Poem
Mykola Ryabchuk
So here you are, a poet
So here you are, a poet,who one morning wakes up
and sees himself, side by side
with Li Po and Tu Fu, side by side
with Bhagavadgita, next to
Seneca’s Letters – so close –
say, two or three pages or
just on the next page and you
close the magazine, smile: “At last”,
then sit down at the table
and write as usual; the pen only
stumbling in front of
the abyss.
© Translation: 1990, Mykola Ryabchuk and Tom Pow
So here you are, a poet
© 1981, Mykola Ryabchuk
From: Winter in Lviv
Publisher: Molod’, Kyiv
From: Winter in Lviv
Publisher: Molod’, Kyiv
Poems
Poems of Mykola Ryabchuk
Close
So here you are, a poet
So here you are, a poet,who one morning wakes up
and sees himself, side by side
with Li Po and Tu Fu, side by side
with Bhagavadgita, next to
Seneca’s Letters – so close –
say, two or three pages or
just on the next page and you
close the magazine, smile: “At last”,
then sit down at the table
and write as usual; the pen only
stumbling in front of
the abyss.
© 1990, Mykola Ryabchuk and Tom Pow
From: Winter in Lviv
From: Winter in Lviv
So here you are, a poet
So here you are, a poet,who one morning wakes up
and sees himself, side by side
with Li Po and Tu Fu, side by side
with Bhagavadgita, next to
Seneca’s Letters – so close –
say, two or three pages or
just on the next page and you
close the magazine, smile: “At last”,
then sit down at the table
and write as usual; the pen only
stumbling in front of
the abyss.
© 1990, Mykola Ryabchuk and Tom Pow
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