ptak nakręcacz – the wind up bird
Jade Staircase Lament
Night long on the jade staircase, white
dew appears, soaks through gauze stockings.
She lets down crystalline blinds, gazes out
through jewel lacework at the autumn moon.
Li Bai
translated by David Hinton
À une passante
La rue assourdissante autour de moi hurlait.
Longue, mince, en grand deuil, douleur majestueuse,
Une femme passa, d’une main fastueuse
Soulevant, balançant le feston et l’ourlet;
Agile et noble, avec sa jambe de statue.
Moi, je buvais, crispé comme un extravagant,
Dans son oeil, ciel livide où germe l’ouragan,
La douceur qui fascine et le plaisir qui tue.
Un éclair… puis la nuit! — Fugitive beauté
Dont le regard m’a fait soudainement renaître,
Ne te verrai-je plus que dans l’éternité?
Ailleurs, bien loin d’ici! trop tard! jamais peut-être!
Car j’ignore où tu fuis, tu ne sais où je vais,
Ô toi que j’eusse aimée, ô toi qui le savais!
— Charles Baudelaire
Józef Skwierawski
collage
pamięci Andrzeja Pietscha
cmentarna zima
kamiennych pionów
bielonych gzymsów
zastygłych rytmów
uładzonej przestrzeni
ostatecznej
powietrznymi bezdrożami
błądzą śnieżynki
w świecie wolnym
od przymusu grawitacji
i kanonów kompozycji
starą czarnobiałą akwafortę
czas dopełnił barwami
opalizuje bezgłośny
niespokojny wiatrem
płomień
biblijna postać
początku i końca
we fiolecie kosmicznych mgławic
jest też
jasna zieleń jemioły
przetkanej białym kwiatem
cisza nieodwołalności
*****
z doskonałych form
Twojej krzywej ziemi
z grani i wierchów
stawów i kotłów
sobie tylko znanymi zboczami
ciekami, depresjami
zszedłeś w dolinę traw
zakończony cykl podróży
*****
w patio
w lednickiej winorośli
trzepocą sikorki
na halach Gorcowego
cienka warstwa zimy
jak srebrna poświata
wstającego miesiąca
mgły ciągną stokami Bieniowej
gnieżdżą się w koronach świerków
za sinymi basztami Bielskich
i wąwozami Koperszadów
zimna ściana Kieżmarskiego
w kłębach cynowych chmur
pomieszanie żywiołów ze światłem
niby-bytów z niby-kształtem
żywy archetyp piękna
Kraków, grudzień 2010
…
love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places
yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds
e.e. cummings
Unspoken words we scatter on the wind become poetry. Every poet wants to be heard. Most want to be heard by an audience of one. When they fail, they publish and get an audience of many. S.K.
Words
Axes
After whose stroke the wood rings,
And the echoes!
Echoes traveling
Off from the center like horses.
The sap
Wells like tears, like the
Water striving
To re-establish its mirror
Over the rock
That drops and turns,
A white skull,
Eaten by weedy greens.
Years later I
Encounter them on the road—-
Words dry and riderless,
The indefatigable hoof-taps.
While
From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars
Govern a life.
Sylvia Plath
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see Thee face to face
When I have crossed the bar
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
The Falling of the Leaves
Autumn is over the long leaves that love us,
And over the mice in the barley sheaves;
Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,
And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.
The hour of the waning of love has beset us,
And weary and worn are our sad souls now;
Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,
With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.
William Butler Yeats
The Sick Rose
O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.
William Blake
. . . . . .
Chora róża
Różo, tyś chora:
Czerw niewidoczny,
Niesiony nocą
Przez wicher mroczny,
Znalazł łoże w szczęśliwym
Szkarłacie twego serca
I ciemną, potajemną
Miłością cię uśmierca.
tłumaczył Stanisław Barańczak
love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail
it’s most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea
love is more always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less litter than forgive
it’s most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky
e.e.c.
An Afternoon
As he writes, without looking at the sea,
he feels the tip of his pen begin to tremble.
The tide is going out across the shingle.
But it isn’t that. No,
it’s because at that moment she chooses
to walk into the room without any clothes on.
Drowsy, not even sure where she is
for a moment. She waves the hair from her forehead.
Sits on the toilet with her eyes closed,
head down. Legs sprawled. He sees her
through the doorway. Maybe
she’s remembering what happened that morning.
For after a time, she opens one eye and looks at him.
And sweetly smiles.
Raymond Carver
Strings in the earth
Strings in the earth and air
Make music sweet;
Strings by the river where
The willows meet.
There’s music along the river
For Love wanders there,
Pale flowers on his mantle,
Dark leaves on his hair.All softly playing,
With head to the music bent,
And fingers straying
Upon an instrument.
Make music sweet;
Strings by the river where
The willows meet.
There’s music along the river
For Love wanders there,
Pale flowers on his mantle,
Dark leaves on his hair.All softly playing,
With head to the music bent,
And fingers straying
Upon an instrument.
James Joyce
Tie your heart at night to mine
Tie your heart at night to mine, love,
and both will defeat the darkness
like twin drums beating in the forest
against the heavy wall of wet leaves.
Night crossing: black coal of dream
that cuts the thread of earthly orbs
with the punctuality of a headlong train
that pulls cold stone and shadow endlessly.
Love, because of it, tie me to a purer movement,
to the grip on life that beats in your breast,
with the wings of a submerged swan,
So that our dream might reply
to the sky’s questioning stars
with one key, one door closed to shadow.
Pablo Neruda
