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A Path to the Sea
A Path to the Sea
A Path to the Sea
Ebook129 pages54 minutes

A Path to the Sea

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From poet Tess Gallagher, one of the translators of this new book by Liliana Ursu: 'Like a ring of fire around fire,' Liliana Ursu ends her poem, an image that also conveys the intensity of this book. Translating these amazing poems was like translating lightning. They left me singed and stricken but lifted by their illuminations, their sudden, piercing power. Co-existing with Ursu s magical binding of the broken world with 'word-shadow' is her close, wide, child s eye fixed tenderly on wild strawberries, on the bird's egg fallen from its forest nest. She knows to leave the wasp s sting in us, allowing us 'great pain after great love.'
LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 4, 2020
ISBN9781545722220
A Path to the Sea

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    Book preview

    A Path to the Sea - Liliana Ursu

    Sligo

    1.

    Celebration in the Season of Nettles

    It’s Not a Good Time for Poets

    The despair of my open hand

    at the corner of my lips—

    the tremor of my voice when I ask

    in the Cibin market in Sibiu

    for a kilo of cherries—these

    are the fierce masks behind which I preserve myself

    during days when another poet advises:

    "Transform yourself into

    something else, even a dragon. Forget

    for a while you’re a poet. It won’t do

    you any good. Can even

    destroy you."

    And I—who stubbornly continue to write poems,

    to cull, to retrieve my youth

    from photographs—gather lavender, stalk

    by stalk, and spread it on my dead father’s desk.

    As if life were just going on,

    comforting and gentle, imaginable.

    As if my flesh were, yes,

    what it is: a fountain of stars.

    Celebration in the Season of Nettles

    I haven’t written any poems.

    Not about the tribe of nettles and their uses,

    nor about the cherry blossoms.

    Winter felt endless

    and my skittery sleep, like a startled rabbit

    pursued by too many hunters, shook the dark.

    There’s little news:

    the daffodils herald a fanfare of gold

    in the monastery garden, and

    Cati’s old aunt was picked up by the wind

    while hanging her patched blouses in the yard.

    She’s all right now.

    She reads her favorite psalms in the glow

    of her small table lamp, its backlit shade

    a collage of half-century-old news clippings,

    her photograph at twenty

    when she was crowned Miss Romania.

    Another Saturday night and fireworks sparkle like a tiara

    in the quiet March sky. Who knows

    what the guests at the Marriott might be

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