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
green cleaning service Glencoe ..Sorry would be a start.Though you cant take back your... Read More
No one should have to beg or crawl before humanity.... Read More
There are many times I set up barriers and walls,... Read More
"Song of the Great Zimbabwe"Across the African, winter's skyIn the... Read More
Have you ever experienced infatuation with someone you know is... Read More
When I hear your voice inside my head it makes... Read More
Four Poems: Katrina's PathwayHarvest of Apoplectic Horses ((Dedicated to: Katrina))... Read More
Stone Beds [Pompeii's surge]Advance: after the great eruption of Pompeii's... Read More
The Incubus' Flash-lightHe looked inside my head And found a... Read More
English Version12) Black Poncho(of Saint Cosme Hill, by Lima, Peru)Lost... Read More
the disease of extremism is infectious-; whoever cannot think of... Read More
Kafka lands resurrected in Crewe deposited by a silvery alien... Read More
[Episode Five]Arizona Blue-GunfighterThe Wolves Nest-in the North[Episode Five]Northern Minnesota Area?Winter... Read More
"I heard what you said, Red. Yet, I have to... Read More
McLean, VA - "The Healing Conscious" tells the story of... Read More
BoyhoodOh me! Thy glorious days have flown! I mealy noticed,... Read More
You've been writing poetry since that first assignment in your... Read More
Hammers. Timbers. Iron. Steel.They're laying down a mighty keel.As ant-like... Read More
In Poetry: Meaning of WordsWhen I write poetry, I check... Read More
Iquitos & the Amazon Part OneIt was December 2, l959,... Read More
Memoirs of a Wasteland's RimIt still was light when she... Read More
I want to get closeI am afraid.Afraid of what... Read More
During interviews and general conversations with the public,one of the... Read More
Atahualpa's Game [Peruvian]Sometimes, it's not wise To share your wisdom... Read More
There I sat, ninety-five degree weatherOutside; the bookstore caf?, was... Read More
house cleaning company Bannockburn ..Five Poems from Home1) Remembering: Dorothy Parker [Dedicated to the... Read More
Sometimes we feel hard-pressed, Our backs against the wall;... Read More
Kafka lands resurrected in Crewe deposited by a silvery alien... Read More
"To My Dear and Loving Husband" was written by America's... Read More
You've been writing poetry since that first assignment in your... Read More
Black Blood, in Jeremiah's Vines [A Dream Poem]And I heard... Read More
Kamalakanta was born in Burdwan India in the late 18th... Read More
FIND the MAGICFind the Magic As you release old bondage... Read More
the disease of extremism is infectious-; whoever cannot think of... Read More
"Beautiful Dreamer" was written by Stephen Foster just before his... Read More
It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,thoughts of sleep... Read More
Mother's Day Poetry,I'm Sorry Mom!I'm sorry for the troubles ... Read More
Amy King's first full-length collection, Antidotes for an Alibi, insists... Read More
Writing Poetry for TomorrowWhat does a man need to be... Read More
Emlyn Williams Theatre, Mold, North Wales: 20th February 2003Clwyd Theatr... Read More
What can I do to keep this world in its... Read More
So many looked to you for inspiration,Unlikely hero for the... Read More
Take some time to stop and look at nature. Pick... Read More
Poems have different cores, or so I believe, and can... Read More
You can do and you can be whatever you want.... Read More
I never thought I would have to say GOODBYE to... Read More
A Poem - By Lorraine KemberIt was a day like... Read More
Ironically, the passion that can neutralize the repulsion for difficulties... Read More
The Incubus' Flash-lightHe looked inside my head And found a... Read More
Wars, air of AmbiguityDedicated to 1st. Lt. Laura Walker (From... Read More
Poetry |