Epic poetry by Adam Donaldson Powell, Part Four.” tu sais : je vais juste t’enculer …” (love letters).

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september2013-2

” tu sais : je vais juste t’enculer …”

( Cette œuvre est dédiée à toi, cher B. )

(New erotic gay poetry, in French, English, Spanish and Norwegian.)

Clouds over Oslo-1 (2)

ohhhhh,
my sexy french white boy!
my attraction to you
is much like the
movement of clouds:
often majestic and calm,
while sometimes making me
turbulent and lustful,
and at other times rather
playful and giddy.

Easter in Oslo, 2013.
Easter in Oslo, 2013.

j’ai attendu pendant quinze ans.
je n’ai pas été célibataire
et je n’ai pas été seul
ou solitaire.
mais j’ai attendu ce moment
pendant longtemps.

tout ce temps,
j’ai dîné sur rien de plus que
mes fantasmes et
les rêves —
de toi et moi.

et maintenant,
je suis affamé …

oui, affamé
comme un loup.

afterthebeach

so, explain it it to me
yet again —
what is the difference between
an infatuation,
an obsession,
a lover relationship,
and what we have now?
(yummm … those petit fours
are delectable! sorry … back.)
well, i see.
how about … how about
us being good and loyal friends
who fuck together like rabbits?!!
you see,
the other options sound, well —
messy,
freaky
and egotistical;

dontcha think?

the menu

dîner pour deux …
chez moi, bebe.
tenue de soirée
avec des sous-vêtements sexy.

image

i will be your perfect lover.
i will never say ‘i love you’ …
and i will never try to possess you.
but, all the same,
i will love you …
and i will co-own our
sacred moments together.
and, of course,
i will release you
when that is the
most loving thing to do.

i will be your perfect lover.
(i will …)

kewl2

tus labios …
tus labios.
me dan los sueños
de la mamada perfecta.
¡delicioso!
¡ay! ¡que rico!
¡que rico es!

Entre Nous

analingus.
squirming,
moaning,
gasping;
tongue darting
in and out,
like a cat
licking ice cream.
it tickles.
it pleases.
you scream.
you are ready;
here i cum.

kewl1

jeg kommer til å knulle deg …
du får bare holde på —
men jeg skal nok knulle deg.

 

 

it does not concern me …

it does not concern me
that you are getting fucked
in every possible orifice
here and there;
all over the world …

it does not concern me
that you may get body-searched
and groped in the airport control
when we next meet …

it does not concern me, because
i intend to do the same to you.
in fact, it may happen before
we even leave the airport.

it does not concern me
because …
i am just going to fuck you.

no matter what —
je vais juste t’enculer …

okay,
let’s be proper about it:

vous comprenez ?
pouvez-vous sentir la tension …
le sexe ?

how do you like it?

how do you like it?

magickalgarden16

there is only one tongue that excites me
more than your tongue …
yes, my own tongue licking,
slurping,
drooling
slime and spittle
all over your body.
like a predator of the night,
i will soon conquer you
and render your primary defences
quite useless.
you will beg me
to possess you.

kiss me, mother fucker.
KISS ME!

embrasse ma fleur …
maintenant !

magickalgarden15

monsieur b.

Est-ce que t’es prêt … ou pas ?

Le moment de vérité ? C’était maintenant.

Sur tes genoux !

Please step back, Sir!
This man is first in the queue;
but you will get serviced.
And don’t come while watching.
I have something else
planned for you.

( mendier … bave … sucer … frottez votre trou du cul qui gratte ! )

ouahhh !

oui !

oui …

ouah …

next?!!

Sorry Sir …
I must first take Monsieur B. again …
and again …
and again …

adamsketch

while i love rubber,
leather,
sadomasochism,
role-play,
water sports,
and much more …
i only have one
dominant fetish,
and only one
driving passion:
oui, c’est toi.

c’est toi.

(cum to me soon.
i have something for you.)

