Слободкина Ольга
Exclusive Publishing Series by Olga Slobodkina-von Brömssen Part One

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  • © Copyright Слободкина Ольга (olga_slobodkina@mail.ru)
  • Размещен: 17/06/2024, изменен: 02/07/2024. 40k. Статистика.
  • Сборник стихов: Поэзия

  •   EXCLUSIVE PUBLISHING SERIES
      
      by Olga Slobodkina-von Brömssen
      
      Part I
      
      
      1.
      
      From the book "On my own"
      
      
      A moment of peace...
       A white church,
      a wooden well,
       green grass
       some fruit trees
      and the setting Sun...
      
      Thank you, Lord!
      
      
      
      August 10, 2018
      
      
      2.
      
      From the book "On my own"
      
      
      And suddenly all's in the past
       and only the piano melody
       played by a girl
      makes
       the unique
       and unrepeated moment
       of my soul
      and of the present...
      
      Is there any future?
      
      
      July 5, 2006
      
      
       ***
      
      
      
      3.
      
      From the book "Life of the sky"
      
      
      The Sun has set,
       leaving behind
       a pillar of fire -
       a trace in the sky,
       a reminder
      of its stay on the Earth,
       like an obelisk
       of memory.
      
      
       The night will erase this too -
       our efforts,
       doubts,
       our torments...
      
      
       All, all will be gone...
       This will be gone too
       in the reminiscence
       of Eternity...
      
      
      
       June 13, 1999
      
      
       ***
      
      4.
      
      From the book "Life of the sky"
      
      
      And the White Sun grew orange
       as I walked through the archers
       of the boulevard...
      
      The trees, whose names I don't know,
       carried their lace, almost imponderable fragile leaves
       as if on their palms - to the Sky,
       immitating the design of refined Japanese graphics...
      
      
      I've seen this already
       as well as these people
       on the impressionists' canvases
       and here -
       twenty years ago.
      
      I've taken to dilapidated
       old buildings...
      
      
      I must be growing old...
      
      
      
      Spring 1999
      
      
      5. Zig-Zag poetry. Inspired by Roberts Blossom
      
      
      When
       I
      read
       "The Rockefellers"
      by
       Roberts
      Blossom
       I
      thought
       that I
      do not
       understand
      a lot
       of what
      I'd love to
       understand
      and
       the End
      is looming...
      
      
      I
       have not
      received
       a lot
      of what
       I wanted
      to receive
       and
      on the eve
       of Easter
      I can only whisper:
       "GOD"!
      
      I
      will not
       remember
      you,
       myself,
      my mother
       in other
      lives...
       Time
      like
       a piece of
      amber
       will make us
      bugs
       in the transparent
      Paradise.
      
      
      March 16, 1989
      
      
       ***
      
      6.
      
      From the book "Contemplations"
      
      
      A moment of beauty -
       the sparkling Sun
       on the rippled waters
       through
       the unusually
       elongated leaves
       of the unusually
       round trees.
      
      Another year has passed -
       a year of temptations,
       frustrations,
       success,
       betrayals,
       traveling,
       work
       and disease...
      
      There has been
       so much of everything,
       but I don't seem
       to have become
       a more perfect me.
      
      I think,
       everything
       has happened
       already.
      
      But that is not true.
      
      There will be more temptations,
       more frustrations,
       more success,
       more betrayals
       more traveling,
       work
       and disease.
      
      Plus horrors
       of the old age.
      
      And I don't seem
       to have the energy
       to become
       a more perfect me.
      
      But that is not true.
      
      
      
      
      Sept. 19, 2006
      
      
       ***
      7.
      
      From the book "My Dreams"
      
      
      I liked that moment...
       I woke up,
      but stayed in bed
       trying to steady
      my disturb`ed mind
       with prayers...
      
      I suddenly was trown into the past,
       into that little girl
      lying in bed with her angina...
      
       My mom was in the room...
      She walked across,
       said something in a quiet voice...
      With granny in the kitchen...
      
      And all our men
       were with us
      and alive -
       my granddad and my father...
      
      I liked it -
       the spirit of our home
      and atmosphere of the 1960s...
      
      
      Jan. 11, 2024
      
       ***
      
      
      8.
      
