Additional Books

More titles, mostly consigned.

Pick-up still strictly on Tuesday, October 11, 2pm Dunkin Donuts, Katipunan.

Thanks!

---------------

1. Morning Poems: Robert Bly – P350
2. An ABC of Witchcraft: Doreen Valiente – P500
3. Poetry, An Introduction: John Strachan – P250
4. Dreamcatcher (HB): Stephen King – P350
5. Where Water Comes Together With Other Water (Poems): Raymond Carver – P350
6. Alipato (Tula/HB): Benilda Santos – P200
7. A Makeshift Sun (Prose and Poems): Gemino Abad – P200
8. Ginseng and Other Tales From Manila (Stories): Marianne Villanueva – P150
9. Buenavista Ventures (Prose and Poetry): Alfrredo Navarro Salanga – P250
10. Love is A Dog From Hell (Poems): Charles Bukowski – P600
11. Movies in the Mind (How to Build A Short Story): Colleen Rae – P400
12. Characters and Viewpoint (Elements of Fiction Writing): Orson Scott Card – P400
13. A Normal Life and Other Stories: Reine Arcache Melvin – P150
14. The Walk (Stories): Joy Dayrit – P200
15. On the Road: Jack Kerouac -- P250

Books 26

New titles, mostly consigned. Some of the books from the previous list
still available, listed below the new list.

Unahan na lang sa comments box ha. Don't text me anymore.
Whoever "orders" first via the comment box gets the book(s).

Pick-up is STRICTLY on Tuesday, October 11, 2pm, Dunkin Katipunan

---------------------

1. Tales of the Unexpected (Stories): Roald Dahl - P400
2. Stranger Shores (Literary Essays): J.M. Coetzee - P500
3. Death and Fame: Last Poems 93-97: Allen Ginsberg - P500
4. Desolation Angels: Jack Kerouac -- P400
5. Midnight's Children: Salman Rushdie - P350
6. News of a Kidnapping (HB) -- Gabriel Garcia Marquez: P500
7. The First Man: Albert Camus - P400
8. The Penguin Historical Atlas of Ancient Rome (Full Color)-- P400
9. Hamlet: Poem Unlimited -- Harold Bloom - P350
10. Evenings and Avenues (Poetry) -- Stuart Duschell - P200
11. Battlestar Galactica* (HB 1978/For Collectors) -- Glen Larson - P800
12. Letters to a Young Poet (1963 Edition) -- Rainier Ma Rilke -- P400
13. How to Draw Anything -- Mark Linley -- P350
14. *Counterfeit Realities (HB/Consigned) Philip K. Dick -- P2,500
15. Welcome to the Monkey House (Stories) -- Kurt Vonnegut --P400
16. *Rare: Episodes of the Revolutionary War -- Che Guevara -- P500
17. Werewolves in Their Youth (Stories) -- Michael Chabon -- P300
18. The House on Mango Street -- Sandra Cisneros -- P250
19. Perido Street Station: China Mieville (Pocketbook/Rare) -- P300
20. Where the Sidewalk Ends (HB) -- Shel Silverstein -- P400
21. *Signed! Men and Cartoons (HB/Stories) -- Jonathan Lethem -- P3,000
22. The Uses of Enchantment-- Bruno Bettelheim -- P250
23. The Martian Chronicles (HB) -- Ray Bradbury -- P500
24. A Brief History of Time -- Stephen Hawking -- P250
25. *The Scar (HB/1st Edition) -- China Mieville -- P3,000
26. My Invented Country (HB) -- Isabel Allende -- P400

-------------
Still available, from previous list, some marked down:

1. Bare Bones: Conversations on Terror with Stephen King -- P400.00
2. Supernatural Horror in Literature by H.P. Lovecraft--P350.00
3. A Galaxy Not So Far Away: Writers/Artists on Star Wars' 25 years (including essays by
Jonathan Lethem, Kevin Smith) -- P450.00
4. Sophie's World: Jostein Gaarder -- P250.00
5. Great Apes: Will Self (HB/SIGNED) -- P800.00
6. Kurt Cobain's Journals (Rare/Oversized) -- P350.00
7. Milan Kundera: Immortality -- P350.00
8. Naguib Mahfouz: The Beggar (Nobel Prize Winner)-- P200.00
9. Michael Moorcock: King of the City (HB) -- P200.00
10. Civilization and its Discontents: Sigmund Freud -- P150.00
11. The Tesseract: Alex Garland (HB/Manila/must-read) -- P450.00
12. Best American Poetry 1996 (Edited by Adrienne Rich) -- P250.00

