Lib.ru : Слободкина Ольга. Exclusive Publishing series by Olga Slobodkina-von Bromssen Part Two

Слободкина Ольга
Exclusive Publishing series by Olga Slobodkina-von Bromssen Part Two

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© Copyright Слободкина Ольга (olga_slobodkina@mail.ru) Размещен: 02/07/2024, изменен: 13/07/2024. 37k. Статистика. Стихотворение: Поэзия

Part II

1. The Fleeting time. From my book Contemplations

Time is fleeting by...

Whatever I do

seems to be a waste of time...

I need to save my art archive,

but...

Things are slow in this material world...

Whatever I do

is taking ages

And time is fleeting by...

July 2, 2024

***

2. To Vit Sap. From my book Visitations

I'm glad I've visited my friend at last...

My dear friend...

You left so early...

We met

when we were in our early teens

and we were friends as adults

until your last day on the Earth,

the 20th of March in 2020...

Four years have passed...

I've had 2 dreadful cases of covid

and 2 of Epstein Barr...

But I've survived...

I was surprised myself...

Today I visited your grave at last...

The cemetery is in the country

and huge like a big city...

I wasn't sure I would find you...

But I did find...

Young oriental gyus, cemetery workers,

were very helpful.

Of course, they wanted to make money on the cleaning...

I'd gladly pay them.

What I didn't know -

your grandfather was buried there too.

He was a priest of the old rite,

Lazarus Sap,

his father - Jacob.

Now you're all there.

I liked the place -

two crosses and the granite slab -

your father's.

Your mom outlived you

by only 5 short months...

She died at 84

and you - at 62...

Sooner or later

we'll all go there...

And life is fleeting,

temporary...

"God doesn't look

if you're young or old,"

said one of the oriental gyus.

"He'll take you when He likes..."

It's true,

so very true...

My dear friend,

I'm missing you -

our walks,

our talks...

A great photographer,

you photographed me

at all the openings

of my solo shows

and

at the presentation of the memorial board

to our teacher...

He took us round the country

in our teens...

It feels so recent...

And he himself was 60 at that time.

He seemed so old to us...

Now I'm 65,

but feel so young,

although I know

that soon I'll have to go...

and leave my body...

But shall we see each other THERE?

"I love your soul," - you told me once.

It was the best confession

in the world

that I have ever had...

June 30, 2024

***

3. From my book Contemplations

Life is waning...

And everything

seems vain,

except for the life and health

of all yours

and the salvation of the soul...

So what's then?

Only the art and the verse,

a distracting touch,

taking your mind

into the world of beauty...

June 20, 2024

***

4. From my book On the Bosom of Nature

I thought

there would be no river in my life anymore -

the water lilies and the warmth,

the feeling of fresh water...

But now, I've got here -

quite by chance...

The water has overgrown with weeds,

but I'm swimming

and the river is tender...

Everything hurts

but the back hurts less than last year,

and the joints and legs...

Unbearably!

But I'm swimming...

And here I am again!

I want to come back here

at least once more

while I'm still on my feet...

I could live like that forever -

by the river,

not knowing the good or the evil...

The blessed warm

evening Suns,

the reflection of their sparkles on the water,

the water lilies

swaying slowly on the surface of the water like a flotilla...

I'd always contemplate

the iridescent ripples floating north,

or maybe south -

who knows!

I don't care...

If only nothing hurt

and there were peace in my heart...

P.S.

I feel so bad in the flat -

that's why I wanted to die -

a flat is a cell and a cage.

Nummer zwei und fierzig auf Deutsch.

P.P.S.

And now I don't want anything,

even creativity...

If only nothing hurts*

and I could live in nature...

July 4, 2024

__________________________________

* "NOTHING MORE - IF IT DOESN'T HURT"

***

5. From my book Dear tree

Every tree

reads to me

its poet-

ry,

the poem

of its soul

knowing

that I hear it...

It's not hard to learn

to understand the language

of plants and birds ...

I have my own special relationship

with the plants.

And with the birds too.

I'm leaving the park

and miss

my favorite trees ...

Do they miss me?

I do not know...

But when I come back again

they welcome me.

* * *

I see other trees from my window -

I even gave them names ...

That one is a Japanese tree

blooming

like sakura ...

