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
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,
Animals stay faithfully,
then go one by one.
The stars seem to shine eternally with light,
(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.
It’s my house.
This is where I weed
my eggshell mind…
Here is where I sit
in my naked heart
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.