Tuesday, January 1, 2019

KRYSTYNA KONECKA



KRYSTYNA KONECKA

THE GOLDEN CHRYSANTHEMUMS…

The golden chrysanthemums the shattered flower vase
water humbly returned to its primary sources
longing remaining silent exactly like thin plants
by a width of the leaf will pass by an oasis

how to express compassion for the lifeless landscapes
from a distance where the ginger cows drown in the grass
where in abundant wealth the animals suffering
of boredom nudge the cracked words with their warm muzzles

when I immerse my hands into saturated mold
the soil patiently falls apart on the children’s graves
for one handful of the skin for one gust of the wind

in this hilarious show from theatre proscenium
we descend mask in mask half-naked hence savages
so you are hardly an outline of quiet promise.

TRANSLATED BY EWA SHERMAN, ENGLAND






THE SMALLER BROTHERS

The smaller brothers are bigger or in the miniature.
In reference to man - the ruler-usurper.
What to the bison in the primeval forest, the deer in the glade,
privacy of racoonor the squirrel above?

Better if for the dignified elks the life slowly
flows in the marshes. And for the wolves in the forests.
And away from the human eyes to feed her baby mice
the lesser shrew as happy as three grams.

As for dragonflies, beetles, birds and butterflies
- on the return from the meadow – night till the morning
I am intrigued how much related we are.

Not important. The fauna’s mystery in every moment
enchants me. Even so, I am thinking about this cormorant?
And – is fish a brother? Or a smaller sister.

TRANSLATED BY EWA SHERMAN, ENGLAND







THROUGH WOODS RETURN…

Through woods return to source. Quiet. Getting quieter…
And until the end with rhythm like a classic dance.
Books in logical rows. The Saxon porcelain trembling
in agreeable staccato of awakened keys.

This rhythm is a regular breathing of my house.
The order of the day and night in constant seasons
and that I last. That very silent flutter of heart
allows me to keep moving mountains on my shoulders.

My little influence and order lose their meaning
behind the wall. I miss clues in the wild hectic world.
I cannot cope with old idiots making a living

from escalating wars. Yet I fight when I am pushed
into a row by someone’s reason and screaming. So
I love silence… stay in it. I will return to it.

TRANSLATED BY EWA SHERMAN, ENGLAND

KRYSTYNA KONECKA

KRYSTYNA KONECKA is a poet, journalist and photographer. She lives in Poland (Bialystok). Shehas a MA degree in Polish Philology (Warsaw University) and she completed postgraduate studies of Culture and Education (Silesian University). She has been working in journalism  and contributed articles to many magazines published in Warsaw. She has been working as photographer for a number of years and her numerous photographs have been published in magazines and presented at various exhibitions. Krystyna Konecka is a member of The Polish Writers’ Union (Warsaw branch). In poetry she favours sonnets. She is an author of nearly twenty books of poetry and reportages. Her poems have been published in Polish and foreign periodicals and anthologies. For her achievements poetry and journalism (reportages on social issues, literary and the article criticism, articles on the culture) Krystyna Konecka has received literary awards and was highly regarded by critics. She attends the international literary meetings.


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