As-tu faim ?

qu’est-ce que tu veux que je fasse ?

Gnarls 'n berries.
Gnarls ‘n berries.

parfois,
je trébuche sur les sentiers battus.
et c’est dans ces moments-là que
je ressens un pincement de solitude.
le doux parfum d’abandon sexuel
est dans ces moments
surchargé d’une odeur.
oui, une odeur immonde
l’odeur de l’attachement …
l’échec de l’amour affectif
et le désir d’emprisonner ce désir.
dans nos fantasmes,
nous sommes toujours
forcés de porter des masques :
prophylactiques
pour nous protéger
à la fois des racines noueuses
qui sont toujours
prêtes à piéger
le vagabond maladroit
qui pense qu’il est amoureux
d’un autre.
dans ces moments-là,
qu’elle est longue la marche,
c’est l’enfer existentiel.
dans ces moments-là,
je rêve d’une chose :
me perdre dans
le confort de l’amour
sans visage,
sans obligation.
et dans ces rêves,
nous sommes vraiment libres …
libre d’aimer.

adamneon

voy a joderte;
y tu lo sabes muy bien.
(voy a joderte.)

Snapshot_20130103_5

no … no poetry tonight.
no romance,
no candlelight,
and no lube.
no persian carpet
under your knees
and no condom.
shhhhh!!!
shut the fuck up
and look at me.
seduce me,
and worship me
with your eyes.
stop!
I did not give you
permission to fellate me.
not yet.
open your mouth and
receive my spit.
do your constraints hurt?
good! are you ready
for the second course?
it will be a warm meal …
a golden antipasto.
yes, I know what you want …
but it is teaching discipline
that truly turns me on.

now … show me those
hungry eyes and pouting lips.
open wide and gag …

you are beautiful.

you are mine — in this moment.

image

it usually starts
with the tongue …
kissing,
darting,
plunging,
ravishing …
deep.
deep inside
your man-cunt,
your flower,
your barricades.
it is just foreplay.
we both know
that my cock
will soon overwhelm
your man-pussy.

i like it when
you pretend to
have barriers
and scruples,
only to have them
whittled away
with each thrust
followed by a
multitude
of moans.

pretend to resist me!

the reward will be
that much greater.

 

 

je vais juste t’enculer …

there is no other way
out of this predicament.
the constant tumescence
is almost unmanageable.
everywhere I am,
everything I do –
I think about you …
and, well, you know what.

je vais juste t’enculer …

my biggest fear is that
my unyielding obsession
will become chronic,
and perhaps even terminal.
in the former case,
even having you as a live-in lover
would not be enough.
no, I need to feel your absence,
envision you from a distance
and hunt you down mercilessly …
again and again, forcing you
to submit to the inevitable.

je vais juste t’enculer …

I will stalk you even after death;
and we – two sultry glowing balls of light –
will dance a passionate bolero
with seductive pauses every now and then,
perhaps a bit of love-making and brazen flirting …
but, of course, most of all:
je vais juste t’enculer.

tu sais : je vais juste t’enculer …

kewl3


Bonjour !

I’ve got something for you,
and I think you will like it.
It is something that I have been
waiting almost an eternity to give you.
Something that is now threatening
to burst out of its packaging.
Guess what it is!
Go ahead:
shake the box,
knead the fabric,
smell it …
It is both big and small,
hard and soft.
And it comes with
several companion tools,
all designed to maximize
your curiosity and pleasure.

I’ve got something for you.

I’ve got something for you.

Snapshot_20130111

Bonjour, Monsieur (mon beau mec):

Si vous voulez me baiser,
vous devriez le faire.

Si vous voulez me sucer,
vous devriez le faire.

Si vous voulez m’enculer,
vous devriez le faire.

Et puis …
je vais vous emmener dans un voyage
que vous n’oublierez jamais.

