THREE POEMS from VESUVIUS DOOR


CAIRO

The other night, I dreamed
I was walking down
Al-Muizz Street of Cairo.
On its glossy, paved hand
the sunset was calling
for the purifying Prayer.

I don’t speak Arabic,
I thought to myself in Croatian.
Then I woke up.

I’ve never been to Cairo.
Or was I?

TRANS-EUROPE EXPRESS

Half asleep, I listen to the husky darkness
chasing after the distant beam of light.
Where are we? Lost?
Finally. Finally.

THE GARDEN OF FORBIDDEN

A primeval impulse,
to touch
the Garden’s
evening lights
one by one
like forbidden planets
and eat them all
as slowly as possible,
is lurking deep within me.

TWO POEMS FROM STRING ORCHESTRA


NOSTALGIA

I came from Russia to America to be free,
But now my nostalgia doesn’t allow me to be free.

J.B. New York, 1984.

A poet J. B. once said he was followed
in his exile from Leningrad to New York
by the a cappella singing of White nights.

I know the feeling when the body stops
in the panting night to slowly dissipate
into its deep, trilingual margins.

I go to sleep on one beach, wake up on another.
Boat all fitted out, tugging against its rope,
says Ray Carver in his Quiet Nights.

THE LILAC TREES

Once,
My father told me
that the news
about the end
of the Second World
War smelled of lilacs
in his hometown
of Lovinac, Croatia.

The startling color
of peace. Purple
without thorns.

From time to time
we need to reclaim
what we already own.


© Copyright Neda Miranda Blazevic-Krietzman