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Posts tagged ‘poem’

In the forest (painting by Hans Emmenegger, 1933)
Invictus poem by William Ernest Henley
Irina Biatturi - Bagnanti (Bathers), 2021
Всё будет так же после нас.
А нас не будет.
Когда нам жизнь сполна воздаст,
У мира не убудет.
По небу скатится звезда
Слезой горючей.
? не останется следа.
Обычный случай.
Я вроде смерти не боюсь,
Хотя нелепо
Порвать загадочный союз
Земли и неба.
Пусть даже ниточкой одной,
Едва заметной,
Став одинокой тишиной
Над рощей летней.
Негромкой песней у огня,
Слезою поздней…
Но так же было до меня.
? будет после.
? всё ж расстаться нелегко
Со всем, что было.
? с тем,
Что радостно влекло
? что постыло.
Но кто-то выйдет в первый раз
Вновь на дорогу.
? листья сбросит старый вяз
У наших окон.
Всё будет так же после нас.
? слава богу.
______________________________
А.Дементьев

All will go on when we are gone.
No mark will linger.
When life has paid what we were drawn,
The world won’t hinder.
A star will fall across the sky
With glowing sorrow.
And no trace left of you or I.
Just like tomorrow.
I guess I’m not afraid to die,
Though odd to sever
That bond between the earth and sky—
A link forever.
Though it’s a thread so faint and light,
Almost unspoken,
To vanish as the silent night
Above the oaks in.
A quiet song beside the flame,
A tear, late falling…
But things were just the same before,
And they’ll keep calling.
Yet saying goodbye still feels hard,
To what delighted,
To all that called with joy or scarred,
All unrequited.
Someone will step out once again
To paths renewing.
The old elm will shed leaves in vain
By windows blooming.
And all will go on when we’re gone.
And that’s a blessing.

———————–
A. Dement’ev
Translation of Chat GPT
Isabel Miramontes is a Spanish-born Belgian sculptor, renowned for her unique and disproportionate bronze sculptures of the human figure. Seaside 2017

Fog filled the morning sky, gray-haired this morning,
Snowy the saddened fields, many times trodden.
Though you resent, feel your past, unreturning:
Faces you shall recall, long since forgotten.

You shall recall the talks, long, full of passion,
Glances, so eager, so shy and so subtile.
First date and last date, and lovely confessions,
Sounds of a quiet voice, sweetheart’s, for some time.

You shall recall breaking up, smiling oddly,
You shall recall lots of things, dear and distant,
Thoughtfully stare at the sky that hangs broadly,
Hearing the buzz of wheels, soft, yet persistent.

Translated by Dmitry Belyanin, 2017


It's so sweet at home to cling
To the brightest, deepest thoughts,
Sense abstracted joys life brought
When you've got some food and drink.

May the folks below tread somewhere
In a hurry, lots of them:
Faceless weekdays, once again.
Folks swarm fast from dawn till sunset.

How I lurve to view this grandness
From my window, glance below.
Corner boots wait till I go.
I'll obey my lot with gladness.

Overtopping for a moment,
I abandon fuss and crowds:
Hours and days to plan my routes,
I reap heaps from this postponement.

I may be too weak or grumpy,
Need relaxing, whacked by swerves.
I'll atone misdeeds to nerves:
Roads I walked on, wild and bumpy.

May I pause and seize the day,
Spend grand time within four walls?
Here, my childhood I'll recall,
Being a needle in the hay.

Then I'll tread steep rocks with speed,
Leave my yard, won't ask for permits,
Not a monk and not a hermit,
Just a tired man on the street.

Dmitriy Belyanin, 2022

Do not stand
By my grave, and weep.
I am not there,
I do not sleep—
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning’s hush,
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
Do not stand
By my grave, and cry—
I am not there,
I did not die.

Clare Harner, The Gypsy, December 1934

Rovina Cai




Simple symbols seize new space
On the monitor of mine.
A new phase of life I face.
Seas of words surround my mind:
Lots of letters, dark as coal,
Small like atoms, on a page,
Small are steps towards a goal.
It will take another age
To create a tale of sense;
And the tail of my past,
Which once made my life too tense,
Having passed, is light at last.
Days of writing lost their looks -
Bits of sands, and now a lens
I must use to read my book,
Since the writing is too dense,
Since my weary eyes are weak,
Like my memories of youth,
Others’ help I have to seek
Just to magnify the truth
Of the days I’ve spent in writing
When my health still held aloof:
When my mind still was mighty,
I could climb any roof.

Dmitry Belyanin, 2015

I’ll dump specs of dust from my house:
My chaos shall cater a mouse.
I’ll sweep sour vexation from sight
To sleep with relief when it's night.

I’d lost trucks of childhood days,
Swift seconds, wee diamonds, a haze
Of happiness visiting me,
In place, torment came, seized some glee.

Lost dark, hollow zones from my brain:
I made my life plain, leaving pain.
Wouldn’t see when I’d lose, when I’d win,
But I’d clasp my fragrant tailwind.

Left battles, and clashes, and friendships, and foes,
And can new years bring next sweet rhymes or dry prose?
Once sunlight dictates nights a pause,
For stars I seek, sensing a loss.
.
While I seem from some sides a loser,
To fusses may I tie strings looser.

© Dmitriy Belyanin, 2020

You’re the owner of a jagged heart
Anything you touch gets hurt
You scowl at everything in the world.
If you can’t say it, hold my hand tight and don’t let go
I want you to know that you’re not alone anymore
No one realizes
The weird one is me
I’ll hold your shaking hand
Everything’s okay
If you’re sad, cry until you have no tears left to cry
Because I hope that in the end, you’ll be able to smile without fail

https://nareku.tumblr.com

lord she’s gone done left me done packed / up and split
and i with no way to make her
come back and everywhere the world is bare
bright bone white crystal sand glistens
dope death dead dying and jiving drove
her away made her take her laughter and her smiles
and her softness and her midnight sighs—

fuck coltrane and music and clouds drifting in the sky
fuck the sea and trees and the sky and birds
and alligators and all the animals that roam the earth
fuck marx and mao fuck fidel and nkrumah and
democracy and communism fuck smack and pot
and red ripe tomatoes fuck joseph fuck mary fuck
god jesus and all the disciples fuck fanon nixon
and malcolm fuck the revolution fuck freedom fuck
the whole muthafucking thing

all i want now is my woman back
so my soul can sing

Etheridge Knight