      From the book "My Wishes"
      
      
      I want beauty ...
      Beauty of the snow-covered woods.
      Beauty of the rising suns.
      Beauty of the frozen lakes.
      
      I want beauty ...
      Beauty of infinite eyes.
      Beauty of feelings.
      Beauty of love.
      
      I want beauty ...
      Beauty of silence.
      Beauty of prayers.
      Beauty of the burning honey candles.
      
      I want beauty ...
      Beauty of the Spirit.
      Beauty of the Earth.
      
      
      Jan. 2017
      
      
       ***
      
      9.
      
      From the book "Mutability"
      
      
      The lilacs still in blossom,
       promise to stay for ever in this world...
      However,
       for ever is the change,
      the change alone...
       And if our dear who have left this life
       could come right back
       they wouldn't know
      what they can do here,
       neither would you...
      
      But at the end of May
       the gorgeous lilacs,
      still in blossom,
       promise to stay for ever in this world
       breaking the law of mutability
      that Shelly spoke about:
       "Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow;
      Nought may endure but Mutability."*
      
      
      May 22, 2024
      __________________________________________________
      *Mutability ["We are as clouds that veil the midnight moon"] BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
      
      
      
      10.
      
      
      From my "Koktebel Diary 1998"
      
      
      
      Oh, don't I know how a little girl feels
       when she enters the sea -
       let her Gardian Angel be with her -
       or the thoughts of a tree
       or a flight of a bird!
      
       Yes, I know all these things,
       yes, I know.
      
       But I tend to forget what I knew
       when I was a small girl -
       didn't she enter the sea
       with a marvelous heavenly feeling
       given only to her
       by the All-Mighty Lord
       and enjoyed by her Gardian-Angel...
      
      
      
      
      May 9, 1998
      
      
       ***
      
      11.
      
      
      From the book "My Dreams"
      
      
      A few painless moments
       before I wake up...
      I'm in granny's flat.
       She says,
      she has
       the key
      to a Se-
      cret
       Garden.
       It's in her clo-
      set.
       There is a little girl
       staying with us...
      - For ever? - ask I.
      - Ay.
      Some young spies
       are listening and recording
      behind
       the window
       with their device.
      I shoo them away
       and see their way -
      sliding down the ropes.
       Nine metres high!
       The third floor!
      Our appartment home
       was built by the German prisoners of war...
      When the roar
       of a plane
       brings me back to my pain,
      but I fall asleep again.
       I'm at the dacha
      picking up some precious crockery
       from the cupboard in my room
      to take it home
       from
      1978,
       the year the house was torn
      down...
      
      I wake up at last -
       I was happy
       during these moments...
      Then - the painful comeback to reality...
       One more day...
      Let us pray...
      
      P.S. I want my Eternity
       to be a blissful sleep
       without pain or guilt
      and... without me...
      
      
      Feb. 22, 2024
      
      
      
      
       ***
      12.
      
      And yet
       there are some quiet moments...
      when the sea
       is ebbing,
       ebbing,
       ebbing
       and the sky
       is weaker
      in its lightest blue
       dissolving gently
      in the outer space...
      
      
      The sands are stretching
       while the bamboo tents
       start drawing
       round shadows
       on the earth.
      
      The Sun is tired
       and is not so hard..
      
      
      The island if Tiran
       grows pink,
       its tail is thinning
       in its strive to reach
       Saudi Arabia
       to make one single whole.
      
      
      The air is milder
       in the setting Sun...
      And all the disillusions of this life
       are ebbing,
       ebbing,
       ebbing
       ebbing
       with the sea...
      
      
      And then
       you think
      about some Other World
       where you'll be happy
      in a different way...
      
      
      
      
      
      
      Aug. 19, 2015
      
      
       Sharm El Sheikh
      
      
       ***
      
      13.
      
      A lot of good poetry has been written in the world,
       so there's no need to hide it...
      I remember the atmosphere at the Institute -
       as if it was jealous,
       as if it wanted to keep all the knowledge of English
       to itself...
      But we learnt
       and graduated
       regardless of all
      that pressure...
      
      
      Now the world
       speaks English,
       the whole world...
      