And there is one more

whose clusters look like amenta

giving birth to seeds.

These clusters are like balls ...

I don't know their real names,

but they

know me

and need my love ...

April 18, 2021

***

6. Inspired by Rembranst's painting DAVID AND URIAH

1 Kings 15:5: Because David did that which was right in the eyes of the LORD, and turned not aside from any thing that he commanded him all the days of his life, save only in the matter of Uriah the Hittite.

What made David send Uriah to the flash point of the war?

His love for Uriah's wife,

which was, indeed, lust.

Rembrandt portrayed that in 1665 -

Uriah leaving David...

and the prophet Nathan,

who tried to reason with David

and prevent Uriah's death...

But.. without very much success...

Uriah was killed in that war.

David wrote a Psalm...

I don't think it meant much for Uriah the Hittite -

he lost Bathsheba, his wife,

he lost his love,

he lost his life...

David's repentance

mattered only to the Lord,

whose commandments he never broke

in "all the days of his life,

save only in the matter of Uriah the Hittite"...

Bathsheba

became David's wife

and gave birth

to King Solomon,

on earth.

Oh, the children of Cain!!!

Poor Abel also died in vain...

May 15, 2023

http://lit.lib.ru/img/s/slobodkina_o/davidanduriah-3/index.shtml

***

HOW COULD I LOVE AGAIN, EVER?

"So we were together

though I did not think of you

for ten years;

it is more than ten years

and the long time after;

I was with you in Calipso's cave?"

"how could I love again, ever?

repetition, repetition, Achilles, Paris, Menelaus?

but you are right, you are right,

there is something left over,

the first unsatisfied desire -

the first time, that first kiss,

the rough stones of a wall,

the fragrance of honey-flowers, the bees,

and how I would have fallen but for a voice..."

H.D.

from "Winter Love"

Sweet Mother of God!

Please, show me the face of the child

who is due to the world.

Oh, no, no... It's too premature.

I don't want to see him before the time,

even before he is conceived.

He must be too wonderful, too gorgeous,

too divine.

Dear sweet Mother of God!

Please, forgive me for what I've done to my feelings

and therefore - all the atrocities of my mind,

which caused so much disaster.

How can I pay for it?

Love, how could I love again, ever?

You mustn't laugh at love.

It's too serious.

Even more so when you're forty eight.

And even more so when you're sixty.

Oh, that man who is over sixty now,

who I had to reject... for he was not my man,

has never been.

He'd loved me for over seventeen years

and only came clean at sixty.

What could I do? He's never been my man,

although a real one and a good one.

Maybe that's why he's always lingered.

I know he's loved me all that time.

You mustn't laugh at love.

I was disgusting, obnoxious

being ironic about love,

about men.

Back then I thought

I was so close to God

that I could afford

to look down at men,

at all the people,

to destroy them, insects,

in the pride of my mind.

That was when the Devil

was my Father, not the God.

What can I do?

I realize it only now,

only now

that I'm in love.

But not with that man

who is over sixty now.

With another one...

A young one,

a gorgeous one...

How could I love again, ever?

Repetition, repetition, Achilles, Paris, Menelaus.

You're right, you're right.

Yes, there is something left over -

the first unsatisfied desire -

the first time, the first kiss.

The smell of the church,

the smell of white wash,

the fragrance of inscence,

of honey candles,

the Mother of God blessing my love,

showing me perfect boys.

Three of them

could be like my son.

But no, he's even more perfect.

Please, don't show me his face.

It's too premature.

This virus of love

has always lived inside me,

in my blood,

although I made a huge effort

to purify my spirit.

But men who can always smell real women,

infected with the virus of love,

women who had had Ewich Weiblich

installed in them

even before

they were conceived for the current incarnation...

These men will show you

they know.

How could I love again, ever?

There is something left over,

the first unsatisfied desire -

the first time, that first kiss...

I've been tortured severely.

What am I - a wife? A lover?

Then the Mother of God

dispersed all my trepidations and I realized -

I'm neither.

I am LOVE.

"So we were together

though I did not think of you

for ten years;

it is more than ten years

and the long time after;

I was with you in Calipso's cave?

no, no - I had never heard of her,

but I remember the curve of the honey flower

on an old wall, I recall

the honey flower as I saw it

or seemed to see it

for the first time,

its horn was longer,

whiter -

what do I mean?