Allan D 'Man (Melts in Your Mouth, Not in Your Hand)

From The Philippine Star Column Kriptokin:

"Ang galing nitong si Allan. As-tig!" --
Krip Yuson




Congratulations, bayaw/hipag Allan Pastrana for bagging the Maningning Miclat Poetry Award in the English Division. Congratulations na rin kay Joseph Saguid (Filipino Division) at kina E.J. Galang, Ayer Arguelles, Cathy Candano, at Sonny Sendon (honorable Mention).

Here's a poem from Allan's award-winning collection, Before Talkies:

Rib

As far as I know,
the legend happened in a split-second.
God wanted to come out clean, fleeing
the marked spot like a curious riddle. So the first man
was put to sleep: the first real get-away, instant
and painless. Whenever we reach that part of the story
where the rib juts out from his side, you wonder
if it is merely bone. But then you start to believe
it is also keepsake, fine heirloom – a loneliness
finally coming out like a splinter.

Do you get the whole picture? No,
this is neither Michelangelo nor the 1500s; none
of that smoothness in stepping out of a body,
that light walled in and stucco-perfect. These
are difficult times and what we imagine
we have created (out of loam, bamboo splitting in two,
the primordial being) is pure coincidence.

We are always caught in the middle of something, various
emergencies. You only have to name things
to be able to claim them. An event of eyes and hands, meeting,
means that the pedestrian crossing the street
is mine. Also this stranger beside me, rapt in a motel room
at three in the morning, the head resting on my arm, more
like an enjambment than a complete and irreversible thought.
Do you know what the Paradise stands for? It is hunger,
hunger and the pit, deep end of something else
that is a spacious cavity – that which keeps track
and, ever after, holds. Someone eventually
has to step into the clearing; the found other still
as a portrait, as if startled by a wild animal.
The rest of us just clamber up our beds because patience
does not wait on anybody. It is simply stubbornness,
slow yet seeks to get even. It so happened:

Beneath that thick hide of the plot, we came across
the last of the fruit-bearing trees. And we stood there
gaping, the way we wanted to take in everything –
whole lives, this bright field, stars. This
is the only kind of pardon we may have deserved,
to keep the indentions of the natural world inside us
without regret: and that one bite, finally,
that offers no explanation but,
this time around, foolish and alone, we’ll fall in love.

Calling All Young Poets of the Philippines Writing in English

This call for manuscripts came from KuwabataKen:

The editors of a forthcoming anthology would like to request your participation. The book will serve as a peek into and a celebration of the future of Philippine Poetry in English. Dr. Cirilo Bautista will be editing the project with the assistance of Ken T. Ishikawa.

If you are 35 years old and below, a Filipino, and a writer of Poetry in English please send five of your best representative work to newphilippinepoetry@gmail.com. Young poets who have not yet published any books are highly encouraged to send their works.

Please send each of your poems in a single file; don't put all five in one. Don't forget to include short biographical information with a scanned 1x1 photo as your profile will appear in the list of contributors. The deadline will be on November 15, 2005.

Honorarium will come in the form of a contributor's copy. Authors of accepted works will be receiving a reply in their mail.

Feel free to send us your comments and suggestions. We are looking forward to your poems.

The Editors

ANG KaBAYAWan: Isang Paglilinaw

Mga prends, bago ang lahat...

News Flash!!! Forces of Evil/Bayaw/Las Chupacabras!

Bumili naman kayo ng Manila Bulletin ngayon (Sabado, October 1). An article by Karl De Mesa about our name-morphing band came out in the I section.

Wasak!

----------------------------------


Speaking of which, I was at the UP Press Mega Launch yesterday and Neil Garcia told me he got a text that posits something to the effect that I've started an exclusive Anti-Gay movement for Filipino male writers called "Bayaw".

Hala. Kala ko nagbibiro lang s'ya pero apparently, may kung sino d'yan na 'di nakakaintindi sa ibig sabihin ng BAYAW. Para magkalinawan at 'di kumalat ang mga maling akala, heto ang mga basic tenets ng pagiging isang bayaw.

