February 24, 2024 1:22 am

POETRY

AGAINST TIME: Poetry, by Louis Untermeyer

AGAINTS TIME The event stands clear of history. Originality is not in ranks of trees, but in this tree; and every fruit is the first fruit, shapely and absolute. Events afe individuaI as pain. This dar, this trouble, fingering rain, has never been. Beauty comes clean, in the cock’s rusty vowels or in sky-searching towers, that lift themselves light as …

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THE TARGET FOR THE FLOWER OF A TREE: Poetry, by Mila Haugová

THE TARGET FOR THE FLOWER OF A TREE The anguish of the objects set aside – the first sketch alone does not cover the neglect – yet you are entire, the variable surfaces of objects close – the anatomy of the periphery: the skeleton of a leaf and is immersed in afloat deceived by the depth – I do not …

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THE SHEET: Poetry, by Štefan Strážay

THE SHEET Love, whenever whiten the soul like a room. It overlaps the previous one on the other, on the light blue away, with tiny flowers arrive poppy field, then the light yellow with roses. And somewhere, in a corner all peels off. Petals as you browse the layers of paint, and if I tried to scratch with a fingernail, …

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WITH ALTERNATE KEY: Poetry, by Paul Celan

WITH ALTERNATE KEY With alternate key, you schiudi the house where the snow whirls of things left unsaid. Depending on the blood that oozes from eye, mouth and ear, varying your key. Vary your key, you change the word which is granted twirl slap. Depending on the wind that pushes you away, it coagulates around the word, the snow. (Paul …

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THE DISAPPEARED: Poetry, by Hans Magnus Enzensberger

THE DISAPPEARED The disappeared as the earth swallowed them up, was the air? As the shores of the sea innumerable; however, lay not in the arena, but in anything, ranks forgotten. And often hand to hand, as the minutes of us closer together, but no memory, not registered, not decipherable in the dust but disappeared, their names, the spoons, the …

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CHERRIES: Poetry, by Günter Grass

CHERRIES When love on stilts, teases the gravel paths, and up to the trees arrive, I’d love to recognize I cherries as cherries, not shorter arms, using stairs which always missing some peg, live cascaticcia fruit, stewed fruit . Sweet and sweeter, almost black; blackbirds make dreams so red. Who gives kisses and who, when the love on stilts, to …

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RAGS: Poetry, by Eugeniusz Tkaczyszyn-Dycki

RAGS Well, in another reality, it hurts my mother alone. At first they were harmless superficial injuries, but after a few days they festered, so she had more and more need of sheets, to bandage wounds. Soon, all the house-which did not exist in any form – it was filled with dirty rags, even under my pillow. I have learned …

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AT DUSK: Poetry, by Tomasz Gluziński

AT DUSK How to cope with landscape, paint everything as it comes, with willows cloud grass that withers, and the rosy jelly blood. How then to capture a beautiful landscape, sheaves of rye, the panic of the birds, the pale blue sky of September, and the cloud of dust from under the baseboard, the swarms of flies, their bright green, …

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PERSPECTIVE FROM TWO POINTS: Poetry, by Wislawa Szymborska

PERSPECTIVE FROM TWO POINTS Have crossed as strangers, without a word or a gesture, she directed to the store, he to his car. Perhaps you lost, or distracted, or forgetful that he had, for a brief moment, cherished forever. Besides, no guarantee that they would. Yes, perhaps, from a distance, but up close anything at all. I saw them from …

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BACK OFTEN AND TAKE ME: Poetry, by Konstantinos Kavafis

BACK OFTEN AND TAKE ME     Return often and take me. Back and get me, or feel loved, if the memory of the body awakens, and the old pang passes into the blood, then the lips and skin from rising, and yet it seems that the hands touch. Return often and take me at night, then the lips and …

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