Chapter 11 11

Glimmers among the reefs, dark blue at noon, Called by the westerly wind to surge bright waves, But he quieted down at night, thinking about self-correction. Tireless cove, commanding Here countless masters, rampant crabs, Like a wet veteran from the Punic Wars. Anti-smuggling boat departs from port at midnight: a Strong lights cut through the darkness, Engine vibrates. In Sicily, near the beach of Severus, we see piles of trash, boxes, condoms, A cardboard box, with a faded plaque that read "Antonio." Love the earth, flock to the shore again and again, Sending waves, wave after wave--die, every time

All exhausted like Greek messengers. At dawn only murmurs are heard, Gollum who cast pebbles on the sand, (You can even feel it in the small square in the fishing town). The Mediterranean, where the gods once swam, And the cold Baltic, into which I swam, A twenty-one-year-old eel, lean and trembling. Loving the land, into the city, in Stockholm, In Venice, listening to tourists laugh and chatter Before returning to its dark, fixed source. And your Atlantic, busy building white mounds, And the shy Pacific, hidden in its depths. Seagulls with light wings. The last ship, white sail

Ride away. Canoes for the cautious fisherman. The sun rises in great silence. The gray Baltic Sea. Arctic Ocean, silent, The Ionian Sea, the source and end of the world. Note: The Punic Wars were three wars between Rome and Carthage. I read foreign poets Poems about Poland.Germans and Russians Not only guns, but also ink, pens, some heart, and plenty of imagination.Poland in their poems Reminds me of a daring unicorn Living on the wool weaving tapestry, it Beautiful, weak, reckless.I have no idea On what is the mechanism of this illusion built, even me, a calm reader And be fascinated by this fairy-tale defenseless land

This land feeds black eagles, hungry Emperor, German Third Reich and Third Roman Empire. The city is quiet at dusk The dim stars wake from their swoon, at noon, echoing The Voice of Ambitious Philosophers and Businessmen The latter brought velvet from the East. Hot conversation burns, Not a pyre for burning corpses. old church mossy Prayer stones are ballast Also a rocket ship. It is a just city, Here foreigners are not punished, one longer than memory shorter than forgotten cities, poet of tolerance, forgave the prophets Because of them, the humor is hopelessly lacking. The city was founded in

Chopin's Overture, Only joy and sorrow were taken from it. surrounded by small mountains like a white collar; acacia grows there, and slender aspens, The great judge of the land of trees. A brisk river flows through the heart of the city day and night whispering secret greetings From springs, from mountains, from space. Sleep is like a veranda in a country house Spread before you a forest, shaded and the interior of memory. Sleep is the brain free from stress, Proud capital of poetry and drama, Sleep is the unrealized thought, Feed the jealous awakening, undernourished. Sleep is ancient Assyrian, plain and heroic.

Sleep is Tuscany seen at dawn, When the slender tree rose from the black ground sucking ink - sleep is a The city that breathes through sad long cigars. Sleep visits hospitals and cells, Comfort those who are tormented. Like a simple-hearted nun; Sleep is feeble, and the heart is exhausted; Died softly, like Novid, There is no pain and no heir. Note: (1) Assyria, an ancient country in southwestern Asia. (2) Tuscany, an administrative region of Italy. (3) Noved, whose full name is Wiltord • Noved, was an outstanding Romantic poet in Poland in the 19th century, and was unknown during his lifetime.

Once again I read your poems, A rich man who understands everything, A poor man, homeless, Just an immigrant. you always try to be better than us Say more, beyond poetry, to fly, yet condescending, deep We are cowardly, mortal kingdoms. your voice always leads us to believe that As long as there is a moment, every day is holy And poetry, how to present it, complete our lives, finish it and make it proud Not afraid of perfect form. i put the book aside in the night, at this time And the usual hustle and bustle of the city has begun, Someone coughed or cried, someone yelled and cursed.