1. Unang-una, ang salitang "bayaw" ay nagsimula sa pagpansin ng barkada (minsan, sa isang mahaba-haang inuman sa '70s Bistro, kasama si Easy at Carljoe) sa mga tipikal na lalaking pinoy na laging nakatambay sa kanto at umiinom ng bilog. 'Yun bang mga laging nakasandong puti na na nakalilis para ibandera ang mga bundat at Latigo 50-deprived na tiyan? "Yung mga nakaupo sa tabing kalsada at minsan may tato pa ng agila sa dibdib? May kaha ng sigarilyo sa nakaipit na parang shoulder pad sa loob ng sando? O kaya'y naka pulseras na itim (na kung tawagin sa amin sa probinsiya'y Black Sabbath) ? 'Yung mga nagsesenti sa bidyoke pag tumugtog na ang "My Way" at "Father and Son?"

Sila ang tinutukoy dito. At kadalasan ay MAGBABAYAW sila.

Para kasing hindi bagay na tawagin silang Jologs dahil matatanda na sila at 'di naman sila fashion-challenged. Buong-buo nga loob nila sa kanilang prinsipyo at pananamit.

BAYAW is not a derogatory term. Isang magandang halimbawa ay ang aking Tatay. Noong araw, laging 'yung nakatambay sa tabi ng haywey sa baryo namin sa Silang. Nakalilis ang damit. Barkada ang mga konduktor ng bus. Nagyoyosi ng Hope at Champion.

Nitong nakaraang huwebes lang, bumisita sa akin sa Miriam. May dala-dalang isang kaing na rambutan. 'Nung makita ko, may nakasukbit na shorpet sa baywang, naka Le Tigre na polo shirt, at biglang tropa na sila ng sikyo. Kesyo nakapunta na raw sa aming baryo 'yung sikyo nga at kilala daw si Mang Indeng na taga-bayan.

Pa'no ba nagagawa 'yung ganoong pakikisama? Bigla na lang magkaibigan na sila ni manong guard. At eto na nga ang mas nakakatuwang kahulugan ng katagang Bayaw, na:

2. Literal man, KAPATID NG ASAWA MO ang bayaw mo o asawa ng kapatid mo. Mahalagang ipasok ito sa konsepto ng samahan o pagkakaibigan. Sa mga barkada ngayon, bayaw ang tawagan namin dahil naging simbolo na ito ng malalim na samahan--na para ngang may respeto na higit pa sa simpleng barkadahan, dahil nga "bayaw" mo. Kapag babaeng kaibigan, hipag naman ang tawag. Ganun ang respetuhan.

3. AT dahil nga may nalalabuan, walang anything against homosexuals ang bayaw. Kahit mukhang nakakahon sa pangkalalakihan ang bayaw, hindi ito politikal na salita laban sa ibang gender. SUS, WAG N'YO SERYOSOHIN. 'DI NAKA-DEXTROSE ANG SALITANG BAYAW.

Makitid na pag-iisip 'yan. Marami akong kaibigang bading at alam nilang tongue-in-cheek lang ang kabayawan. Kung baga, kung hipag ang tawag, eh di hipag. Kung bayaw, bayaw. Ang punto eh, paghanga at pagkakaibigan ang pinapahalagahan ng konseptong BAYAW.

4. To sum it up, the term is meant to be IRONIC when it comes to Filipino machismo. It pokes fun at the sensibilities and culture of the stereotyped Filipino male.

Walang panggagaya dito. Pagpansin lang at pagbibigay ng bagong kahulugan sa mga

BAYAW!!!

Save as Draft

Or write as poem. The whole point is often
what we miss out on. To revise is to reconsider
the experience of, say, a leaf -- never mind
that it is not green anymore. Or, pardon the sudden
evening. The transition was nice enough;
the explosive colors of dusk. And, didn’t you feel
so much sadness? I cannot explain it any better
than how I could when the outlines were still there:
trees and some wonderful new shapes.
Since then, things have changed. A pale hand
moves in the darkness. And someone is calling out,
come to bed, come to bed. And it is just you.
The evening insists on evening. It is that simple.
It is late enough as it is.

And D' BAYAW Song Line for the Month of October is...

"That was just my style"

from The Search is Over
by Survivor

No Lame Excuses For This One

Local Building Accessible To Only The Strongest Of The Handicapped

From TheOnion.Com

Wrestling Announcer Can't Believe What He's Seeing!

