Usha Rani K కవిత

Life -- and how wonderful it is -- follows our tracks and slowly disappears in the depth of our dreams. Of our dreams. There's always a way to talk of these as if their secret meaning had been revealed only to you, though that only expresses quite succinctly just how little it has. At first everything seems easy -- almost unavoidable. On a beach, say, holding Thomas Hardy's poems whispering meaningfully in her ear: "I have lived with Shades so long," and later in the hotel room after the last embarrassing assurances: "How gentle that candle . . . It bids farewell to night wiping away its tears." Is there any point now in admitting the compact? In saying or writing "a love is perhaps but an exchange of vocabulary," when the void that is our due is already mirrored in the splintered light of our eyes? The turning of the page. The starry darkness of the book and the agony of the transparent man in a translated world. "Words do not fear words; they fear the poem." The end is always the beginning of a new magnificent denial. -- Haris Vlavianos (translated from the Greek by David Connolly) From 'New European Poets' [A major anthology spanning the diversity of the latest poetry to come out of Europe, New European Poets presents the works of poets from across Europe. In compiling this landmark anthology, Wayne Miller and Kevin Prufer enlisted twenty-four regional editors to select 270 poets whose writing was first published after 1970. These poets represent every country in Europe...]

by Usha Rani K



from kavi sangamam*కవి సంగమం*(Poetry ) http://ift.tt/1hkR3bg

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