Paper Bridges: Selected Poems of Kadya Molodowsky

At Blue Dawn

At Blue Dawn A blue dawn enters slowly. Sky grows blue. Roosters crow. My bed is a blossom, white and blue, And I am a fallen drop of dew. My breath is still warm, My body still tired. Part of my last dream won't disappear. I scrape the night's heat from my lips. The day brings me a pure prayer. 109 II ,pjm is twa poya is w : i pyaiss pa pjflng •pjni ix Dur no II For what I own there is no weight or measure. Strewn on streets, unburied treasure, It hides in all the crevices, in every crack. Caresses by the thousands on my neck, Kisses as hot as sunlight on my cheeks. Bound up with fraying strings And concealed at the corners of streets Lie my tender heartbeats. And dreams floating up from all The beds at night in cities and towns Beat their white and fragile wings Against the hard brick wall. For what I own there's no weight Or measure. Ill Ill p y » ^ KTK PK OKI! 1K§ m) ajn c 112 20 III Little mounds, quiet mounds, patted down, I set my foot on you unwillingly, Stepping near you once again; Are you sleeping there, hunchbacked grandmothers? Are you pondering something, gray grandfathers? And why is there such quietness? Who told you, the dead, not to stir? I will come! Then, won't the graveyard have fun! I'll start to run And overturn the tombstone, Mock the mourners, Kick dirt into the grave and dance on it, Clap my hands And call up the young and the strong, I will come and, then, won't the graveyard have fun! 113 IV ,rmra VipnyrYi K ^T 114 IV Hordes and hordes of birds are flying, Shouting high above me, White wings beating in the air, All white, all one color. Something in my own heart shouts. They echo with a countervoice And white poems spring forth from that call, White poems of my joy. 115 ^s x •'ix jymjn p^a px nix DX^^ H T'IX pip x ' 116 V White chimneys and red rooftops, Gray walls, broken window panes, It's all the same, day after day, Red and yellow, white and gray. Let it all go up in flames! I wake up in the darkest dawn For no reason, all at once, And peer out at the rooftops: White chimneys and red rooftops, Gray walls, broken window panes. 117 VI •py^ raix Dip 118 VI From my rooftop drops are falling Waking me and making wakeful, And they're talking, and they're asking, We are the eyes of the rain, Come and stroke us. Come and stroke us. In my bed the tears are falling, Falling rainy from my eyes, And I don't know what I am asking, And I don't know why.21 119 VII *pKTl X 3 ^ pK f W X DJN pX ^ m nrn yi^n nynnyi px ypr^yix ISTDSTT DjniDt^ pK » m lynnyi px 120 VII Pick up a stone and throw it In the city Or the countryside. Wherever it may land, Someone has told a lie. And that's why clouds come over towns and forests, And that's why wild beasts devour sheep in the fields, And that's why small children cry out in the nights, And that's why the wind breaks down the roofs of the poor.22 121 VIII yp tra p x &Vn OXYI D^X D mx nyT^ys p^ ^rn DIX S iyi?y*) i^x ix 122 VIII Autumn. Withered, raked-over fields With heads of belted sheafs, Why does the wind annoy you With a whistle and a bluster Intimating an autumnal death? Scoff at its whistling, Scoff at its terrors. In autumn, thefieldsare Wider and even closer to the sky. And I will run away to you, to the fields, Sniffing out the scent of winter. The harvesters' songs have drowned Somewhere together with long twilights. Fields, don't long for them. When winter lies like white velvet thrown down every which way I will run from...