May 2020 – Bye, bye

June 15, 2020 § Leave a comment

25th May

The air is so light,

no wonder night falls softly

like a purple net.

 

I wish I could sleep

on a field, or at least not

to be anywhere

 

near to whatever

could provoke winter’s return,

ever again. Like

 

a child’s biggest wish.


27th May

Nothing can blow up

wishes faster than north winds.

Self confident like

 

a Scot in a kilt,

move sun and light farther south.

The trees now resist,

 

bent and return fast

into line. No one tells them

what to do in May.

 

They’re full with birds’ nests.

May 2020, so far

May 21, 2020 § Leave a comment

1st May

May Day sabotaged

by rain. But it’s nice to see

two rival blackbirds

 

in the wet garden,

sharing shelter under the

same rhododendron.

 

Nature’s common sense

protects them from themselves. Yet,

will this peace be kept,

 

under the sunrays?


6th May

I‘ve just discovered

an 18th century ace:

late evening port wine.

 

Sweet and strong pleasure,

comfort for the swollen legs

of great-grandmothers,

 

bold midwives and lords,

but slave traders sometimes too.

History is full

 

with two-side stories.


11th May

While a wild wind blows

and changes the weather like

a light switch: on, off,

 

on, off, we listen

to mixed tapes dedicated

to teenagers’ dreams.

 

We remember those

days in our rooms, in ourselves

well now, as we try

 

to figure out this.


13th May

Everything is blue

especially the while walls

of the house next door

 

as they touch the sky

dressed in its slippy colours.

The birds are looking

 

for islands of green

to spend the night. Windstill

quietness. Softly

 

I let down the blinds.


17th May

Let us not go back

to normal that never was,

times without thinking.

 

We moved and went on,

kept forgetting about death,

of others, of ours.

 

Yes, we miss freedom,

but freedom has expanded

in our minds, it might

 

has become vision.


18th May

These notes often start

with the singing birds at dusk.

Dutiful blackbirds

 

remind me that there‘s

this short time to talk before

silence reigns at night.

 

I wish I could put

every word in a blackbird’s

song. They’d tell me then

 

what to say in time.


17th May

What’s behind our masks?

Nostalgia and longing

for the life we had?

 

Anticipation

for the future, not the past?

Is the best or worst

 

of us now hidden?

What are these eyes looking at?

Outwards or inwards?

 

Our mouths are still shut.

 

April 2020 – Part 2

April 30, 2020 § Leave a comment

8th April

Our reign of objects,

tables, chairs, books and paintings,

how well can they tell

 

the stories we’ve planned

a lifelong? Imagine those

feet walking around:

 

This is where mum used

to read. When on the phone she

moved around the house,

 

cleaning, saving time.


11th April

This wonderful sky,

how accurately it counts

time, space and borders.

 

Zero. None to see,

none to feel. Our mind is free

and flies where it needs

 

to be. Take that flight,

with the wings of memory

and the strength of hope

 

for we are born free.


13th April

Fears. In the morning.

First, everything feels usual,

the light from outside,

 

the smell of the room,

that ageing body. And then

the mind awakes too.

 

You can’t fool your mind

when your hands are not moving.

It counts time in months,

 

in years or just days.


15th April

The impossible

as everyday recipe.

We’ve lost appetite.

 

Now feed me with touch,

with laughter, bitter or sweet,

like friends at dinner,

 

before they part for

a long time. The host raises

a glass, sets the date

 

when to meet again.


18th April

Mum has sent braid bread

per mail, but it’s not here yet.

A fragrant parcel

 

in a lorry’s guts,

driving through silent countries.

They told her it’ll take

 

time. But she’s sent it

anyway. It’s Good Friday

in my old country,

 

all is still and waits.


20th April

One metre fifty

from each other. In the queue

of lost needless things.

 

Behind a mask, eyes

that do not try hard language,

they’re soft and get it

 

that you’re vulnerable

too. Then the distance moves on,

fast to someone else,

 

before one must speak.


20th April

 

My tired limbs sliding

on cool cotton sheets; must be

a summer prelude.

 

On the news, again,

everything important comes

second. Exit strategy.

 

The economy

needs the simple people soon

enough. The simple

 

people can’t escape.


30th April

This April will leave

ingloriously, bad thief

of springs that were one,

 

an endless waiting

of sudden good news, of friends

and festivities.

 

A one season year,

this seems to become, one that

all months are marching

 

in dark uniform.

 

April 2020 – Part 1

April 12, 2020 § Leave a comment

1st April

April 1st too soon,

we haven’t got the spring mood,

winter fits better.

 

I dreamed of water

but not of summer beaches,

they’re too far away.

