I am a poet. And I travel. Well, perhaps less so right now, but hopefully this is just temporary … My poetry travels too – between Polish and English (sometimes it gets transla
There are times of departureswhen you abandon places likeclock that loses time and headstowards other destinations, whenthe sun unrolls the earth fromclouds that let you face it, g
The girl who won't come home from work.By the tape measure & the pen holder – redlike the apple the witch offeredto Snow White, red like Eve's.Between the apple & the wor
1.Saint Sabina of Brzeg, Kolomyia, Sniatyn, Łapy, Tobolsk,whose ID said your place of birth was Sniatyn in the USSR, even though when you were born there was no USSRand the ruler
I trust only you.You the words. You the images, the stars. You are the threads we weave with our fingers, so theblood flows from vein to vein. Open the canvas. Make the skin speak.
It's snowing on Dartmoor.The boulders of Stonehenge,by persisting with their secretare emptied of mystery.On the apple treebraided rootspierced by rain's knives.Water and bloodthe
I would give a lot forthis poem to be a boxof matches, an unshaded lampon the desk, a laundry receipt.This dream makes mea poet By Julian Kornhauser Translated by Piotr Florczyk Fr
I converse with the leafthat talliesthe pulse of my heart.SilentThe leaf has no timefor answers. It countsthe beats of my heartWhen the reckoning ceases,the leaf will reply, fallin
the ones who come after you will laugh at you the way you laugh at us now By Nóra Ružičková Translated by Ivana Hostová From What Now Is Now Is Now by Nóra Ružičk
I fit into the foreign languagefrom my clavicle to my anklesinhaling otherness with the oxygenthe prickliness of fields of spiky poeticsmy heart is intentionally pumping fasterwarm
