If one rainy night you find yourself
leaving a phone booth, and you meet a man
with a lavender umbrella, resist
your desire to follow him, to seek
shelter from the night in his solace.
Later, don’t fall victim to the Hypnotist’s
narcotic of clarity, which proves
a curare for the heart; her salve
is merely a bandage, under which memories
pulse. Resist the taste for something still
alive for your first meal; resist the craving
for the touch of a hand from your past.
We live some memories,
and some memories are planted. There’s
only so much space for the truth
and the fabrications to spread out
in one’s mind. When there’s no more
space, we grow desperate. You’ll ask
if practicing love for years in your mind,
prepares you for the moment,
if practicing to defend one’s life
is the same as living? You’ll
hole up, captive, in a hotel room
for fifteen years and learn to find
a man within you, which will prove
a painful introduction to the trance
into which you were born. Better
to stay under the spell of your guilt,
than to forget; you’ve already released
your pain onto the world; don’t believe
there’s some joy in forgetting.
There’s no joy in the struggle to forget.
And what appears as an endless verdant field,
only spreads across a building’s rooftop;
your peaceful sleep could be a fetal position,
which secures you in a suitcase in this field.
A bell rings, and you fall out of this luggage
like clothes you no longer fit. Now what to do?
You remember when you were the man
who fit those clothes, but you’ve forgotten this
world. Even forgotten scenes from your life,
leave shadows of the memory,
haunting your spirit
until, within a moment’s glance,
strangers passing you on the street,
observe history in your eyes. Experience
lingers through acts of forgetting,
small acts of love or trauma
falling from the same place. Whether
memory comes in the form of a stone
or a grain of sand, they both sink in water.
A tongue—even if it were, say, sworn
to secrecy; or if it were cut from one’s mouth;
yes, even without a mouth to envelop
its truth—the tongue continues to confess.
A few random poems:
- Как Лера чудо искала
- Brooklyn Narcissus by Paul Blackburn
- Владимир Маяковский – Рабочий! Глупость беспартийную выкинь!.. (РОСТА)
- Hysteria by T. S. Eliot
- To a Steam Roller by Marianne Moore
- Farewell and adieu… by Rudyard Kipling
- Andrew Lang – Andrew Lang Poems
- The Bowling-Green by William Somervile
- Ode to Poetry by Walter William Safar
- Владимир Высоцкий – Тот, кто раньше с нею был
- Presentiment poem – Ambrose Bierce poems | Poems and Poetry
- Wild Dark Love Song by Sharmagne Leland-St. John
- Dream-Forest by Siegfried Sassoon
- Orlando Furioso Canto 3 by Ludovico Ariosto
- Madonna poem – Alfred Austin
External links
Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus
Talking Writing Monster’s Page –
Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh
Poems in English
- Ольга Седакова – Баллада
- Ольга Седакова – Азаровка
- Ольга Седакова – Ангел Реймса
- Ольга Седакова – Актеон
- Ольга Повещенко – Фотограф смотрит в объектив
- Ольга Ермолаева – За Волгой, ударившись озем
- Ольга Ермолаева – Я так же, как ты, от стыда опускаю ресницы
- Ольга Ермолаева – Всю эту печаль невозможно вместить целиком
- Ольга Ермолаева – Вот сойдешь с ума и станешь Юрия
- Ольга Ермолаева – В кирзовых сапогах скользить по горной глине
- Ольга Ермолаева – Ты где летал, мой падающий с Фанских гор
- Ольга Ермолаева – Симферопольский скорый
- Ольга Ермолаева – Псевдоготика для русских романтических сердец
- Ольга Ермолаева – Просила тебя у мертвой и выпросила у мертвой
- Ольга Ермолаева – Напиши мне стишок
- Ольга Ермолаева – На каблуках-то и то к голове удалой
- Ольга Ермолаева – Мир неприбран, подозрителен
- Ольга Ермолаева – Когда распрямлюсь, озирая работу мою
- Ольга Ермолаева – Герасим Грачевник
- Ольга Ермолаева – Этот позорный ужас
More external links (open in a new tab):
Doska or the Board – write anything
Search engines:
Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)
Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.
Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees
Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.
Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.
Parallel Translations of Poetry
The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works
A. Van Jordan, born 1965 in Akron, Ohio, USA, is a contemporary American poet and the author of four important collections: Rise, which won the PEN/Oakland Josephine Miles Award (Tia Chucha Press, 2001); M-A-C-N-O-L-I-A, (2005), which was listed as one the Best Books of 2005 by the London Times; Quantum Lyrics, (W.W. Norton, 2007); and The Cineaste (W.W. Norton,, 2013). Jordan has been awarded a Whiting Writers Award, an Anisfield-Wolf Book Award, and a Pushcart Prize.