Photo by Rhony Bhopla, Sacramento
Somebody gave me this body—what do I do with it now?
It's a very remarkable body, and nobody's body but mine.
I'm alive and I breathe, I'm strong and tall—
won't somebody tell me who to thank for it all?
I'm the gardener and the flower, too,
And in this prison of a world I'm not alone.
When I move, when I breathe, I leave my mark
on the everlasting windowpane that keeps out the dark.
It's the mark of myself! And that mark will remain
on the cold transparence of that windowpane.
Life beyond the glass may darken, day to day,
but my mark on that windowpane will never go away.
—Osip Mandelstam, translated from the Russian by Paul Schmidt
_________________________
It may be that a better way
to conquer time and world
is to pass and not to leave a trace—
to pass, and not to leave a shadow
on the walls...To be, but by denial:
to break both mirror and reflection.
To ride the Caucasus like Lermontov
and not to wake the rocks.
It may be that the better art
is with the hand of Bach
to leave the organ undisturbed—
to vanish, not to leave a cinder
for the urn...To be, but by deceit:
to strike yourself from latitudes.
To slip through time as through the sea
and not to break the waves.
—Marina Tsvetaeva, translated from the Russian by Paul Schmid
_______________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their POETRY, PHOTOS and ART, as well as announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com (or snail ‘em to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726) for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
Somebody gave me this body—what do I do with it now?
It's a very remarkable body, and nobody's body but mine.
I'm alive and I breathe, I'm strong and tall—
won't somebody tell me who to thank for it all?
I'm the gardener and the flower, too,
And in this prison of a world I'm not alone.
When I move, when I breathe, I leave my mark
on the everlasting windowpane that keeps out the dark.
It's the mark of myself! And that mark will remain
on the cold transparence of that windowpane.
Life beyond the glass may darken, day to day,
but my mark on that windowpane will never go away.
—Osip Mandelstam, translated from the Russian by Paul Schmidt
_________________________
It may be that a better way
to conquer time and world
is to pass and not to leave a trace—
to pass, and not to leave a shadow
on the walls...To be, but by denial:
to break both mirror and reflection.
To ride the Caucasus like Lermontov
and not to wake the rocks.
It may be that the better art
is with the hand of Bach
to leave the organ undisturbed—
to vanish, not to leave a cinder
for the urn...To be, but by deceit:
to strike yourself from latitudes.
To slip through time as through the sea
and not to break the waves.
—Marina Tsvetaeva, translated from the Russian by Paul Schmid
_______________________
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their POETRY, PHOTOS and ART, as well as announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com (or snail ‘em to P.O. Box 762, Pollock Pines, CA 95726) for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)