"bite clear the stem

and suck the honey out,"

a child companion or old grandam

taught me to suck honey

from the honey flower;

what is Calipso's cave?

that is your grotto, your adventure;

how could I love again, ever?

repetition, repetition, Achilles, Paris, Menelaus?

but you are right, you are right,

there is something left over,

the first unsatisfied desire -

the first time, that first kiss,

the rough stones of a wall,

the fragrance of honey-flowers, the bees,

and how I would have fallen but for a voice..."

H.D.

from "Winter Love"

_____________________________________________________________________________

* H.D. (born Hilda Doolittle) 1886-1961. American poet and novelist. Born in Pensilvania; later lived in London (where she was associated with Pound and the Imagists and briefly married to Richard Aldington) and in Switzerland. Her many volumes of poetry include: Collected poems 1912-1944, Carcanet Press, 1984; Helen in Egypt, New Directions, 1961; Hermetic Definition, New Directions, 1972.

the winter of 2007

***

In the morning

when my mind

is still

between dream

and rea-

lity

High Above

Someone Invisible

touches the Strings of Poetry...

And since I'm still out of control

The Invisible One

is sweetly playing The Harp of Poetry

in my mind.

This Song is Beautiful and Divine.

However,

when I wake up

I cannot remember

a single line.

It's not so difficult to write

having such a Сelestial Guide...

But... if you're alone

and on your own...

June 28, 2021

***

From my book EGYPT

Late in the afternoon

I'm on my Great Agate Throne,

The Queen of Egypt,

watching the cosmic sunset.

Everything's mine -

Beauty and youth,

Power of this fabulous Land.

Throw all the treasures to me.

I do have one priceless thing too -

The Gift of Contemplation from the Lord...

Late in the afternoon

I'm on the cold stone floor,

A beggar woman, a fool of the Queen of Egypt,

Next to her Great Agate Throne,

Watching the sunset as well.

Nothing is mine -

Beauty, or youth,

Power over the world

No one will throw me a bracelet...

All I have

is a priceless Gift of Contemplation from the Lord...

And in this unity

We're miraculously equal -

Me, the beggar,

And me - the Queen.

***

10. From my book Jokingly

"He who observes the wind will not sow, and he who regards the clouds will not reap."

Ecclesiastes 11:4

"If I were a bear and a big bear too"

Alexander Milne

My "friends" used to boast

brandishing their business

in front of my nose,

trying to show me my place...

I don't have such "friends" anymore -

they are out of their depth with me.

For I'm different,

a creative race.

I won't let them eat my core again.

My business is chasing the shadows

and watching the clouds

and putting together the rhymes...

I'll never reap or make wines.

Making money in businesses is not my cup of tea,

but my art works are travelling all over the world -

for free.

I have no sword or shield,

but got an International Certi-

ficate -

The Knight of Creati-

vity!

There are only 6 such Certificates in the world...

Ideas come from the air...

I'm a lady of Nowhere...

And if I were a bear

I'd come to my scandalous neighbours

and scoop them out of their sordid affair!)))

July 8, 2024

***

11. From my book Contemplations

The plane is flying

and sparkles in the Sun, White Angel...

From the Earth

it seems small.

Up close -

huge.

What makes it small is the distance...

But the events of life

sometimes become huge at a distance,

others are getting smaller

and go down into the sand...

July 7, 2024

The Silver forest

***

12. From my poem WINTER THOUGHTS

That flat at the top

was more like a medieval castle,

not even

a Victorian house

with unknown mysterious spirits...

And in a giant window

taking the whole wall with a balcony

there was reflected a birch tree with the face of The Virgin.

Oh, birches!

Your finest hair

of the Dutch ladies of the Renaissance in the North

and endless waists

going into the necks.

Where does your soul reside?

In the roots?

Hardly...

In the trunks?

May be...

Or in the crowns?

In flowers?

In your heads?

At the top?

Or, like my soul,

pretending to be a woman,

but being only in Heaven, really...?

And living alone in the forest,

in a gloomy English castle...

January 24, 1999

***

13. From my book And if the River of Time does not wash away the Poetry of the Moment...

The naked sound of your old grand piano

is piercing the heart

of cloudy March...

