"Those on the other side."
Bronislava Volková is a bilingual poet, semiotician, translator, collage artist, and Professor Emerita of Slavonic Studies at Indiana University. A Czech exile, she lived and taught in the U.S. for over forty years, publishing extensively in Czech and English. She continues to publish bilingual books of poetry, conducts international author readings, and participates in many international poetry festivals as guest of honor and medalist. She currently resides in Prague.
Welcome to the Poets Weave, I'm Romayn Rubinas Dorsey. Bronislava, what poems have you brought for us today?
Dog
Dog dog dog
Dog!
And there we have it:
With capitals at the onset of each line
We mark our presence - no need
To change, to strive, speak, or run
We are here, sitting, walking, living
With peaceful passion of your eyes
Those who leave, do not return
But they are there
No need to speak of it
Do it
Say it
To go
No need
God!
Those on the other side
Must surely sing
Must surely relax and feast
On manna of heavenly words
Or silence (silence might be better)
Meaning comes only with words
That unnecessary
Thus
Ultimately
Meaning too, is surprisingly unnecessary
Oh how liberating!
That meaning of life’s pursuits
Is actually unnecessary.
Peace.
Poetry
Poems
All this
All that
No longer calls for sweating
And sharing and shouting and slurping
In little steps in large steps
With memories
With jest
With sadness
Vanishing, flowing, rowing
Into that garden
Without guards and words
Dog god
Cat tack
Tick
Tock
Love willing
Love living
Gone
Farewell to My Sweet Kushi
Love, you are gone.
Life is not the same
without your fur in my hand.
Without the blue of your eyes,
without your presence.
Without your seeking our togetherness,
without your appetite,
without your hesitant step.
Without your squeak.
Oh you, the meekest of the meek!
You no longer there
to say good night to.
To greet the morning with.
To return to.
You lost your strength and agility,
your fullness and your suppleness.
You remained motionless under the table
in your favorite spot
with your eyes open into the unknown.
I remember the little walks you took in the garden
when your strength had waned
to say good-by to nature
in the last, sixteenth summer of your life,
to find peace in that
which you were always so hesitant to accept.
My dearest being,
soul mate, companion,
loyal and calm,
rose of my heart
made of fine fur and oh so vulnerable!
Always in need of care and protection.
Where are you now?
My eyes no longer seem capable of crying.
Your body smelled of raspberries
and from time to time
even now
I catch a whiff of you,
no longer tangible.
It is time.
It is time for the best and for the fullest
for the nest
to fill with fluid leaves
that genuinely welcome.
It is time to dream
and swim up the stream
to fly on the delightful
wings of your graceful peace offering.
Outside the windows
the wind on its knees sings
its song to the sun.
It reaches its arms
toward the mountains,
where it goes to sleep.
You've been listening to poetry by Bronislava Volkova on the Poets Weave. I'm Romayne Rubinas Dorsey.