wtorek, 26 kwietnia 2011


poprzez terminal w mojej głowie
prześwituje ku mnie
wizja twojej twarzy
a raczej
cień twoich oczu
właśnie zabłysnął
gdy znalazł moje
których potrafię dotknąć
twoim zapachem skróconym o kilometry dróg
i przechowywanym w Homerze

forma twoich pleców odciska ślad pod moimi,
łączę się z jej widmem,
twoim oddechem
wydychanym moimi płucami
bez papierosów
z pyłkami jabłoni
zebrałam kilka
wyślę ci moje płuca

usta będące opuszkami palców
zamykają mnie świętym spazmem
kłądę je na twoje kolana
gdy piszę że je kładę

Through the terminal in my head
the vision of your face
shines towards my face
maybe rather
the shadow of your eyes
just shone
after it found my eyes
which i can touch
with your smell shortened of kilometers of roads
and kept in Homer

the form of your back imprints the trace under my back
i binds with its spectrum
touched by your breath
exhaled by my lungs
without cigarettes
with pollen of apples
i pick up a few
to send you my lungs

the mouth being fingertips
closed me in sacred spasm
i put them on your knees
when i write that i put them

wtorek, 12 kwietnia 2011

Pedro Salinas

Znalazłam tylko angielskie wersje. Warto

Wake up. Day calls you

Wake up. Day calls you
to your life: your duty.
And to live, nothing more.
Root it out of the glum
night and the darkness
that covered your body
for which light waited
on tiptoe in the dawn.
Stand up, affirm the straight
simple will to be
a pure slender virgin.
Test your bodys metal.
cold, heat? Your blood
will tell against the snow,
or behind the window.
The colour
in your cheeks will tell.
And look at people. Rest
doing no more than adding
your perfection to another
day. Your task
is to carry your life high,
and play with it, hurl it
like a voice to the clouds
so it may retrieve the light
already gone from us.
That is your fate: to live
Do nothing.
Your work is you, nothing more.

When you chose me

When you chose me—
love chose—
I came out of the great anonymity
from everyone, from nothing.
Till then
I was never taller than
the sierras of the world.
I never sank deeper
than the maximum
depths marked out
on maritime charts.
And my gladness was
sad, as small watches are
without a wrist to fasten to,
without a winding crown, stopped.
But when you said: you,
to me, yes, to me singled out,
I was higher than stars,
deeper than coral.
And my joy
began to spin, caught
in your being, in your pulse.
You gave me possession of myself
when you gave your self to me.
I lived. I live. How long?
I know you will back out.
When you go
I will go back to a deaf
world that does not distinguish
gram or drop
in weight or water.
I'll be one more—like the rest—
when you are lost.
I'll lose my name,
my age, my gestures, all
lost in me, from me.
Gone back to the immense bone heap
of those who have not died
and now have nothing
to die for in life.


Fear. Of you. Loving you
is the highest risk.
Multiple, you and your life.
I have you, today's you;
I know her now, I enter
through labyrinths, easy
thanks to you, to your hand.
And mine now, yes.
But you are
your own beyond
like light and the world:
days, nights, summers,
winters succeeding themselves.
Fatally, you change
without ceasing to be you,
in your own change,
with the constant fidelity
of change itself.

Tell me, will I be able to live
in those other climes,
or futures, or lights
that you are elaborating
like fruit does its juice,
for your tomorrow?
Or will I be only something
that was born for one day
of yours (my eternal day),
for one Spring
(in me forever in flower)
without being able to live any more
when there arrive
successive in you,
new forces and new winds,
other lights,
that already await the moment
of being, in you, your life?

środa, 6 kwietnia 2011

All hidden flowers

To jest mapa. Dla Ciebie. Zbędna i pełna przerośniętych form i cieni. Nie podążaj za nimi, są jak martwe języki, maski niepotrzebnych znaczeń. Ale znajdziesz tam też alizarynowe pieśni.
Nie wątpię, że się znajdziesz..

This is the map. For you. Redundant and full of excessive shapes and shadows. Don`t follow them, they are like dead languages, masks of unwanted meanings. But you will find there alizarin songs.
I don`t doubt, that you will find yourself there.

piątek, 1 kwietnia 2011

...o dotykaniu/..about touching

"Ból jest pękaniem skorupy, pod którą kryje się zrozumienie"
Khalil Gibran, Prorok

"Your pain is the breaking of the shell, that encloses your understanding"
Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

Czy potrzebujemy zrozumienia, czy może wystarczy, że ktoś będzie nas w stanie pojąć, wydobyć poza i dotknąć. Nie wiem, wciąż się uczę. Dotykam i jestem dotykana.

 Do we need the understanding, or maybe it is enough, when someone is able to comprehend us, draw out and touch. I don`t know, I`m still learning. I touch and i am touched.

Frida Kahlo

Juliao Sarmento

Michal Macku

Arnulf Rainer