 

It would be nice though

to become light again, swim,

hear the world laughing,

 

careless and naked.


2nd April

Like fish in a glass

everything still fine inside

our protected world.

 

We wonder if it’s

a dream. Is it true that this

is the last water?

 

We try to forget,

to become a fish for true,

turn one round, one more,

 

everything is here.


3rd April

Time might make us all

become quieter, careful

not to miss a tone

 

of others speaking.

Our own voice, once so precious,

less important then.

 

Our wealth and beauty

for wisdom and kindness. Won’t

that be courageous

 

as a new start after?


3rd April

Today feeling short

of breath, that hill in front of

us seeming too high.

 

A grey day, quite still,

the birds are thinking, planing

their next step to spring.

 

I try to listen

and expect less, less from me,

less on a day when

 

flowers hesitate.


5th April

Sunday bursting with

sun and skies. How innocent

the day felt as we

 

cycled through the fields.

The trees were turning green like

nature’s traffic lights.

 

Back to the city.

A helicopter landing

on the roof of the

 

nearby hospital.


6th April

One by one windows

open. Someone should welcome

the upcoming moon.

 

Backstage the open

wardrobes, bodies uncertain,

set tables untouched.

 

An alphabet of

sighs, low voices, question marks.

We are all foreign

 

in untraveled nights.


7th April

We don’t see her dead,

ut we hear Antigone’s

mourning. For once more

 

she’s not allowed to

bury her kin or lament

their death as deserved.

 

But this time the state

are we, we hold her back from

their graves and ours too,

 

we beg her to wait.


 

March 2020 – Part 2

April 12, 2020 § Leave a comment

24th March

It’s a sunny cold

outside, a frozen beauty

waiting for the prince

 

with the warm kisses.

I’ll fill the house with the smell

of hot fresh coffee,

 

open the windows,

wave “hi” to occasional

pedestrians, call

 

my mum on the phone.


 

26th March

Mum looks very old

on the screen. A video

call. We laugh a lot.

 

She thinks what I think

though.This might take much longer

than our words pretend.

 

The quietness of

the nights unites us, our fears,

trembling stars afar

 

from each other’s sun.


27th March

This fear in a box

we do not want to open,

but we have no choice.

 

We’re taken by it, it

comes out of our TVs,

it walks down the street,

 

it takes faces of

beloveds, of ourselves too,

it changes, it spreads.

 

Pandora, what now?


28th March

I woke up early

in the morning, watched the plants

growing in the light.

 

A reassurance,

this new day would be as real

as the one before.

 

A well-know story

would surely start with well-know words,

a solace amid

 

an unknown new world.


29th March

We’ve turned our clocks to

summer time, but we’re still not

in control. New snow,

 

falling and melting

on the young dandelions,

whispering secrets

 

in their yellow ears:

Summer and winter exists

simultaneously

 

like life, pain and death.


30th March

Voices in surplus

behind walls, in front of screens,

there’s so much to say.

 

Comfort, distraction,

love, thoughts, fears and promises,

broken vows, chances.

 

When the quiet night falls

everybody works hard on

their inventories.

 

We share our failures.


 


 

March 2020 -Part 1

March 25, 2020 § Leave a comment

dedicated to @george_szirtes

15th March 2020

The world is turning,

we reluctantly spin with

it, dizzy and weak.

 

We hold on the next day,

the next curve on our way,

the blackbirds in spring.

 

Not what we know is

now. Now is not what we know.

Yet spring, yet flowers,

 

yet night, yet dreaming.


 

16th March 2020

Early night poem:

 

My dear, I can’t wait

for the night to fall to listen

to that blackbird.

 

You know, the one that

flies around the neighbourhood

boasting with good songs.

 

A yellow beak in blue

hours, a little light before

darkness. We gather

 

the things that matter.


 

18th March 2020

4am again,

out of sleep, out of absence,

back to the now time.

 

A quiet river

is this night outside. Only

one far away hum,

 

a busy machine

programmed not to need others

And so ignores fears

 

and early birds’ sighs.


 

19th March 2020

We feed each other

the news; it’s hard to swallow

and it burns our tongues

 

not to know if this

is already our future,

if nights will stay long,

 

if summers will come,

if sun and sons will kiss us,

if that memory

 

still has got a chance.


 

20th March 2020

You’d think the night would

have some soothing black liquid

to slow down sickness,

 

just as it does with

movement, sight, noise or choices.

But night’s eyes seem closed

 

to everything but

memories, fears and wishes,

wrapped in rosy dreams

 

or nightmares of real.


 

20th March 2020

Everything around,

too present to understand.

“Mum, said my son, when

 

I’ll be eighty years

old, people might invite me

to schools to tell them

 

about the year of

the great disease, I’ll be their

eyewitness and old.”

