The Twighlight Mystery | poets weave

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Bronislava Volkova is a bilingual poet, semiotician, translator, collage artist, and professor emeritus of Slavic studies at Indiana University. A Czech exile, she lived and taught in the United States for over forty years, publishing extensively in Czech and English. She continues to publish bilingual poetry books, directs readings of international authors and participates in numerous international poetry festivals as a guest of honor and a medalist. She currently resides in Prague.

Welcome to the web of poets. I am Romayne Rubinas Dorsey. Bronislava, what poems have you brought us today?

Dawn spreads her transparent fingers

in my loneliness.

My heart slowly opens its petals

for the life-giving rain.

The morning is pure and open

in a prayer for the new day.

The mystery of twilight – away

prepares to push me into another realm,

in one night

of ecstasy.

It’s time.

It’s time for the best and for the fullest

for the nest

fill with flowing leaves

that feel welcoming and clean.

It’s time to dream

and go up the creek

fly on the lovely

wings of your gracious offering of peace.

On the other side of the windows

the wind, on its knees, sings

his song in the sun.

He stretches his arms

to the mountains,

where he lays down to sleep.

(original English )

Human love sails,

turns off,

die.

Animals stay faithfully,

then go one by one.

The stars seem to shine eternally with light,

calm, benevolent.

(original in English)

I like calm.

There aren’t many who know

how to sound better than silence

how to rejoice

how to mend scars

how to heal wounds

how to blossom in love.

Once upon a time

Once upon a time the forest sang a sweet awakening song

and dream, and the bush

hid his flame and his desire

for the next star in the bright sky.

Today I no longer feel the breath of the past

dreams and hopes for spring kisses

and gentle caresses, for the autumnal heaviness of the leaves

and snowy mountain trails.

The passion has subsided,

it dried up without resonance.

Words flow from body openings and sometimes choke

on the saliva that remains in the mouth,

no longer yearning for the intoxication of summer.

Old age sounds its note,

the loneliness of the walls and the daily steps.

We don’t know where they lead

and why, lightly caressed by the wind,

they snuggle up in a silence that no one knows,

no one enters –

in a silence saturated with everything.

I arrived.

It’s my house.

This is where I weed

my eggshell mind…

Here is where I sit

in my naked heart

all mine

all peace

all seeds

any trip

motionless

I dare

be –

now and everywhere

I am one with you and everyone.

I grew up

in an embrace.

(original in English)

Getting caught in a heather can suddenly become

a flight to heaven.

Sorrow can easily turn

in the miracle of joy,

in a flash of revelation.

You have listened to the poetry of Bronislava Volkova on Poets Weave. I am Romayne Rubinas Dorsey.


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