I want to go away and to the Oceans,

into the depths of some Unknown Wild Land,

where everything is different -

the heart, the vision and the hearing...

No need for earthly worries.

And even your grand piano's groans

and the starry sky's unprecedented map -

a giant diamond spider -

are quite unrecognizable,

transformed

by the Mysterious Harmony of the Universe...

March 31, 1998

***

14. Because it can't be great all the time,

only on the last day...

And if you try to prolong the fun -

in vain.

It will be dull again...

Aug. 12, 2023

***

15.

I found that house

in Central Moscow,

not far from the Triumphant Square,

no - Trumpet Square...

It could be only it...

It looked so small...

And in the times of love

it seemed fantasmal!

What does it matter!

It was so dear to my heart!

Will always be...

You didn't live there for so long...

You didn't die there...

A fleeting period of ardent love

back in the Olympic 1980

could not last -

3 months in sping and summer...

However, its revelations have remained...

That love

made me an artist

and,

which is more,

it taught me

how to love

and to be loved...

Oh, precious!

That is until the end

and further on...

Sept.19, 2023

***

16. I thought

that car wouldn't wait for me,

but - lo! it did.

You may not know

just what I mean...

It was a glossy car

and black

and it was standing

at the entrance of a block

of flats,

and not so far

while

there was an ash-tree

growing above...

It dropped florescence,

withered,

on its roof,

capote and windscreen,

the trunk and rear window...

It looked

as beautiful as love!

I tried to make

a take...

Die Batterie war leer...*

So I

walked home...

I really wanted to go back

to use my chance,

but my covid fatigue,

which seems to be eternal,

kept me in.

I went to bed and fell asleep

and slept all night without stirring...

I thought that car

wouldn't wait for me,

but lo! - it did.

For once the rule,

rule of the moment, didn't work.

Exception proves the rule...

That car was there the next day -

noone had cleaned it.

In broad daylight -

it was right there!

And my abstraction takes

turned out

to be great!!!

At night when I was on my way

home

from the starry park

I took what I should have

the night before...

Oh, I expected the night takes

to be much more

than those of daylight,

but... yo-ho!

They were not half as good...

You never know...

That car, however, waited for me -

there you go...

No cleaning...

Now you must know

what I did mean to say

at the beginning...

April 29, 2023

_____________________________

*The battery was out (German)

***

17. The snow and this agreeable light

Making it violet, yellow, even green.

The sky in its celestial height

And fur-tree woods I've never seen.

Serenity of winter on my mind:

The frost, the Sun as if I'm gone

Back to my youth and to my kind,

And to my blissful love that's not forlorn.

Mid. Feb.1998

***

18.

It's May. It's still cold.

The desirable is unattainable...

Life and time -

whatever you do -

are passing through...

"We're just passing through,"

said a lady in the film

"Before the Moon".*

The first two films were cool,

fine,

but a film about a happy family life

is unbearable

bringing forth a sardonic smile.

That is why

all the films,

stories and plays

end with a wedding

and then...

who knows!

But that's not a subject for both,

i.e. either.

And only when

there comes a trage-

art starts

lifting its chin

in a hope

to create something

new

there has never been,

I mean,

before,

and will be

never more.

May 6, 2023

_________________________________________________________________________________ *"Before Sunrise", "Before Sunset" and "Before Midnight" - 3 films by Richard Stuart Linklater

***

19. In Spring I get a terrific drive for art -

even a felt pen's trace

on a plastic transparent sheet

sets my heart on the move...

This is creativity -

a particular moment of mind

turning to God,

leaving all things earthly,

even my love for things artistique,

even toute chose artistique.

April 21, 1998

***

20. While I'm making this take

a bird manages to fly

through the panorama of my lingering frame,

crossing out the Sun with its route, -

from horizon to horizon,

finite like our earthly route.

And what is behind the frame remains hidden

for those who can only see this photo,

And I'll finish filming and will open it

the whole world around it.

May 2, 1998

***

25. How much is left?

My life says: "Live me.

I'm short. Your art is long."

All that was right, o Lord, forgive me.

And... all that was wrong... )

Feb.16-17, 1998

***

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Слободкина Ольга Exclusive Publishing series by Olga Slobodkina-von Bromssen Part Two

Слободкина Ольга
Exclusive Publishing series by Olga Slobodkina-von Bromssen Part Two