      So there was no need to supress us, poor guys and girls...
      
      It's the same with good poetry -
       there's no need to hide it.
      It will find its way to those
       who love it...
      
      There is no need to keep it to oneself.
       Poetry can make one feel happy!
      
      
      
      
      
      Feb 23, 2022
      
      
       ***
      
      
      14.
      
      From the book Contemplations
      
      Creative rpocess...
       It's precious in itself...
       It is a kind of praying,
      a co-creation...
       Although
      we just confirm
       what has already been created,
      which we can never ever make ourselves...
      
      Oh, all these flowers and herbs...
       They look so gorgeous in the setting Sun!
      And they don't think about their fleeting life,
       which is so short.
      
      It will be over in a month or two...
      
      Next summer they will come again,
       the roses - gentle, fragile, sweet...
      
      They will be loved
       by the caressing
      rising-setting Suns
       and by the people
      wandering in the park...
      
      We'll never know their thoughts
       (if they have any,
      at least they do have feelings - that's for sure)
      
      What can we do? -
       admire their beauty.
      But that is all...
      
      
      June 21, 2024
      
      
       ***
      
      
      15.
      
      From the book Contemplations
      
      At first we dream
       and then we try -
       try hard,
      try very hard...
       and understand what's what...
      
      But even knowing
       the rude and disappointing life
      we go on dreaming -
       unrealistically...
      
      Maybe these dreams
       can help us to go on?
      
      
      
      June 22, 2024
      
      
       ***
      
      16.
      
      
      Oh, don't you love your take -
       blue clouds
       over the light-blue hills
       stepping a little back,
       hovering over the world...
      
      Well, this is Koktebel,
       the valley of blue rocks and hills,
       my tremulous and ardent love.
      
      The clouds have played a wistful Saga
       turning from Angels
       into miraculous birds
       up in the sleepy skies,
       ready to have the Night.
      
      It's cold. It's very cold.
       I am alone
       in this mysterious set
      
      and my enormous feeling,
       as rhythmic as the waves
       will never tide...
      
      
      
      May 24, 1998
      
      From my Koktebel diary 1998
      
      
      
       ***
      
      17.
      
      
      From my book Contemplations
      
      Life is not
       what we thought...
      And things
       seem to be unattainable...
      
      
      Whatever you reach
       is not the same
       it was in the mind...
      
      
      Nevertheless
       we go on...
      
      
      And happi-
       ness
       is
      unawareness
       of what's
      in store for us...
      
      
      
      
      Nov.20, 2019
      
      
       ***
      
      18.
      
      From my book Only you, Love
      
      Do you love me at early dew
      When the Sun sets up in the Sky
      To work for the heavy Earth
      And it's time to go out to work?
      
      
      Do you love in the afternoon
      When the Sun as all blossom and hight,
      The Earth is worn out by the heat
      And you're eager to break for lunch?
      
      
      
      Do you love me at half past five
      When the Sun dissolves in the day,
      The Earth's getting ready to rest
      And you feel it's time to go home?
      
      
      Do you love me when Midnight comes,
      The Moon soaks itself in the ink
      Of the deep black ocean-like Sky
      And your mind's going out to God?
      
      
      Do you love me?
      
      
      April 2, 1996
      
      
      
      19.
      
       To B.D.
      
      
      From my book Only you, Love
      
      
      I'm in the Orsay Museum -
       thinking about you, my heart.
      
      If I had a cell phone
       I would call you -
       to give you a deep vibrating silence
       meaning only one thing
       I cannot pronounce -
       LOVE.
      
      I've been talking to you in my mind
       for two months already -
       day and night.
       My notebook is running out,
       but I decided
       not to drop this line
       until it drops off by itself.
      
      Whatever you've got to say and haven't
       will be said in your mind -
       silently.
      
      It's the same as the silence
       you gave me
       on the day of my call
       after we talked in pronounced words.
      
      Well, even if it was just a burst
       and not love
       that can last
       and bring fruit...
      
      Even if you never call me again,
       never talk to me,
       never think of me
      
      I will be grateful
       for this happy period of wishful love
       living in my heart,
      
      which saved me from loneliness,
       from the frosts of Moscow winters...
      
