In early fall, in Minnesota, the rain falls, falls, In buckets, buckets and more buckets-: drops Likened to music from its many streams-land Of ten-thousand lakes; moistened gravel, gravel Everywhere?
Grandpa sits on the porch-daydreaming of, of Something, perhaps winter around the corner-; As the flies disappear, with the mosquitoes? Leaves will soon vanish, shadows will come early
Maybe he's thinking about summer: miles and miles And miles and miles of cornfields; his childhood now Long gone, he hums a hymn, a song; looking at the Metal-piped fence, he made, with three poles, on the Embankment, leading up the steps to the porch; It's worn-out like him.
The winds in Minnesota smell fresh, fresh from all The foliage, there's a lot of it. The eighty-three Year old man looks about, on his screened in Porch -fetches his pipe, lights it up, sucks in a Drag, pushes out some smoke: it drifts and drifts In the corners of the house
"Ah!" he says-proud of his life events-I say to Myself (I'm but ten): "No doubt He's already lived this?"
There are many stories he wants to tell, but first he Wants to smell the fresh air, the burning of autumn Leaves-He, never intended to have lived this long of A life, I believe, the old bear, came from Russia in 1916; He accepted life-adjusted to it
He hears the sparrows, their feathers flapping, faintly Soiled feathers, flapping, covering every inch of their Bodies- He notices frost on the nearby tree. It seems to Him, the sun is bouncing off of the ground, he gets bits And pieces of it on his face, it warms it, somehow, Thaws it out?
He's breathing in, frail like,-like reading Faulkner, slowly Does it, a ting uneasy. He never left Minnesota once, once He arrived back home from WWI (1918), "?no need to," he Says-he's happy? The fields are clean, animals in the barns; in the city, People getting haircuts-everything shutting down. Winter is now-it came last night, a Minnesota winter Is like no other. He just woke up, his bones chilled. The Wind blows, now it whistles, no foliage to stop its echoes.
"There are only a few left like me," he murmurs. The Flavor of winter he likes; warm biscuits, hot coffee, a Smoke from a pipe or cigar. Black branches that were Green a few months ago-: it's 10-below zero.
He sees the beauty of Minnesota in a glance here and There-It makes his brain swim with life; it is nature at its Finest!...
For Kathy [#800 8/14/05]
In Spanish Translated by: Nancy Penaloza
Respirando en, Minnesota [un poema]
Al comienzo del Oto?o, en Minnesota, la lluvia cae, cae, En cubos, cubos Y m?s cubos-: gotas Comparadas con la m?sica de sus muchos arroyuelos de Diez mil lagos; grava humedecida, grava por todas partes?
El abuelo se sienta sobre el p?rtico, so?ando despierto, de Algo, quiz?s el invierno rondando la esquina-; mientras las moscas desaparecen, con los mosquitos?Las hojas pronto desaparecer?n, las sombras vendr?n temprano
Tal vez ?l esta pensando en el verano: millas y millas y millas y millas de maizales; Su ni?ez ahora, hace mucho tiempo ida, ?l tararea un himno, una canci?n; mirando
La valla met?lica-entubada, que ?l hizo, con tres postes, sobre el Terrapl?n, Conduciendo los pasos hacia el p?rtico; Esto esta desgastado como ?l.
Los vientos en Minnesota huelen fresco, fresco por todo el follaje, hay Mucho de ello. El anciano de ochenta y tres a?os mira alrededor, sobre su protecci?n En el P?rtico ? trayendo su pipa, encendi?ndolo, aspiran una Rastra, eliminando el humo: esto va a la deriva y llega las esquinas de la casa
?" Ah!" ?l dice - orgulloso de los acontecimientos de su vida- me digo a mi mismo (pero yo s?lo de diez): Sin duda "??l ya vivi? esto?"
Hay muchas historias que ?l quiere contar, pero primero, ?l quiere oler el aire fresco, la combusti?n de Hojas de oto?o - ?l, nunca tuvo la intenci?n de haber vivido esto a lo largo de una vida, Yo creo, el viejo oso, vino de Rusia en 1916; ?l acept? la vida- adaptado a ello.
?l oye los gorriones, su batir de plumas, plumas apenas Manchadas, batir, cubriendo cada pulgada de sus Cuerpos - ?l nota la helada sobre el ?rbol cercano. Le parece, el sol esta saltando en el campo, ?l consigue a?icos y pedazos de ello sobre su cara, esto calienta, de alg?n modo, Lo deshiela hacia fuera?
