Conversation with Solitude


image: https://bookofsolitude.wordpress.com/2015/04/06/in-conversation-frank-souler/

If you’d let me tell you
a nice thing or two
the Word will not be melted,
as breath into the wind.
But my words will cower in the face of You.
as parrots’ feathers looking around
to see where to
Fly, stop time, paint me a pretty picture

You are disappointed,
as I am, as I am
without a veil falling upon a hidden picture
black and red she is
suddenly on that
remains in the empty skin, smiles,
people, paper portions
plates start flying off the shelves
A thorn is enough
A cut is enough
A lap of loneliness, enough.

lofty eyes, narrow spaces,l
lonely paths, silently

outlines
the houses that are offending me
with always the same faces,
and so the days pass by
with this lengthy hiatus inside of me

Well, it’ s a disappointment, but the disappointment is me
actually…

You’ re not despairing, are you?
the people’s mouth and teeth are smiling up at you
You will never… ever… be stuck alone
as I’ ve been… beside thee
if you could have heard my screams
Only you and me…
You’ d better talk.

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Winter idyll


Blow blow winter wind
Beat with low rhythm our inland air.
wild-eddying swirl in her sharpened face
and, bleached, fresh buds of white hiding place
moving on softly line to line

The half-stripped trees and this pale air
hides hills and woods, river and heaven,
I, zip my farm at the end of the garden.
winter idyll.

I agree there is some sweetness in its white cruelty
so, maybe one day it will be
a beautiful place
Until then, the echo is still
devoured by a frosty meadow languor
Perhaps one day it will be
such wonderland place
Until then,
a crisp of winter’s night’s
coated in white shirt sewn from a black cut.


Betrayal, Omen, Serbian original included

If I am the perpetrator of the famous “Betrayal of the original” with unskilled translations into a language that is not mine, it does not offer much in the way of comforts, but I would share what I have.

A necessary thing to ensure your better understanding.

However, I hope that this possible loss of translation will be less painful, less inhuman and embarrassing than a betraying ill-fated cause once sitting behind me, whose eyes betrayed darkening storm. 
An Unfortunate discovery, 

for which I have been trying to write a love poem for a decade with a light inside and the spark of hope, so bright as light bulb exploded…

As well as light and hope. 

Still, I cannot, because poetry comes from the heart. Try to take from me as much as you can, because I am giving you everything that’s left.

Yet, it was foretold…

Lothair The Dark, a poet with trust issues

translated from the Latin Sermo Vulgari

 

***

OMEN

Heart, go away so I can mourn your passing.

In this hour I foretell the future despair
Despair which comforts me in my madness
Indistinct despair, voiceless
Like a reticent rock deliberating a curse
How can I determine the correct hour?
From where do I remember that familiar silence?

Yes!
I foretell the cruelty upon which I will be reminded
by future expectancy, traced upon my stomach
by splendid, bright and aging
foretelling of future absence
Absence will get in the way the night of sand
Will not be
It appears to me the absence will last far too long
and that fear which values my soul
Alike a strength of a single metaphysical day
when all was said from within
That fear reinforces my soul
in the bottom
and one spoken out

Yes!
Of inconsolable shameful sarcastic foretelling
in opposition to the merciful sky which extinguishes the candle on my breast
Prophetic
Destinies, apparitions, movements
of the image seen within under the bone
The only one which who exists for future absence. Foreign land
Vis-à-vis the one who awaits the wind will cocoon itself
How to determine that which is the future and which will not come
Nothing welcomed. Valued only with already familiar
dieing
but that which was welcomed and received corrodes the skin beneath the gizzard

The forgotten must always be condensed inside the head 
My hope no longer puts up with me.
Merely butchers with bloody knives
For that reason,
Compose your smile and walk out before the views of people filled with love
was told to them by She who will not come

***

SERBIAN:

Da!
U ovom času predskazujem očaj budući
Očaj koji me u ludilu mome teši
Očaj nerazgovetni, bezglasan
Kao ćutljiva sena koja kletvu promišlja
Kako mogu odrediti tačan čas?
Otkuda pamtim taj poznati muk?
Da!
Predskazujem svirepost na koju će me podsetiti
Iščekivanje buduće, preslikano na želucu
Sjajnim, vedrim i vremešnim
Predskazivanjem nedolaska budućeg
Isprečiće se nedolazak peščana noći
Neće biti
Čini mi se da će nedolazak isuviše dugo da traje
I taj strah koji mi vrednuje dušu
Nalik na snagu jednog metafizičkog dana
Kada je sve bilo rečeno iznutra
Taj strah mi krepi dušu
U dnu
I jedno izrečeno
Da!
O neutešnom sramotnom sarkastičnom predviđanju

Spram milosrdnog neba koje mi gasi sveću na grudima
Proročanske
Sudbe, pojavnosti, pokreti
Slika koja se vidi iznutra ispod kosti
Jedina koja postoji za buduće nedolaženje. Tuđa zemlja
Spram onoga koji iščekuje začauriće se vetar
Kako odrediti ono što je buduće i što neće doći
Ništa dočekano. Vrednovano jedino već poznatim
umiranjem
Ali nagriza kožu ispod želuca ono dočekano
Da!
Zaboravljeno mora biti zauvek zgusnuto u glavi
Moja nada ne trpi me više.
Tek sakati krvavim noževima
Zato,
Usredsredi osmeh i izađi pred poglede ljudi ispunjenih
ljubavlju
Reče mi Onaj koji neće doći

Da!
U ovom času predskazujem očaj budući
Očaj koji me u ludilu mome teši
Očaj nerazgovetni, bezglasan
Kao ćutljiva sena koja kletvu promišlja
Kako mogu odrediti tačan čas?
Otkuda pamtim taj poznati muk?
Da!
Predskazujem svirepost na koju će me podsetiti
Iščekivanje buduće, preslikano na želucu
Sjajnim, vedrim i vremešnim
Predskazivanjem nedolaska budućeg
Isprečiće se nedolazak peščana noći
Neće biti
Čini mi se da će nedolazak isuviše dugo da traje
I taj strah koji mi vrednuje dušu
Nalik na snagu jednog metafizičkog dana
Kada je sve bilo rečeno iznutra
Taj strah mi krepi dušu
U dnu
I jedno izrečeno
Da!
O neutešnom sramotnom sarkastičnom predviđanju
Spram milosrdnog neba koje mi gasi sveću na grudima
Proročanske
Sudbe, pojavnosti, pokreti
Slika koja se vidi iznutra ispod kosti
Jedina koja postoji za buduće nedolaženje. Tuđa zemlja
Spram onoga koji iščekuje začauriće se vetar
Kako odrediti ono što je buduće i što neće doći
Ništa dočekano. Vrednovano jedino već poznatim
umiranjem
Ali nagriza kožu ispod želuca ono dočekano
Da!
Zaboravljeno mora biti zauvek zgusnuto u glavi
Moja nada ne trpi me više.
Tek sakati krvavim noževima
Zato,
Usredsredi osmeh i izađi pred poglede ljudi ispunjenih
ljubavlju
Reče mi Ona koja neće doći

Betrayal

Page Reynolds, “Betrayal”

http://paigereynoldsart.com/home/?portfolio=betrayal

Quest


Who am I looking for?
What am I looking for?

The tick of the clock with the speed of a rabbit
who heard a hum and trembled?
The woman painted on the Wall of Wails…?
there is no tenderness in painted picture,
it is a feeling of a constant thwack.

I am amid the cold, vacant garden,
spotted glasses and broken mirrors.
thrown in the dirt, into the murky water
wormy from piss, filthy from mud

(The world can be horrible, but not dirty. And all that disgust, I kept my good taste.)

Though petty illusions were bringing short term relief,
I yawningly hit the little drums while walking the streets of same dark city
beneath the clouds who are like bulletproof vests.