Vous beurrez vos tartines des deux côtés ?

adamrubber

” sucez-moi, vite ! ”

“qu’avez-vous dit ? what did you just say?
surely I have misunderstood …

ohhh, I see …
yes, I understand …
I … ”

” tais-toi imbécile ! ”

” mmmmmmmm….”

kampen-toalett2

romance is cool,
but in its time and place.
right now I need you to
get it up.

get it up,
get it up,
get it up.

love in a sling is
not always lovemaking, but
sometimes a great fuck.

cruising-in-stenspaken-2

Er det noen poeng …

Hvorfor skrive om sex nå lenger?
Er det noen poeng?

Hvorfor se på porno, kinofilmer, tv eller reklamefilmer nå lenger?
Er det noen poeng?

Hvorfor kle seg ut på utfordrende måter lenger?
Er det noen poeng?

Joda, en gang i blant kommer man inn i “sonen” …
Og da — akkurat da — blir det et stort poeng.

adamtwitter1

coño … maricon …
which expletive deleted
turns you on the most?

tell me …
I need to know.

I will taunt you with it
until you shut me up,
and relinquish your unbridled
sex upon me — uncontrollably.

I am not really a “nasty pig” …
I am just a little naughty;
and perhaps very horny
… for you …
right here, and now.


¡hazlo, maricon! ¡hazlo bien!

urban flora uf023

Mon beau mec:

Je veux vous rendre enceint.
Je sais que c’est impossible,
mais quel plaisir d’essayer …
encore et encore.

image

Monsieur,

Je ne peux vous promettre
que je serai capable
de garder mes mains, ma bouche
ni aucun membre,
ni le reste de mon corps
hors de votre portée –
quand nous nous rencontrerons
enfin à nouveau …
après toutes ces années;
après ces années de rêve,
où j’ai revécu, fantasmé
des moments qui auraient pu être …
Nous n’avons jamais vraiment été seuls
l’un envers l’autre, sauf dans
ces rêves et ces fantasmes.
Je vous ai fait mien tant de fois;
dans la perfection et l’imperfection.
Je ne peux éteindre le feu, l’attraction,
la fascination de la séduction, en dépit de
la fatalité que cela ne puisse être.
Je n’ai cure que vous ayez une relation
avec quelque autre partenaire,
épouse, mari, cocu … que ce soit.
Je sais que mon inextinguible, inassouvie,
passion pour l’aventure d’un moment ensemble
avec vous, peut être un moment éternel,
sans commencement ni fin.
Il y a tellement de choses à dire,
tant de façons de faire l’amour,
tant de silence partagé, à savourer …
et mes roses affamées de soleil
cette envie d’être fécondé par votre sperme.
Je brûle de redécouvrir le lagon bleu
voguant sur ma lente chaloupe,
pénétrant votre grotte majestueuse
avec cette fougue, cette envie irrésisitible
qui est pure poésie de la chair.

Vous savez bien à qui j’adresse cette supplique.

A vous, bien entendu …

(English version)

You know who I am writing to, Sir …
Yeah – to you.

I cannot promise you
that I will be capable
of keeping my hands, mouth
and other limbs and appendages
off of you – when we finally again meet …
after all of these years;
after years of dreaming, reliving and exaggerating
moments that could have been …
in other circumstances.
We have never really been alone
unto ourselves, except in my
dreams and fantasies.
I have had you so many times;
in perfection and imperfect perfection.
I cannot extinguish the fire, the attraction,
the fascination of seduction in spite of
the possible fatality of ultimate attainment.
I no longer care if you have a relationship
with another partner, wife, husband, cuckold …
I only know my ever-burning – yet unfulfilled —
passion for a moment’s adventure together
with you; perhaps an eternal moment,
without beginning or ending.
There is so much to talk about, so many
ways to make love, so much shared silence
to savor … and my sun-hungry roses
crave fertilization by your semen.
And I – I hope to rediscover the blue lagoon
in my quiet rowboat, penetrating your
majestic grottos with the utmost painterly
and poetic indiscretion.

