(no subject)
These days are gorgeous. It's been a long time since my skin was kissed by true sunlight.
One of my favorite people has been required to leave Seattle for many months.
I have roses in my room and a dolphin necklace on my windowsil.
I have quit one of my jobs and released myself from two other commitments.
I am applying for a different second job at a few places. I quit the other because if I didn't find something easier I was going to run myself into the ground.
I could have been in the mountains today.
My feet are dirty.
A poem by Ukrainian writer Olena Teliha, from the collection Boundaries of Flame translated by Orysia Prokopiw:
Beyond the panes the day is cooling,
Indoors glow the first gleams of fire...
Within the palms of my hands, love,
Eenclose your hatred and ire.
And onto my lap unburden
The boulders of brutal days,
And the silver of your wormwood
For me at my feet displace.
So that your unfettered, light heart
Would sing as a songbird free,
And, strongest, on my lips resting
Renew your tranquility.
And I, with kiss so tender
And soft as a baby's mirth,
Will gently the flaming hellfire
Of your eyes and thoughts unearth
But when, in the morn, the spaces
Are pierced by the first trumpet tone,
Into the black, murky darkness
I will prepare you alone
You shall not take crying with you,
Till later my tears must wait,
To you I will grant a weapon:
A kiss as sharp as a blade.
That you, midst the whistling iron,
For screaming or silent chord,
Had lips determined as gunshot,
Firm as the edge of a sword.
These are the times.
One of my favorite people has been required to leave Seattle for many months.
I have roses in my room and a dolphin necklace on my windowsil.
I have quit one of my jobs and released myself from two other commitments.
I am applying for a different second job at a few places. I quit the other because if I didn't find something easier I was going to run myself into the ground.
I could have been in the mountains today.
My feet are dirty.
A poem by Ukrainian writer Olena Teliha, from the collection Boundaries of Flame translated by Orysia Prokopiw:
Beyond the panes the day is cooling,
Indoors glow the first gleams of fire...
Within the palms of my hands, love,
Eenclose your hatred and ire.
And onto my lap unburden
The boulders of brutal days,
And the silver of your wormwood
For me at my feet displace.
So that your unfettered, light heart
Would sing as a songbird free,
And, strongest, on my lips resting
Renew your tranquility.
And I, with kiss so tender
And soft as a baby's mirth,
Will gently the flaming hellfire
Of your eyes and thoughts unearth
But when, in the morn, the spaces
Are pierced by the first trumpet tone,
Into the black, murky darkness
I will prepare you alone
You shall not take crying with you,
Till later my tears must wait,
To you I will grant a weapon:
A kiss as sharp as a blade.
That you, midst the whistling iron,
For screaming or silent chord,
Had lips determined as gunshot,
Firm as the edge of a sword.
These are the times.