      And I will continue to warm you
       with the currents of my mind -
       at a distance.
      
      You may not even notice this,
       but will feel good
       and cared for
       and protected anyway -
      
      that's how it works,
       it's like a prayer.
      
      Maybe,
       this kind of communication is even better -
       for
       we'll never quarrel,
       never see annoying friends,
       never go to stupid parties,
       never try to subdue each other.
      
      Well,
       whatever...
       I'm immensely grateful
       for the energy you gave me,
       which continues to work in me still,
      
      the energy of that deep vibrating silence
       meaning only one thing
       you couldn't pronounce -
       LOVE.
      
      
      
      
      April 2003,
      
      Paris
      
      
      
       ***
      
      
      20.
      
      
      From my book Endless walks
      
      
      Nothing else will pan out tonight...
       I've taken pix of some gorgeus roses in the park,
       prodigious reflections of ponds,
       fantastic abstraction in the city - constructivism...
      
      I'm coming back home
       with pre-prepared food
       bought in a popular store,
       which can't hold a candle
       to my granny's cooking...
      
      Why did I argue with her?!
       Hers was the best in the world!
       She'll never wait for me at home
       with a hot dinner...
      
      I'm coming back...
       So little is left...
      
      And yet
       after a short rest on a bench
       I can see somе great lines of branches with leaves,
      almost tires...
       I take out my camera -
      this is a hope...
      
      Maybe there will be something else...
      
      
      June 27, 2024
      
      
       ***
      
      21.
      
      
      Night in the park
      
      
      Another summer of my life...
       The old trees are going high,
       their trunks huge,
       the massive leaves
       are like thick dark-green whipped cream.
      
      
      The lit lanterns are beautiful,
       especially their vibration
       in the water.
       They're scattered all around the park -
       lightning bugs.
      
      Saying "When I was young"
       I'm mostly surprised.
      Youth seems to be recent.
       And life passes by very quickly...
      Although I'm not inclined
       to say banalities right now.
      
      Have I ever been?
      
      The rhythm of this poem
       reminds me
      of the one
       written 20 years ago... -
      
       (20 years ago? Really?)
      
      where "the crows are croking"* -
       funnily I have to put myself in quotation marks -
      
      
       when I was fourty
      and at the peak of my creativity.
      
       (Who was fourty?)
      
      
      A lot of friends, my age,
       have passed away,
      especially men,
       but women too.
      
      
      It's so strange.
       Whose turn is it now?
      Mine? Or not yet?
      
      
      The Evil Forces
       have tested me up and down.
      Now I can see their work.
      
      
      However, they can't do anything
       if you don't accept their will.
      
      
      It's good to be in control.
       It's also good
       not to be ravengeful in your mind
       forgetting bad things,
       forgiving evil doers...
      
      
      It's great
       to be used by the Upper Invisible Forces
       for arts and poetry...
      
      People call it a talented person,
       but I don't do anything, really -
       ideas come by themselves...
      God knows where from -
       I don't...
      
      
      And yet I was chosen...
      
      
      The Blissful Forces have been with me too!
       An unspeakable moment of life...
      
      I don't want to be famous,
       I just want to feel this...
      
      
      Life of the flesh has an end
       leading to Death.
      
      
      Life of the Spirit is endless!
       The Prize is Eternal Life!
      
      
      My pleasure lies in the Spirit...
      
      
      Adherants of flesh can't understand it.
       Peace be with them...
      
      
      And we,
       trekkers of the Paths of the Gorgeous,
       seekers of the Invisible,
       we shall go our way...
      
      
      
      Now most things are in the past,
       just in the mind...
      What is left?
      
      
      Whatever I've done
       does not seem to matter,
      except my sins,
       my experience small.
      
      
      I don't mean the sordid mundane experience, -
       I've never thought much of it -
       but the wanderings of the soul.
      
      
      Death is a great experience,
       I believe.
       I'm really curious...
      
      
      Life of the soul is much longer
       than this tiny stitch/strech on Earth.
      Yet it has to be worthy.
      
      
      Now that so little is left
       you have to be very careful
       about the slightest movement of your heart -
      being aware of Who you're with.
      
      
      Mosquitoes are biting
       the way they did
      when I was a small girl.
      