?l esta respirando, fr?gil como, - como leyendo Faulkner, despacio hace esto, un tintineo dif?cil. ?l nunca dej? Minnesota alguna vez, una vez que ?l lleg? a casa de WWI (1918), "?ninguna necesidad", ?l dice - que el es feliz?. los campos son limpios, los animales en los graneros; en la ciudad, la gente que consigue cortes de pelo ? todo cerrando abajo. El invierno esta ahora ? lleg? anoche, un invierno del Minnesota no Se parece a ning?n otro. Justo cuando el se despert?, sus huesos enfriados. El Viento sopla, ahora esto silba, ning?n follaje para parar sus ecos.
"Hay s?lo unos pocos dejados como yo " murmura ?l. El Sabor del invierno le gusta; bizcochos calientes, caf? caliente, fumar de una pipa o cigarro. Las ramas negras que eran Verdes hace unos meses-: esto es 10 bajo cero.
?l ve la belleza de Minnesota en un vistazo aqu? y All? - Esto hace a su cerebro nadar con la vida; ?esto es la naturaleza en su fineza!...
Para Kathy [*800 8/14/05]
You can see Dennis Siluk's many books at http://www.bn.com or http://www.bn.com
affordable house cleaning Wilmette ..Lord Byron's opening couplet to "She Walks In Beauty" is... Read More
Explore the meaning of poetry and the motivation of poets... Read More
You make me smile like I've seldom done before You... Read More
My life has changedin so so many waysIt seems to... Read More
There are many times I set up barriers and walls,... Read More
1) End PoemWherever you are today- Is where you were... Read More
So many looked to you for inspiration,Unlikely hero for the... Read More
Frog SummerSummer grows hot, for the New-blooded frogs; The bugs... Read More
Wars, air of AmbiguityDedicated to 1st. Lt. Laura Walker (From... Read More
Kafka lands resurrected in Crewe deposited by a silvery alien... Read More
Since my wife and I are moving, or preparing to... Read More
Hammers. Timbers. Iron. Steel.They're laying down a mighty keel.As ant-like... Read More
Have you ever sat there staring at the paper, ready... Read More
I cannot bear to think of when you will be... Read More
"Beautiful Dreamer" was written by Stephen Foster just before his... Read More
I can see the cerulean blue of the skiesOr the... Read More
Writing poetry is an art, a way of expression, finding... Read More
English VersionThe Merchant of Copan [480 AD]Advance: The ballgame at... Read More
"To My Dear and Loving Husband" was written by America's... Read More
"For this reason poetry is something more philosophical and more... Read More
Most of my poems are written late at night, often,... Read More
When your life becomes unbearable And the light of... Read More
In the quiet of the arctic night- In its deep... Read More
In the midst of darkness, there is light. In... Read More
Atahualpa's Game [Peruvian]Sometimes, it's not wise To share your wisdom... Read More
quick home cleaning Northbrook ..War bombs may explode demolishing man and land. Hurricanes may... Read More
What's a prisoner to do when justice fails and... Read More
Have you ever thought about how nice it would be... Read More
Delicately, my mind was selecting a muffled tune, out of... Read More
It was not me as I am now. It was... Read More
Key Largo:The fans turn lazily in front of the doorThey... Read More
"To My Dear and Loving Husband" was written by America's... Read More
Phantom of the Rocks[Huancayo, Peru]Night falls deepUpon the traveler!Low, over... Read More
Bells for Belphegor!...Where immortal veils never meet Belphegor, Arch devil... Read More
Like a cat I slumber, blissfully unencumbered, Through eighty per... Read More
Do not be afraid to shine. This world needs what... Read More
Ed Gallagher Dec. 11, 1907 - Sept. 5, 2004This poem... Read More
Wars, air of AmbiguityDedicated to 1st. Lt. Laura Walker (From... Read More
YOU MIGHT THINK I AM STRONGI THINK YOU GOT IT... Read More
1) End PoemWherever you are today- Is where you were... Read More
Thank youDedicated to soldiers and their loved onesFor those who... Read More
In Poetry: Meaning of WordsWhen I write poetry, I check... Read More
You are to me my lifeline my security. That scares... Read More
Man UnbowedUnbowed by sin, the world of man, stands Upon... Read More
House of the Goblin [Part Two of Three]Here is where,... Read More
#25The King and Delka [Split Mawkishness-on Moiromma /Part V]Sickly SentimentalityI... Read More
[Episode Five]Arizona Blue-GunfighterThe Wolves Nest-in the North[Episode Five]Northern Minnesota Area?Winter... Read More
English Version1) Grendel's DivorceYou must know that I do not... Read More
I cannot bear to think of when you will be... Read More
English Version12) Black Poncho(of Saint Cosme Hill, by Lima, Peru)Lost... Read More
Poetry |