This is the funniest shit I've come across in a long time.
You guys got the joke?

NEW BOOKS (SEPT 19-23)

Hey bibliophiles:

New titles! All books in VG condition, unless otherwise stated.

Email me back ASAP or text me thru 0927-9952977 re: the ones you like.

Unahan 'to. Pick up on FRIDAY, September 23, 1 pm, Dunkin Donuts, Katipunan.


Joel

-------------------
1. For Writers Only: Essays on Writing by Sophy Burnham (recommended) -- P300.00
2. The Quantity Theory of Insanity (Stories) by Will Self --P450.00
3. Bare Bones: Conversations on Terror with Stephen King -- P500.00
4. Chronicles of Bustos Domecq by Jorge Luis Borges (hard to find) -- P500.00
5. Sometimes the Magic Works by Terry Brooks (HB/On Writing Fantasy) -- P600.00
6. Supernatural Horror in Literature by H.P. Lovecraft--P400.00
7. Scar of Sweet Paradise: The Life and Times of Janis Joplin -- P450.00
8. Supermen: Tales of the Posthuman Future (Hard to Find SF Anthology) -- P500.00
9. Dragonology: The Complete Book of Dragons (HB/Full Color/RARE) by Eric Drake -- P1,000.00
10. A Galaxy Not So Far Away: Writers/Artists on Star Wars' 25 years (including essays by Lethem, Kevin Smith) -- P500.00
11. The Alphabet Vs the Goddess: Conflict Between Word & Image (recommended) -- P500.00
12. Sophie's World: Jostein Gaarder -- P250.00
13. Great Apes: Will Self (HB/SIGNED) -- P1,000.00
14. Kurt Cobain's Journals (Rare/Oversized) -- P400.00
15. Milan Kundera: Immortality -- P400.00
16. Voice From the Underworld: Maningning Miclat (HB) -- P350.00
17. Salvaged Poems: Emmanuel Lacaba -- P300.00
18. Beauty From the Ashes: Remembering Maningning -- P350.00
19. Albert Camus: Lyrical and Critical Essays -- P250.00
20. Haruki Murakami: Dance Dance Dance (Used Copy) -- P300.00
21. The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat: Oliver Sacks -- P350.00
22. The Thurber Album: A Collection of Pieces About People: James Thurber -- P20.00
23. William S. Burroughs: The Cat Inside -- P100.00
24. Truman Capote: In Cold Blood (HB/No Dustjacket)-- P250.00
25. Paul Auster: Oracle Night (HB/Recommended)-- P250.00
26. Naguib Mahfouz: The Beggar (Nobel Prize Winner)-- P200.00
27. Michael Moorcock: King of the City (HB) -- P200.00
28. Civilization and its Discontents: Sigmund Freud -- P200.00
29. The Tesseract: Alex Garland (HB/Manila/must-read) -- P500.00
30. Ted Berrigan: Selected Poems -- P200.00
31. Sapphire: American Dreams (Poems) -- P200.00
32. Isaac Bashevis Singer: Gimpel the Fool -- P200.00
33. Best American Poetry 1996 (Edited by Adrienne Rich) -- P300.00
34. T.S. Eliot: The Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats (Illustrations by Edward Gorey/Hart to Find) -- P300.00
35. T.S. Eliot: Selected POems -- P300.00
36. Sisters of the Earth: Women's Prose and Poetry About Nature (Edited by Lorraine Anderson) -- P350.00
37. Conjunctions 35 Special Issue on Current Trends in American POetry (Highly Recommended) -- P500.00
38. Master of MIddle Earth: Essays on The Fictions of Tolkien -- P300.00
39. Miguel de Cervantes: Don Quixote -- P200.00
40. Jack Kerouac: The Dharma Bums -- P350.00

Smashing!

You are "Stand Inside Your Love" from the
album "Machina--the Machines of God."


What The Heck Does Ahit Pusit Mean?
brought to you by Quizilla

Y Tu Loco Cabron, Chupa Tambien

The Only Thing We Have To Fear Is The Chupacabra



By Vicente Fox
President of Mexico
September 7, 2005

Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to serve as president of the great nation of Mexico. For nearly 200 years, our people have withstood the onslaughts of man and nature. We have withstood attack from without and attack from within. We have withstood the wars of faith, and the creeping despair of faith's absence. We have faced famine, pestilence, and poverty, and time and time again, we have succeeded, for running in our blood is the hearty stock of our Mayan and Aztec ancestors. My fellow Mexicanos, we can stand certain in the belief that we shall prevail over the trials of today. Except insofar as the Chupacabra is concerned.