You know who I am writing to …
Yeah – to you.

pecs2

Du må ikke ta feil …
Jeg trener ikke på grunn av narsisisstiske årsaker.
Mine store brystmuskler er ingen
penisforlengelse.
De er puter –
et trygt sted for deg å hvile,
en gang i blant;
inni mellom kyss,
knulling og
brystvorte-tygging.
Kos deg kjære.
Kos deg …

(English version)

Do not be mistaken …
I do not exercise for narcissistic reasons.
My large chest muscles are no
penis extension.
They are pillows –
a safe place for you to rest,
once in a while;
in between kisses,
fucking and
nipple-chewing.
Enjoy yourself, my dear.
Enjoy …

adam002

¡Fuerza!
El amor.
¡Fuerza!
El sexo.
¡Fuerza!
Las mentiras.
Y tal vez te encuentre
en mis sueños errantes.

(French version)

Vive
l’amour !
Vive
le sexe !
Vive
le mensonge !
Peut-être t’ai-je rencontré
dans l’errance de mes rêves.

adam ninja

ciel couvert, couleur crème
épais comme le yaourt,
qui me rappelle
toi … et moi …
et aussi …
tu sais quoi …

(English version)

creamy overcast skies,
thick as yoghurt,
remind me of
you … and me …
and …
well, you know …

So sweet
are your suggested promises.
My stranger.
My unobtainable
moment of passion.
You coax me;
you cast me aside.
We can only have each other
in our leap-frog dreams:
both out-of-sync and yet
totally — oh so totally …
in syncopation.
The relentless fantasy is more
than the sum of reality’s
individual parts.
I see you everywhere;
in the gait of strangers …
in my memories.
Beginning from the
waist down …
easing toward the toes
and then quickly
darting upwards
to a fleeting and
indiscriminate
photographic flash
of your insignificant face.
My stranger.
My passion.
My stranger …
So sweet.

(French version)

Si douces
sont tes promesses suggérées.
Mon étranger.
Mon inaccessible
moment de passion.
Tu me cajoles ;
tu me rejettes.
Nous ne pouvons
nous posséder
que dans des rêves fugitifs :
tous deux si différents
si totalement autres
et pourtant …
si merveilleusement
en harmonie.
L’implacable fantasme
est plus que la somme
des parts de réalité.
Je te vois partout ;
dans les pas des étrangers …
dans mes souvenirs.
Glissant depuis la taille,
lentement, jusqu’aux orteils
puis, avec la violence d’un éclair
l’on remonte, tout en haut,
pour ensuite
découvrir ton visage
insignifiant.
Mon étranger.
Ma passion.
Mon étranger …
Si doux.

 

i hear it all the time:
‘how much do you bench? …
what is your IQ? …
what is your annual salary? …
how many celebrities have you known in your lifetime? …
how many books have you published? …
are you really “bi”, or a half-closeted faggot? …
how big is your dick? …’

enough bullshit already!
let’s wrestle it down …
winner takes it all.

simply put:
you lose … you get fucked.

Snapshot_20130111_2

Insinuations lubriques murmurées
dans l’espace enfumé des bars
qui excitent les gonades
et font croire à des promesses
mots doux et traîtres à la fois.
Les effluves de corps en sueur
se mêlent aux parfums
des Grands Magasins
comme l’eau et l’huile,
le cuir et la soie –
éléments hétéroclites,
qui s’attirent cependant
comme par magnétisme.
Eh oui …
j’aime cette manière que tu as
de mentir en prenant des poses,
en attachant mes poignets et mon sexe ;
en me forçant à m’agenouiller ;
exigence d’une totale soumission.
Dans cet air étouffant, nous entamons
le ballet sensuel des flirts anonymes,
tu détournes ton regard ;
je plonge le mien dans mon cocktail,
tu commences alors à scruter,
lentement, mon torse et ma taille.
J’acquiesce en souriant, et toi
tu t’éloignes, car j’ai enfreint
les règles du jeu,
trop pressé de remplacer
mes fantasmes par la réalité,
invitant par là le danger.
Tu me regardes mais feins l’indifférence
et je m’en vais avec quelqu’un d’autre
deux heures plus tard.
Moi, épuisé,
la tête fourmillant d’images lubriques,
j’investis, écoeuré et rageur,
les entrailles d’un quidam.

