Rainy sonata – Alicja Maria Kuberska

 549481_539537329406958_1489778601_nAlicja Maria Kuberska

Alicja Maria Kuberskaawarded Polish poetess, novelist, journalist, editor.

In 2011 she published her first volume of poems entitled:  “The Glass Reality”.  Her second volume “ Analysis of Feelings”, was published in 2012. The third collection “ Moments” was published in English in 2014, both in Poland and in the USA. In 2014,she also published the novel – “ Virtual roses” and volume of poems “ On the border of dream”. Next year her volume entitled “ Girl in the Mirror” was published in the UK and “ Love me” , “ (Not )my poem” in the USA. In 2015 she also edited anthology entitled “The Other Side of the Screen”.

In 2016 she edited two volumes: “ Taste of  Love” ( USA), “Thief of Dreams” ( Poland) and international anthology entitled “ Love is like Air” (USA). She edits series of anthologies entitled “ Metaphor of Contemporary” ( Poland)

Her poems have been published in numerous anthologies and magazines in Poland, Czech Republic, the USA, the UK, Belgium,Albania,Spain, Chile, Israel, Canada, India, Italy, Uzbekistan,  South Korea and Australia. 

Alicja Kuberska is a member of the Polish Writers Associations in Warsaw, Poland and IWA Bogdani, Albania. She is also a member of directors’ board of Soflay Literature Foundation.

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Rainy sonata

Sudden gusts of wind
Tap rhythmically upon the window
Raindrops jangle on the glass.
Downpour composes a sonata.

It records transparent notes

On the invisible staves.
Single sounds join together
to create the  thundering chords.

 

Cold drops vibrate in music,
Antarctic glaciers crumble,
hot springs geysers steam,
river flow down rhythm  Allegro

Water, as the Eternal Wanderer,
will  never know peace.
It will continue roaming
between steam and ice.

Yesterday it was  the  ocean.
Today it is the lake.
Tomorrow it will be a tear

 

Sonata e shiut

( into albanian translated S.M)

Furia e papritur e erës

Prekte me ritmikë në dritare

Të reshurat godasin  xhamin.

Rebeshi kompozon një sonatë.

 

Regjistron shënime transparente

Në shtizat e padukshme.

Tinguj të vetëm bashkohen së bashku

Për të krijuar akordet e bubullimave.

 

Pikëlat e ftohta vibrojnë si muzikë,

Akullnajat Antarktike shkërmoqen,

Burimet e nxehta  të gajzerëve avullojnë,

Lumi rrjedh poshtë ritmit Allegro

 

Uji, si Udhëtar i Përjetshëm,

Kurrë nuk do ta njohin paqen.

Do të vazhdojë jashtësinë

Mes avullit dhe akullit.

 

Dje ishte oqean.

Sot është liqeni.

Nesër do të jetë një lot

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Conversion

 

It is a pity that I cannot buy a new soul.

In supermarkets, there are no special offers
– New Soul! On sale!
The old one is dysfunctional.
It is much easier to have a simple vision of the world.
Keep your feet on the ground and don’t have dreams.
Being greedy protects the heart.
Life has a physical dimension. Ideals hurt.
Gain a prominent place in the rat race,
Dispose of sentiments, tears.
My soul is able to forgive.
It cannot learn to trust again.
It says it does not enter the same river twice.
Unreasonable? Perhaps. –
It does not listen to reason.
It pulls away from people

 

Spring over the lake

 

The sun strokes the black furrows
of ploughed fields with warmer and longer rays
The soil bulges with greenness and fecundity

Spring flows from the depths of the lake
and releases it from a dream of winter white
The ice flows shutters, opening to water.

The willows lean over the plate of the lake.
They comb and braid their hair with the wind.
The trees look at the world mirrored in water.

The wild geese come from far away
The long calipers on the sky pave the way
to their nests hidden in the reeds

Buds open up and first flowers bloom.
The waves of the lake hum a song about new life,
The mystery of rebirth begins

 A hundred year old floor

 

New people live in the old house.

They settle down and believe

they become a  part of the landscape.

 

The view from the window passed.

After a spreading lime tree only a dry stump remained .

Bee choirs in the yellow brilliance of flowers trailed off.

The wind dispersed the scent of the May lilacs.

The white phloxes disappeared from the garden.

The walls are bare, the bricks blush.

The grapevine does not peep through the windows.

It won’t offer its sweet berries on the green leaves.

 

I see the changes

They erase the traces of the former owners.

In different colours the walls blossom,

A new door has been fixed.

Only the time locked in the oak floor creaks the same.

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Sunflower

 

Grown slender,

tall and handsome

on the strong green stalk,

reaching up to the sky

like the Greek statue of Atlas,

holding the clouds heavy

with rain.

 

In love with the gold of sun’s rays,

reflected in his crown of petals,

he stood straight,

face turned up and smiling.

 

Late autumn the sun faded pale

and so did his love.

The Sunflower’s heavy head

turned down.

Black seeds fell to the ground

like bitter tears…

 

Lonely island

I often dream of  sea.
It is black and foamy.
The wind herds the waves,

by the whistling whip.
They  like mad horses rush to the shore,
tramples the fragile boats, throws  the beach.
It’s war between water and earth,
between death and life.

I stand alone on a piece of land.
I can escape nowhere

 

Charles Baudelaire
Balcony, August 1867

The friends left and the Parisian salons are deserted.
The August sun warmed the cobbled streets
and unbearable heat took in its arms the whole city.
Thick curtains do not protect against intrusive swelter.

Evenings bring cool breeze and some rest.
The sunset extinguish the scorcher by the last golden drop.
The fainted flowers  gain power like evil, straighten the leaves,
and release the intense fragrance closed in the goblets.

He, trapped in his own body has no rights
–  he will not give a last speech and not write a few words.
He must live in the hell of memories, in his artificial paradise,
which is limited to the size of his apartment.

As the waves come and go nurses,
bring the sterility of  boring days in the white sails of smocks.
The storm crushed the ship and another trip is ended.
It is possible to get to the island on a raft of a wheelchair seat

The balcony lets in the feel of  the traffic  and buzz of the city street.
The night thickens and falls like a dark blind.
Silence reveals slowly the  charm of darkness.
Faithful muse returned. She stands next to him and  whispers:
“I know the art and happy moments will raise again ” 

 

 

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