      
       The trees haven't changed either.
      
      
      
      
      Aug. 7, 2020
      
      _______________________________________________________________
      
      *"The crows are croking" - from my poem: http://lit.lib.ru/s/slobodkina_o/howtodescribedoc.shtml
      
       ***
      
      
      22.
      
      From my book Contemplations
      
      
      How to describe the stillness of these waters?
       Floating slowly,
       very slowly
       in the warm light of the early evening in May
       with an occasional splash of a fish
       sparkling its silver fins
       above the greenish mirror surface,
       reflecting the trees images
       growing thickly along the banks.
      
      
      The first warm days of the new Spring,
      the first Spring in the 21st century,
       the first Spring in the new millenium,
      
      
      which means
       that my whole life,
       all my experiences,
       feelings,
       emotions,
       recollections
      have gone down
       the 20th century -
       for ever.
      
      No, they have stayed
       in me and with me -
       for ever.
      
      On a day like this
       you don't want to argue with anyone
       in your mind,
      
      you don't want to remember
       anything nasty.
      
      Thanks God,
       there are no people around
       and very few in the whole park,
       so that I may forget
       about the angry movements of my mind
       for a while...
      
      
      I'm thinking about my early teens
       and about England.
      
      Will the love of my youth come back to me?
      Will the delightful scent of England
       stay in my sensual memory?
      
      The crows are croaking...
      
      If everything should mean something
       this certainly means something.
      
      In the meanwhile
       the river brings the adours of gardenia.
      
      I'm writing this entirely for myself,
       without caring about the style,
       without a back thought
       of ever showing this to anyone.
      
      I find it terrific not to have an imaginary reader
       always raising his ironical eyebrow
       or shrugging his I-don't-care-a-straw shoulder...
      
      I find it amusing not to talk to anyone at all in my mind,
       not to share my thoughts -
       who would understand them anyway?
      
      Maybe nobody,
       except my brother
       or my first love
       who will stay ideal
       for ever and ever,
      
      because he has lived his life
       with someone else...
      
      
      May 1, 2001
      
      ***
      
      
       23. From my book Contemplations
      
      
       The car turned round and drove away
       about its business
       not knowing
       how beautiful
       its roof reflected
       the Sun, the foliage and clouds...
      
      
       I saw it
       from the Height of Heights!
      
      
       How many Worlds there are -
       Unknown,
       Unknowable!
      
      
       And we are in our own affairs
       not knowing
       how beautiful
       they might have been reflected
       in the mind...
      
      
       But all this silent beauty
       (oh, who can hear its music!)
       will be reflected -
       and for ever -
       in the Universe...
      
      
       June 22, 2024
      
       ***
      
      
       24.
      
      
      From my book Contemplations
      
      
      After the operation
       I find myself pondering,
       contemplating...
      
       We have to go through a lot in life -
       sometimes things seem harder
       than they turn out to be as a result;
       sometimes something unthinkable happens...
      
       The whole life is a temptation...
      
       Had I known all this,
       would I like
       to come to this world?
      
      
      
       Aug. 11, 2022
      
      
       ***
       25.
      
      My doll Diana
      
      
       My doll Diana's
       in my heart...
       My father's present...
      
       She fell to pieces
       for my granny
       insisted
       that I should give her
       to my younger cous...
       when I grew up.
      
       She ruined it...
      
       I could have fixed her long ago...
      
       However
       her image is much stronger
       in my mind
       and it will live there
       as long as I can live...
      
       The broken doll
       will stay in this material world.
      
       And I have no idea
       if my niece or nephews
       will ever fix her
       giving her to their kids...
      
       They do not want
       even our family country house...
      
       They'll
       buy or build themselves
       whatever they desire
       when they become adults.
      
       But beautiful and bright Diana
       will go with me
       to the Invisible World...
      
       And THERE
       my father's
       gonna meet us both -
       alive and young
       and loving and Eternal...
      
      
      
       July 25, 2021
      
      
      
      
      
       End of Part I
      
      
      
      

  • © Copyright Слободкина Ольга (olga_slobodkina@mail.ru)
  • Обновлено: 02/07/2024. 40k. Статистика.
  • Сборник стихов: Поэзия

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