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Poetry: Four Poems

Jerzy Harasymowicz

The Empty Little Church

The painter speaks to a candle
and you can hear the sizzling of existence
Iconostasis is dying out in the emptiness
and faces of saints are turning violet

Everything is reduced
to blue windows of sky
inserted into the wood of centuries

To golden foundations of church - made of wax
of prayers

To figure of God
in a lonely suit

The Church I Was Given

There is no moon
but the church shines like a moon
I have never seen a roof
with the tin so silver
no tower
with a dome so twisted

by the gale of faith
and I have seen no landscape
with greenness so full of hope
for the resurrection of a work

And maybe I should ask the Master
maybe it is a locomotive
maybe - and it’s running
leaving clouds of green flora behind
And I believe too

The Airport

The aircraft walks slowly
like a butterfly on a table
there is no-one inside
in the cabin of light
by the wheel
sits only a new vision
of itself and the tail
Crashes are unknown
everything is remote controlled
by the painterly instinct
and lasts all year
the inspired green
of the airport

The Synthetic Landscape

Field of lupine summer
- golden object
with a red point
- blue object
blue object
under the porch
instead of mountains
- quiet blocks
of silence

Authorized translation by Ewa Stańczyk and Ian Pople

Back to the January 2009 Issue
The Sarmatian Review
Last updated 2/21/09