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:
- The Lost Friend poem – Amy Levy poems | Poems and Poetry
- On Australian Hills
- The Upas Tree poem – Alexander Pushkin
- Валерий Брюсов – К большой медведице
- Because by Sara Teasdale
- Владимир Маяковский – Нападали белогвардейцы на Донецкий бассейн… (РОСТА №611)
- Валерий Брюсов – И снова дрожат они, грезы бессильные
- The Wicked Postman by Rabindranath Tagore
- Rosslyn To The Prime Minister by Graham Rowlands
- Как Лера чудо искала
- Sonnet 32: If thou survive my well-contented day by William Shakespeare
- On An Old Woman (From The Greek) by William Cowper
- Amy Margaret’s Five Year Old by William Allingham
- Вера Павлова – Покамест я всем детям тётя
- A Patch of Old Snow by Robert Frost
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
- Владимир Высоцкий – Сколько павших бойцов полегло вдоль дорог
- Владимир Высоцкий – Сколько чудес за туманами кроется
- Владимир Высоцкий – Сказка о несчастных сказочных персонажах
- Владимир Высоцкий – Сивка-Бурка
- Владимир Высоцкий – Штормит весь вечер, и, пока
- Владимир Высоцкий – Звезды
- Владимир Высоцкий – Знать бы все до конца бы и сразу б
- Владимир Высоцкий – Жизни после смерти нет
- Владимир Высоцкий – Живёт на свете человек
- Владимир Высоцкий – Жил-был человек, который очень много видел
- Владимир Высоцкий – Жан, Жак, Гийом, Густав нормальные французы
- Владимир Высоцкий – Здравствуй, “Юность”
- Владимир Высоцкий – Здесь сидел ты, Валет
- Владимир Высоцкий – Заживайте, раны мои
- Владимир Высоцкий – Зарисовка о Ленинграде
- Владимир Высоцкий – Заповедник
- Владимир Высоцкий – Запись в книге почётных гостей ВНИИФТРИ
- Владимир Высоцкий – Запись в книге почётных гостей Киевского завода шампанских вин
- Владимир Высоцкий – Заказал я два коктейля
- Владимир Высоцкий – За окном только вьюга, смотри
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.