 

Yes, my dear, you’ll be.


 

22nd March 2020

Most of the people

are silent, their eyes strangling

to adjust themselves,

 

in the darkness of

this waiting room. They just stand

rigid on the shore,

 

feet deep in the sand,

ignoring the waves, looking

at the horizon

 

where the ships are still .


 

23rd March 2020

A Forgotten Love:

 

Our houses are now

clean, floors and furniture shine,

but the guests won’t come.

 

We’re in other times.

As the day breaks, the call of

an uncertain spring.

 

It’s hart to resist,

and yet it feels unwelcome,

out of place now like

 

a forgotten love.

“Alte Liebe”

January 26, 2020 § Leave a comment

Old Love, you’re still there

in the wee hours, in front,

of the shabby pub.

I remember you:

your shiny skin, your black eyes,

slow moves in music.

One always has to go,

as far their feet can bring them.

Sometimes there comes here.

Dead Relatives

January 22, 2020 § Leave a comment

Once you were unique,

now, in the mirror, her eyes.

Slow transformation.

The feet you walk on

are his, the back pain, your own.

Family photos.

Theirs some memories.

But when your lips speak, it’s you,

made of them, still here.

For those who can’t see the sky

January 10, 2020 § Leave a comment

The day got so short

behind closed doors we hear a tune,

someone learns singing.

 

Even in the dark

there is the feeling of space

for those with voices.

 

A train roars so far

away; no one can reach it.

The night feasts on dreams,

 

hours and tomorrows.

Apologists of waiting,

are insomniacs.

Decade after Decade

December 29, 2019 § 2 Comments

 

I hadn’t realised till I heard it too repeatedly from different people that the decade changes this year too. I guess being an Earthling who has already entered a new century, even worse, a new millennium, back in 2000, I have been offered proof enough that nothing spectacular will probably happen from that minute before 12 to that minute after. The changes that really have an impact on all of us are of course more subliminal, though much more significant at the same time, also much older too, they have started centuries ago with lots of steam, coal and capital.

And yet specific dates like that do something to people. For I would lie if I said that turning 30, 40 or 50, the later this very same year we’re now already leaving behind, didn’t do something to me.

Time is an issue in everybody’s life. The issue is mostly the lack of it. Absolutely conscious of the fact that anyone of us who hasn’t been given a deadline by a doctor yet, should be grateful, I still must complain of how time declines with age. Not just the time ahead of one, but the “daily“, insignificant to others, everyday time, the personal time. The hours. The hours of a day.

There are positive aspects too. Something does increase with age. I hope you can hear the small cliché alarm here, for as your grandma told you about age: One does know more. It is of course impossible to say if what a certain person knows about the world is what the world needs to know, but one, if lucky and introspective enough, knows a bit more about oneself.

For instance I know I’m a mixture between a very simple farmer girl and, grandma, again, would love that expression, a “woman of letters”. This is as enriching but also as dividing as the fact that I’m constantly moving between cultures and languages.

I’m also very sensitive to the fact that most men are so used to patronising women that the freedom and kind of respect I and many others seek won’t happen in my lifetime. Don’t think of yourselves dear male readers, think of the big majorities in many parts of this world, or think of the plumber talking to a housewife somewhere in your country, or the top-manager talking to his secretary, or even the professor to a young beautiful student. Men find it difficult to respect women. Respecting women means for many candid men just being polite and cordial to them. And of course for many others still means not a bloody thing.

The most profound experience for me as a human being so far has been parenthood. It’s testing one’s greatnesses and inner devils everyday. It trully means sacrifice and everyday self-restriction. Of course there is a chance that when children become adults everything will get easier and their lives will run fine and thus the work you’ve done will be rewarded with gratitude and obvious results. But the reward is much more immediate, though not obvious, and already there. For this kind of love you grow a prophet everyday, if lucky, if strong enough. You go to the desert every morning and come back to the well at night. Circle after circle your heart gets stronger.

Last but not least: Our body. Our body will, as a friend put it in his wonderful essay about his battle with his own once female body, finally betray us at some point, but it won’t ever go down silently. Our body doesn’t care about others. It exists on its own terms. It won’t care about motherhood or marriage or age, won’t care about your female or male strangles, won’t care about distances or time. The body won’t care because its mind is the sensual touch. Your body will always seek the tasty food, the good light, the warm water, the other skin, this earth itself. For most of us it is the only mythical relationship we’ll have, and the one we must constantly manage with all its dramatic ups and downs. We’re animal and human, we live in reality and in our physically real at the same time. We’re centaurs, we are minotaurs, we are wanderers between Olympus and Hades. Decade after decade.
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