so magical

October 15, 2019

There are some people so magical, that no matter how far away they are, you can feel their breathing in your soul.

secret colours

September 1, 2019

Draw me with your fingertips, lover, face and body too. Here, on my lips paint the colour of love. Without mercy, sketch me, revise me just for you, painting, of course, the secret colours hidden inside my heart. And with those same fingertips enclose and trap my soul –

keep everything

August 31, 2019

I possess pieces of you. I keep them under my skin against my soul. With other lovers, there was nothing, an emptiness. But from you I keep everything. Always I keep everything.

P

Soul light

August 26, 2019

Dark as it is – you see,
that little flickering,
is the light of my soul.

Else Lasker-Schüler
To the Golden Knight
My Blue Piano
Trans. Brooks Haxton

Dark things

August 23, 2019

We love certain dark things
Secretly
In silence
Between the shadows and our souls –

Naked

August 11, 2019

let’s go to a land,
where we can be naked,
where we do not,
have to wear any layers,
underneath our pure soul

we will be so open,
that there won’t be,
anything to hide,
from each other,

we will feel light,
as for all these years,
we have been suffocating,
ourselves with heavy clothes

now is the time,
or it will be never,
to be as open,
as transparent,
as water tonight…

Poettiger41

Lips touching lips

August 10, 2019

A single kiss can bruise your soul –

no one knows the way

July 13, 2019

I have sometimes thought that a woman’s nature is like a great house full of rooms: there is the hall, through which everyone passes in going in and out; the drawingroom, where one receives formal visits; the sitting-room, where the members of the family come and go as they list; but beyond that, far beyond, are other rooms, the handles of whose doors perhaps are never turned; no one knows the way to them, no one knows whither they lead; and in the innermost room, the holy of holies, the soul sits alone and waits…

Edith Wharton
The Fullness of Life

Poetry is the lonely, radical, precious expression of a single life. The singularity of the unique human soul who must cry out. Because of love, because of wounds, because of injustice, because of hunger, because of exile and migration, because of dispossession of every kind, because we have lost someone we love and cannot bear that loss, because night comes on and we are alone.

Anne Michaels
Infinite Gradation

It is only thanks to your good looks
I can take part
in the rites of love.

Mystical ecstasies,
treasons delightful
as a crimson lipstick,
a perverse rococo
of psychological involutions,
sweetness of carnal longings
that take your breath,
pits of despair
sinking to the very bottom of the world:
all this I owe to you.

How tenderly every day I should
lash you with a whip of cold water,
if you alone allow me to possess
beauty and wisdom irreplaceable.

The souls of my lovers
open to me in a moment of love
and I have them in my dominion.
I look as does a sculptor
on his work
at their faces snapped shut with eyelids,
martyred by ecstasy,
made dense by happiness.
I read as does an angel
thoughts in their skulls
I feel in my hand
a beating human heart,
I listen to the words
which are whispered by one human to another
in the frankest moments of one’s life.

I enter their souls,
I wander
by a road of delight or of horror
to lands as inconceivable
as the bottoms of the oceans.
Later on, heavy with treasures
I come slowly
to myself.

O, many riches,
many precious truths
growing immense in a metaphysical echo,
many initiations
delicate and startling
I owe to you, my thigh.

The most exquisite refinement of my soul
would not give me any of those treasures
if not for the clear, smooth charm
of an amoral little animal.

Anna Swir
translated by Czeslaw Milosz and Leonard Nathan