Post by dianekendig on Oct 22, 2008 14:16:35 GMT 2
KRISTIN DIMITROVA
Poems, links, and a brief interview with Wom-po Diane Kendig
Three poems from “A Visit to the Clockmaker”
translated from the Bulgarian by Gregory O’Donoghue
IN THE TRAIN
In the train
an old Hungarian
woman without
front teeth
told me that two
of her three children
had died
and her oldest son
is now in America –
these are the photos,
there he is,
this is his family.
She smoked Bulgarian
cigarettes or rather
one very long
cigarette from Budapest
to Bucharest
and she said:
“Now I have
nothing to live for.”
Said it simply,
plainly, flatly,
with the dignity
of the toothless.
THE BORDER
My daughter asked me whether
I had brought her bubble gum.
I told her I had not,
but I was there all right.
She objected that I was one thing
and bubble gum quite another.
I pointed out she could not always
expect something nice.
She corrected me:
“Not something nice but a bubble gum.”
Although the sun was doing its best
and the birds interrupted each other
and the grass in the park was greedy-green,
my daughter rained her heart out.
There is a happy world and a sad one
and bubble gum in-between.
THE NIGHT WHEN THE EARTH WAS INFESTED BY FULFILLED WISHES
Now I feel easy
because I expect nothing.
The roughly polished glass
of the North Sea
is far off, yet through
a roundabout way
reaching the equator.
Africa (blue nomads
among man-eating sands)
a week ago
lent its back to a Leonid shower:
stars fell
piercing through hot and cold
atmospheric layers
and people in countries
with unclouded skies
made wishes.
The papers say that in China
a falling star killed a man.
I think I know
what he wished.
It is possible.
Read more below
Poems, links, and a brief interview with Wom-po Diane Kendig
Three poems from “A Visit to the Clockmaker”
translated from the Bulgarian by Gregory O’Donoghue
IN THE TRAIN
In the train
an old Hungarian
woman without
front teeth
told me that two
of her three children
had died
and her oldest son
is now in America –
these are the photos,
there he is,
this is his family.
She smoked Bulgarian
cigarettes or rather
one very long
cigarette from Budapest
to Bucharest
and she said:
“Now I have
nothing to live for.”
Said it simply,
plainly, flatly,
with the dignity
of the toothless.
THE BORDER
My daughter asked me whether
I had brought her bubble gum.
I told her I had not,
but I was there all right.
She objected that I was one thing
and bubble gum quite another.
I pointed out she could not always
expect something nice.
She corrected me:
“Not something nice but a bubble gum.”
Although the sun was doing its best
and the birds interrupted each other
and the grass in the park was greedy-green,
my daughter rained her heart out.
There is a happy world and a sad one
and bubble gum in-between.
THE NIGHT WHEN THE EARTH WAS INFESTED BY FULFILLED WISHES
Now I feel easy
because I expect nothing.
The roughly polished glass
of the North Sea
is far off, yet through
a roundabout way
reaching the equator.
Africa (blue nomads
among man-eating sands)
a week ago
lent its back to a Leonid shower:
stars fell
piercing through hot and cold
atmospheric layers
and people in countries
with unclouded skies
made wishes.
The papers say that in China
a falling star killed a man.
I think I know
what he wished.
It is possible.
Read more below