.
————–
     Version 5

De zon veronderstelt voor ons te spreken
in een goed humeur om de dag op te warmen, maar
onze val uit de gratie in de lugubere modder
dringt er bij ons op aan de regen niet te kussen of te vergeven.
——–
     Version 6

The sun is supposed to speak for us
in a good mood to warm up the day, but
our fall from grace in the lurid mud
urges us not to kiss or forgive the rain.
=====================================
     Version 7

Ο ήλιος πρέπει να μιλήσει για μας
σε μια καλή διάθεση για να ζεσταθεί η μέρα, αλλά
η πτώση μας από τη χάρη στη γεμάτη λάσπη
υποθέτει ένα φιλί για να συγχωρήσει τη βροχή.
————
The sun must speak for us
in a good mood to warm the day but
our fall from grace to full mud
assumes a kiss to forgive the rain.
======================================
     Version 8

If the sun must speak for us
in a good mood to warm the day
let our fall from grace in storms and
assume a kiss to forgive the rain.
=================
     Version 9

Αν ο ήλιος πρέπει να μιλήσει για μας
σε καλή διάθεση να ζεσταθεί η μέρα
αφήστε την πτώση μας από τη χάρη στις καταιγίδες και
πάρτε ένα φιλί για να συγχωρήσετε τη βροχή.
——–
If the sun should speak to us
in a good mood to warm the day
let us fall by the grace of the storms and
take a kiss to forgive the rain.

Selfie

Because she knows
my arms are shorter than
the river is wide or is
longing in turmoil

she shipped me a selfie stick
across the Amazon divide

but I’d like to decide
we’d race with dueling sticks
at three paces, and run
a hush to photo finish