Jan. 30, 2012 at 10:04am with 78 notes View comments
Reblogged from fuckyeahpolishpoets
Marzanna KielarElzbieta Wojcik- Leesepoetry
Telephone, Marzanna Kielar

Translated by Elzbieta Wojcik- Leese

you were burning dry branches and weeds 
– I heard fire rustle in the receiver, your whistle when the dogs
once again tried to get at the mole-hills where yesterday

we picked plums from among the rampant grass;
evening drew near – the wind blew breath
into its puppy muzzle.

The sticky prunes, we ate them for supper.
I was leafing through a book on water gardens, photographs
of marsh plants – I wanted to memorize their names: marsh marigold,

sedge, floating pond-weed –
when suddenly you said, “I would like to die
before you.”

In your country house, yesterday, I watched you fall asleep
reading – sleep like a backwash
sewed up the oar of your body.

I took the book out of your hands, switched off the light.
The rib of night
was shining in the branches

(via fuckyeahpolishpoets)

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    Translated by Elzbieta Wojcik- Leese
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