adam-in-tub

Je veux un amant, un vrai …
et je le veux maintenant.
Comme Arthur Rimbaud … ou Jean Genet.
Non pas comme ces mauviettes
qui ont parsemé ma jeunesse :
l’oncle qui m’avait convaincu que j’étais
une ‘tapette’, un ‘gogo bizarre’,
avant que je n’apprenne
ce qu’était la baise ;
et cet enfoiré qui m’a violé
dans la maison de sa mère — m’obligeant
à tenir ma langue de peur qu’elle ne se réveille
et appelle la police … pour me coffrer, ou pire.
Ou bien encore cette ‘folle’ sadomaso qui
possédait tout un attirail de jouets sexuels
et de godes en caoutchouc,
mais qui se fâcha lorsque je me mis à rire
parce qu’elle ne pouvait plus bander … normalement.
Je veux un amant, un vrai ;
qui puisse me sucer et m’enculer
et me prendre comme un ‘homme’.
Je veux un amant, un vrai … qui soit
tout ce qu’il dit être ; et qui s’en ficherait
que l’on apprenne qu’il aime un autre homme.
Je veux un amant, un vrai …
Comme Arthur Rimbaud … ou Jean Genet.
Et je le veux maintenant.

 

Las reglas más importantes
Con respecto a la vida
Nos fueron reveladas unos momentos
Antes del amanecer en
Una de las grandes avenidas
Que siempre están en discordia
Con la logica de las cosas útiles:
El vino joven ..
El sexo promiscuo ..
Las compras compulsivas
Y quizás .. el ir a la iglesia
En un día de trabajo.
Nos reconocemos en los
Sueños vivos capturados en
Las pinturas de Goya y El Bosco.

Y allí, bailamos nuestro último tango;
Lenta ..
Y religiosamente ….
Y huimos de la memoria exacta
A la sombra de nuestras
Últimas
Indiscreciones.

 

our dance is ritual;
a senseless obsession
between two moths
playing with fire.
no chains, no whips.
just bondage … and the
ever-sweet consequence of
a sabre’s cutting edge.

(French version)

notre danse est un rituel ;
une obsession insensée
entre deux papillons de nuit
jouant avec le feu.
ni chaînes, ni fouet.
juste une attache …
et les douces conséquences
de la lame tranchante d’un sabre.

vigeland statue

the man of my dreams:
sweaty, reeking of hormones,
sex-adventurous.

Summer heat

yeah …
i do have a soft side;
quiet moments
where i do not need
to get lost in your eyes
or your man-cunt …
prolonged seconds
where neither of us
needs to speak,
or choose intelligent
comments or
witticisms …
or struggle with
English or French
grammar and vocabulary.

yeah …
i do like to cuddle
sometimes …
or just hold hands
as we stare off
at the fjord, the sea,
the city street grid,
or into the woods.
those moments
are precious.
at those times
we live freely,
without promise
of commitment
to anything more
than that particular
moment itself.

yeah …

just — yeah …

terrace3

désir.
nous qui enfreignons les limites
de la vie, de la santé
devons embrasser l’amour
et la passion
avec un esprit … révolutionnaire.

Luscious and sexy, No. 1

C’est bizarre !
This sudden
proclamation of lust —
quite out of nowhere.

C’est bizarre !
Pour moi aussi.

C’est bizarre !
But I am enjoying the ride …
sans jugement ou crainte.

