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:
- Myself by Robert Creeley
- Robert Burns: A Man’s A Man For A’ That:
- Leaves A-Vallèn by William Barnes
- Robert Burns: On The Death Of Robert Dundas, Esq., Of Arniston,: Late Lord President of the Court of Session.
- Владимир Британишский – Итальянское путешествие
- Владимир Маяковский – Первомайское поздравление
- Шекспир – Проснись, любовь – Сонет 56
- Remembering An Account Executive
- Вероника Тушнова – Я стою у открытой двери
- The Human Tragedy ACT II poem – Alfred Austin
- Lines to a Gentleman who sent a Newspaper by Robert Burns
- Lover’s Gifts XIX: It Is Written in the Book by Rabindranath Tagore
- Станислав Востоков – Не умею
- Валерий Брюсов – Фламандцам
- Ольга Берггольц – Возвращение
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
- Apollo And The Graces poem – John Keats poems
- Answer To A Sonnet By J.H.Reynolds poem – John Keats poems
- An Extempore poem – John Keats poems
- Acrostic : Georgiana Augusta Keats poem – John Keats poems
- A Song About Myself poem – John Keats poems
- A Prophecy: To George Keats In America poem – John Keats poems
- A Party Of Lovers poem – John Keats poems
- A Galloway Song poem – John Keats poems
- A Dream, After Reading Dante’s Episode Of Paolo And Francesca poem – John Keats poems
- A Draught Of Sunshine poem – John Keats poems
- Written On The Day That Mr Leigh Hunt Left Prison poem – John Keats poems
- Written On A Summer Evening poem – John Keats poems
- Written On A Blank Space At The End Of Chaucer’s Tale Of The Flowre And The Lefe poem – John Keats poems
- Written Before Re-Reading King Lear poem – John Keats poems
- Why Did I Laugh Tonight? No Voice Will Tell poem – John Keats poems
- Where’s the Poet? poem – John Keats poems
- Where Be Ye Going, You Devon Maid? poem – John Keats poems
- When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be poem – John Keats poems
- To The Nile poem – John Keats poems
- To Solitude poem – John Keats poems
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.