Forty-seven million of our citizens are poor, with 17 million unable to afford the basic essentials of day-to-day existence. Sadly, these facts are familiar to us not only as statistics, but as real people: our mothers, our fathers, our children, and our cousins. We have climbed far since the peso crashed 10 years ago, but we must unite if we are to climb further. And as we are climbing, we must constantly look over our shoulders for the forked tongue and scaly, spiny hide of the Chupacabra.

People of Mexico, our cities have fallen under siege by thieves and murderers, but we stand together against lawlessness. The criminals and the gangs will not win! The Chupacabra, on the other hand, might. For, although hardened criminals cannot hop over trees to attack their prey, rumor has it the Chupacabra can.

Barricade yourselves in your homes and hope that this abominable creature gorges itself only on our livestock, and does not need to slake its thirst for blood on our children and our elderly. Yes, I'm afraid such a possibility is very real.

We are acting forcefully to break the grip that drug cartels have over this country, finding the supplies at their source and eradicating them. We have dispatched the army to fight the drug gangs that have run rampant in Nuevo Laredo. You can go to sleep secure in the knowledge that Mexico is working harder than ever to stop these gangsters from poisoning our children. Or, you could, were it not for the penetrating, red-eyed gaze of the goat-sucking Chupacabra.

We cannot know for sure whether the Chupacapra is an outer-space alien or some kind of feral dog-lizard hybrid. All we can know is that it should strike terror into the hearts of every man, woman, and child in Mexico. This is the only sensible response.

We have overcome the corruption in our government-housing program, and we have increased the number of homes owned by Mexico's workers, but there is more work to be done. Many of our citizens still live in tin shacks with dirt floors, vermin-infested walls, and no basic plumbing. For those who live in such conditions, I warn you: The Chupacabra will make quick work of such flimsy shelter. Then, he is likely to devour you.

The Chupacabra may be lurking among us this very minute. Even if all of Mexico pulls together and keeps a fearful eye out for this loathsome beast, it is unlikely that we will evade its deadly pounce.

Wait—did you hear something? Perhaps not. But perhaps ... Run! Run now! Run home and cower in your beds, and pray that the Chupacabra will not rip out your throat!

--------------

from TheOnion.com

Zoophilia

kumain tayo ng tae!

After the Sunset

NEVER AGAIN THE SAME

Speaking of sunsets,
last night's was shocking.
I mean, sunsets aren't supposed to frighten you, are they?
Well, this one was terrifying.
Sure, it was beautiful, but far too beautiful.
It wasn't natural.
One climax followed another and then another
until your knees went weak
and you couldn't breathe.
The colors were definitely not of this world,
peaches dripping opium,
pandemonium of tangerines,
inferno of irises,
Plutonian emeralds,
all swirling and churning, swabbing,
like it was playing with us,
like we were nothing,
as if our whole lives were a preparation for this,
this for which nothing could have prepared us
and for which we could not have been less prepared.
The mockery of it all stung us bitterly.
And when it was finally over
we whimpered and cried and howled.
And then the streetlights came on as always
and we looked into one another's eyes--
ancient caves with still pools
and those little transparent fish
who have never seen even one ray of light.
And the calm that returned to us
was not even our own.

--James Tate

*at para kay bayaw Carljoe, isang tula mula sa Pulitzer Prize-winning book for 2005:

A Happy Birthday

This evening, I sat by an open window
and read till the light was gone and the book
was no more than a part of the darkness.
I could easily have switched on a lamp,
but I wanted to ride this day down into night,
to sit alone and smooth the unreadable page
with the pale gray ghost of my hand.

--Ted Kooser
Delights and Shadows

The Zoo

The recurring theme, the implicit message,
is to stay the same. Elsewhere,
the important creatures struggle to let go
of all they have experienced: the tried-on afternoons,
old clothes. They would welcome the strangeness
of, perhaps, a Cassowary: some bird
extinct in their minds for they have not seen it.