C’est bizarre !
et si délicieux !

lookingouttosea

ahhhh !
la sensibilité française …
it’s not so very different from mine.
passion is but a game of chess —
of seduction, deceit and conquest.

i chase you until you conquer me!
ahhhh !

oui — ahhhh !

image

summer infatuations
are much like
roller-coaster rides:
up and down,
back and forth,
hot and cold,
with, perhaps,
butterfly kisses
hoping to become
baboonish rapes …
but most of all,
i cherish
our moments apart.
it is then that
my dreams
become
unceasing fantasies
and obsessions;
colliding
with dripping sweat
and anticipation.

image

i am zoning out …
your incessant,
nervous babbling
is making
my eyes glaze over.
i just want to
slap you,
then shake you
and say:
“shut up, and
kiss me — Fool!”
but i merely
fake a smile
and feign interest
in your idle jabbering …
while fingering
my package
from inside my
pants pocket.

image

i am allergic
to all your perfumes,
except the natural one
you keep attempting
to cover up.
i love it when
you start to
break out
into a sweat.
your hormones
scent the jungle
for miles around.
and i feverishly
swing from tree to tree,
in hot pursuit.

marina1

relax, my secret sex partner.
i have not crossed the line …
i have not fallen in love with you.
please, do not be so vain
as to mistake my passion
and my fantasies about you
to be anything other than
a nagging and insatiable
craving for the unachievable.
of course,
i know that you are
nothing like how i
have created you to be
in my mind.
and thus, my body —
ever blind to reality —
quite consciously
exploits loving rawness
with the perfect shadow
that precedes you the most:
like when you throw me
a quick glance when you
think i am not looking,
or when you nervously
laugh when i give
you a compliment that
we both know is exaggerated
and calculated to throw
you off your guard.
i make love to you often
in our shadows, but our
everyday parlance
consists largely of
strained flirtations
and rather wet dreams.
truly, it could never be
more perfect than this.

clouds-over-oslo-7

do not promise to
be with me forever.
and do not tell me that
our love will last an eternity.
rather, meet me fully —
in this moment —
and dance with me …
dance with me.

magickalgarden7

my arabian lover was “hot to trot”.
his alleged wife and kids
were no hindrance to our passion,
and neither was the fact that
he came from an affluent saudi family.
but religion dictated
that he must keep his eyes closed
while performing fellatio,
as seeing another man’s genitals
is considered “impure”.

go figure …

toalett på kampen nr. 2-2

so —
you thought you got my goat
when you and your cronies
shouted ‘sale pédé’ when
i looked in your direction
the day before yesterday?
ha! well —
i am not only a ‘sale pédé’,
but also a ‘nasty pig’ …
that’s right —
trash — looking for trash.
i picked up your scent
and you acknowledged mine.
our ‘gaydar’ works perfectly …
don’t you think?!!
now —
about the next time we meet:
leave your cheerleaders behind,
and be ready to assume the position.

my name?
‘ master’ or ‘sir’ will suffice …

 

and …
i am almost immune to your
whimpering and squealing.
it is background music …

and …
i continue to fuck you
quite hard —
all the while, rather oblivious
to your screams, contortions and gasps.
when your hysteria reaches a certain point
i stuff my jock strap into your mouth and
intensify my pillage of your quivering asshole.

and …
you beg for more, and more.
deeper, and harder.
at that moment,
i know that i am in love …
at least in this very instant.

and …
as your barricades tighten
one last time
before final surrender
i join in with
a haunting orgasmic
scream of my own.

then, shortly …
there is no more ‘and’;
only silence,
sweat,
and sperm —
everywhere.

