Four Poems by Vera Palvlova(translated by Steven Seymour)   Leave a comment


I think that it will be winter when he comes.

From the unbearable whiteness of the road

a dot will emerge, so black that eyes will blur,

and it will be approaching for a long, ling time,

making his absence commensurate with his coming

and for a long, long time it will remain a dot.

A speck of dust? A burning in the eye? And snow,

there will be nothing else but snow,

and for a long, long while there will be nothing,

and he will pull away the snowy curtain,

he will acquire size and three dimensions,

he will keep coming closer, closer…

This is the limit, He cannot get closer. But he keeps approaching,

now too vast to measure…

If there is something to desire,

there will be something to regret,

If there is something to regret,

there will be something to recall.

If there is something to recall,

there was nothing to regret.

If there was nothing to regret,

there was nothing to desire.

Let us touch each other

while we still have hands,

palms, forearms, elbows…

Let us love each other for misery,

torture each other, torment,

disfigure, maim,

to remember better,

to part with less pain.

We are rich; we have nothing to lose.

We are old: we have nowhere to rush.

We shall fluff the pillows of the past,

poke the embers of the day to come,

talk about what means the most,

as the indolent daylight fades.

We shall lay to rest our undying dead:

I shall bury you, you will bury me.

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Posted August 15, 2010 by strongjacksonpoet54 in Mary's Favorite Poets

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