A girl stands in front of a rusty cage.
Nothing moves inside. The floor is unclean.
A large python is curled up dead or sleeping
in a corner. A piece of wood is nailed
recklessly above the cage, stating
the scientific name of the animal inside.
But this doesn’t matter: the girl cannot see

past the vertical grids. And she cannot read.
She is four years old and simply confused
by the color of rust and the smell.
Her mother is pointing at the snake. The girl’s
eyes follow her mother’s fingers. She begins sucking
on her thumb. Meanwhile, her father
is making weird noises, flailing his hands.

Her parents lead her to the aviary. The birds
make her happy. She screams with delight.
So many colors, so much grace.
Then they visit the gorillas. The frenzied jumping
and swinging frighten the girl. She throws a fit.
She pulls at her hair and her pink dress. So that
the visit to the zoo has to end early.

They head on home, the cars outside unmoving,
reticulating throughout the city. The girl is sucking
on her thumb. Her parents are making wild noises,
their hands swinging dangerously.
In bed, late that evening, the girl would wake
with a start, with some unbearable pain,
the beginning of a sadness that she’ll keep

all her life. The birds alone will comfort her,
the possibility of flight. Elsewhere,
the recurring theme, the implicit message,
is to stay the same.

Tama na yan, Inuman Na!

Dear benevolent bayaws,

10pm onwards mamya sa Tribu (kung saan dating may nabaril). Nagsara na Xavier Grille dahil naputulan daw ng kuryente. Tsk-tsk.

Birthday celebration din ni Carljoe. Please be there.

Dun sa mga di ko na na-text, pasensiya na, basta sulpot na lang kayo. Naka unlimited text lang ako sa globe. la na talaga ako load.

Kitakits.

Lovingly yours,

ramblingbayaw

Let's Do the Bertdey Blog!

Happy Brithday, Blog! Isang taon ka na! Taba mo na! Teka, may kanin ka sa pisngi! May burnik ka sa ipin! O, pubic hairful ha? Baka muthafucka!

Hehe. Yahhhhhh!!! Isang taon ng kabayawan! Rakenrol!

Stark Trek

NEXT GENERATIONS

1

But, on "Star Trek," we _aren't_ the Borg,

the aggressive conglomerate,

each member part humanoid, part

machine, bent on assimilating

foreign cultures. In fact,

we destroy their ship,

night after night,

in preparation for sleep.


2

We sense something's wrong

when our ideal selves

look like contract players.

The captain plays what's left

of believable authority

as a Shakespearean actor.

The rest are there to show surprise

each time

the invading cube appears —

until any response seems stupid.

But we forgive them.

We've made camp

in the glitch.


Rae Armantrout
Up to Speed
Wesleyan University Press

This Morning

To see things as they are is hard,
But leaving them alone is harder;
Snow in patches in the yard,
The vacuum in the sky, and in the soul
The movements of temptation and refusal.
I felt a day break. Nothing happened.
The windows gave upon a street
Where cars drove by as usual to the faint,
Unearthly measures of a music
Whose evasions struggled to conceal a
Disappointment all the deeper that the
Hope was for a thing I knew to be unreal.
I can't do it yet. Perhaps no one can do it yet.
The unconstructed gaze is still a fiction
Of the heart, a hope that hides
The boring truth of life within the limits
Of the real, a life whose only heaven
Is the surface of a slowly turning globe.
Yet still I want to think I woke one day to —
To what? The crystal trees, an earthly silence
And the white, unbroken snow of a first morning?

John Koethe
The Kenyon Review
New Series, Volume XXVI Number 4
Fall 2004

FOR A SIXTH FORM READER

Don't read odes, my boy, read the timetables:
they are more exact. Unroll the seacharts
before it's too late. Be on your guard, don't sing.
The day will come when they'll hammer lists
on the door again and mark with special signs
all who say no. Learn to go unrecognized,
learn more than I ever did: to change
your domicile, passport, face. Become
adept at petty treacheries and the everyday
dirty get-out. Encyclicals
are good to light the fire with,
manifestos: to wrap the butter in and salt
for those who cannot defend themselves. Rage
and patience are needed
to blow into the lungs of power
the lethal dust
finely ground by those who have learned a lot
and are exact, like you.


Hans Magnus Enzensberger
Translated from the German by David Constantine
Poetry London
Number 47
Spring 2004