cocktails

today,
i want to ply you with
chilled chardonnay,
norwegian strawberries,
melon with prosciutto,
chèvre,
blue cheese on crackers,
swiss chocolates, and
chartreuse.
i won’t have any myself.
i am content to watch you eat,
and listen to your small talk.
but most of all,
i will savour the drunkenness
i experience drowning in
your eyes, and in the overstuffed
pillows of your perfect lips.
though your lips beg to be
ravaged and violated,
in such moments as these,
a work of art
which is that exquisite
should only be admired
from a short distance.

rose

chut !
ne parlez pas.
Écoutez les sons
de nos orgasmes –
qui se dissipent.

quiet !
ne bougez pas.
Sentez-vous les flots
de sueur
sur nos corps ?

quelle magie !
quel délice !
Et maintenant,
peut-on se parler
franchement ?

s’il te plaît,
ne m’abandonne pas.
Embrasse-moi.
Et nous prolongeons ce moment …
à l’infini.

JISEI: a new poetry book by Adam Donaldson Powell.

DECEMBER 1st IS WORLD AIDS DAY.


辞世

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JISEI

DEATH POEMS AND DAILY REFLECTIONS
BY A PERSON WITH AIDS

By Adam Donaldson Powell

First edition published by Cyberwit.net, India, ISBN 978-81-8253-403-2, 2013.

My new book “JISEI” is now available for orders at CYBERWIT and AMAZON.COM

Paperback: 245 pages
Publisher: Cyberwit.net (May 2, 2013)
Languages: English, French, Spanish, Norwegian, Japanese, Russian, Filipino
ISBN-10: 8182534038
ISBN-13: 978-8182534032

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COMMENTS ABOUT “JISEI” FROM AUTHORS AROUND THE WORLD:

J. Richard “Rick” Davis (USA):

This book of poetry, is more than just a collection of poems, on life, death, and AIDS. It is a guidebook for anyone struggling with the meaning of it all – whether it’s AIDS, or cancer or any travail that is causing one to question the meaning and purpose of why we’re on this planet.

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Albert Russo (FRANCE):

Qui est Adam Donaldson Powell? Ce poète rare qui parle de la beauté, de l’amour, de l’amitié, comme l’homme découvrant le monde à l’aube de l’humanité. Avec angélisme, direz-vous? Aucunement, il en parle avec la poésie du philosophe et du mystique. Il traite la maladie et la mort, non comme des ennemies, mais comme des connaissances, avec sérénité, presque avec sympathie, il va même jusqu’à causer avec elles comme l’on cause avec des passagers lors d’un voyage. Il se mets même à blaguer avec ces trublions, sachant qu’au bout du compte, il retrouvera la dernière.

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Maria Cristina Azcona (ARGENTINA):

Adam es el esclavo líbero, el que rompió las cadenas y nos golpea con su martillo de oro las nuestras, incluso aquellas que volvemos a crear a cada momento, enfermos pero de la cabeza mientras él, enfermo del cuerpo está cada vez mejor de la lucidez mental, cada vez más cuerdo y descarnado. Su poesía es cada vez más aleteo y menos cuerpo, más alma y menos carne, más verdad y más arte hasta que llegará el momento ese sublime en que el hombre se hará poema, para siempre, en nuestra mente que ahora, tarde, podrá ver en el interior de su alma.

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Lisbet Norderhaug (NORWAY):

I disse vidunderlige, dype og mørke diktene kan vi synke inn i oss selv og la oss treffe av lyset som gjennomstråler mørket. Adam har satt ord på den gjenkjennelige fortvilelsen over å måtte forlate livet, men han beskriver også gløden som skinner til oss fra den andre siden. Han har hevet, ja, transformert, historien om ett menneskes dødsprosess til en sang for oss alle.

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EXCERPT FROM BOOK INTRODUCTION:

AIDS has changed the world in more ways than we may possibly know. We will never fully comprehend the impact of losing so many people taken by this disease. Their contributions could have altered the face of humanity, the world of art and literature, the rearing of future leaders, the impact on communities, and the hearts of countless individuals. And this is all looking at the impact of AIDS in a broad perspective. It is a disease that, regardless of our own personal admissions, affects us all. However, behind the public fray of communal loss, social change and medical advances, lies the experience of the individual who must still awaken each day with the acknowledgment that they carry inside of them an evident ticking time bomb. No different from the rest of us who live with our own mortality, but distinct in that their clock has a name. That name is AIDS.

— Christina Landles-Cobb (USA)

COMMENT BY THE AUTHOR:
My first public performance of my poetry in New York City was at a trendy art gallery in the SoHo district, back in 1986. The place was packed, wall-to-wall, and the audience was enthusiastic. I was reading from my soon-to-be-published first book of poems, entitled “Notes of a Madman” which was an illustrated collection of mystical poetry from Pagan and Sufi traditions. The gallery owner, an enigmatic young man, was particularly obsessed with the poems and spiritual messages in the slender volume of verse, and he read the book over and over again. Some months after the reading I again called the gallery to say “hello” and another young man answered the phone, saying in a somber voice: “Didn’t you know? He passed away shortly after your reading.” He had died of AIDS.

That beautiful young man hung onto my verse in a time of deep personal transformation. I have never forgotten the awe and sense of responsibility I felt after that telephone conversation. Since then, I have always written and painted with the intent of inspiring creativity and transformation in humanity. And now that I have — myself — lived with the AIDS virus for twenty years it feels appropriate to inspire once again through writing about one of the greatest transformations Mankind can ever know. It does not matter what we die of … every Soul and Life Expression is precious, and to be celebrated.

I die (and I am reborn) just a little bit each day of my life. Should any given moment be my last, then my epitaph will surely be the sum of all my thoughts, poems and tears of joy and sorrow … from day to day, over the course of eternity. Perhaps just one of these short daily poems will touch upon a few readers and lend a bit of realization of the magic that each of us creates in our personal and collective transformations.

– Adam Donaldson Powell

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A FEW EXCERPTS FROM THE BOOK:

i am but a liar,
my Lover.
i promise to stay,
but you know i
will often forsake You.
i swear to friends and family
that i will bid them “farewell”,
but i will steal my way back to you
in silence, My Beloved …
like a thief in the night.

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une chaude journée d’été à marseille,
sans souci …
oh là là là là là là !
il a remarqué mon regard
il a l’air en colère
il vient vers moi
il demande une cigarette
nous allons à mon hôtel
il me quitte une heure plus tard, satisfait
le lendemain, je le remarque dans la rue à nouveau
et il a toujours l’air en colère

pour certains,
une vie avec le sida est une vie gâchée
ils n’ont rien à apprendre,
et rien à contester …
et ils ont surtout engendré la haine
envers le monde et envers eux-mêmes

… ouah, quel beau mec !
oh là là là là là là !

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Pienso en tí …
y muero
lentamente
en mis sueños.

Pienso en tí …
y ahora
lo único que queda
es la música,
unas palabras perdidas
y … quizás
una que otra lágrima
errante …

Pienso en tí …
la lluvia oculta
la arrogante apatía,
el retórico insoportable.
La apología
sin rostro
de los que piden perdón.

Despierto y descubro
lágrimas
que baten
ventanas con grietas
y sueños quebrados …

De súbito …
no puedo llorar más;
la lluvia ha parado.
Bajo el cielo desnudo
la vieja pintura se descolora.

Y yo pienso aún en tí …
hasta olvidar
el silencio que ya existía

antes de la muerte de mi amor.

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Ingen solnedgang for meg, takk.
Jeg vil reise til sjøs i vakre flammer …
midt på formiddagen.

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ANETTE TRETTEBERGSTUEN (Norwegian Labour Party Parliament Member) ON “JISEI”: “Break the sound barrier with art”, by Anette Trettebergstuen (Norway)

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Azsacra Zarathustra comments on Adam Donaldson Powell’s poetry book entitled “JISEI”

jiseilarge

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Adam Donaldson Powell