Poem
Halyna Petrosanyak
From a bird\'s eye view, a turrets and cupola . . .
From a bird’s eye view, a turrets and cupola,The rooftops of incomparable Prague are strewn with December snow.
Melodies of the autumn day were ordered to resound when
The thousand-year-old wines of this city have quenched the thirst
For distant journeys and impressions. Slowly
A park on a slope has dimmed like the palette of a fresco,
Musicians on the Charles River Bridge playing autumn jazz,
A distraught woman’s voice calling someone in Czech,
And for an accidental arrival who\'s already a bit tired,
Coming not so much from the new world as from one no one knows,
Life seemed more like a Dvorak symphony or a Secession period
Alphonse Mucha stained-glass window in St. Vitus Cathedral.
© Translation: 2000, Michael M. Naydan
From a bird\'s eye view, a turrets and cupola . . .
© 2000, Halyna Petrosanyak
From: Lights of the Borderland
Publisher: Lilea NV, Ivano-Frankivsk
From: Lights of the Borderland
Publisher: Lilea NV, Ivano-Frankivsk
Poems
Poems of Halyna Petrosanyak
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From a bird\'s eye view, a turrets and cupola . . .
From a bird’s eye view, a turrets and cupola,The rooftops of incomparable Prague are strewn with December snow.
Melodies of the autumn day were ordered to resound when
The thousand-year-old wines of this city have quenched the thirst
For distant journeys and impressions. Slowly
A park on a slope has dimmed like the palette of a fresco,
Musicians on the Charles River Bridge playing autumn jazz,
A distraught woman’s voice calling someone in Czech,
And for an accidental arrival who\'s already a bit tired,
Coming not so much from the new world as from one no one knows,
Life seemed more like a Dvorak symphony or a Secession period
Alphonse Mucha stained-glass window in St. Vitus Cathedral.
© 2000, Michael M. Naydan
From: Lights of the Borderland
From: Lights of the Borderland
From a bird\'s eye view, a turrets and cupola . . .
From a bird’s eye view, a turrets and cupola,The rooftops of incomparable Prague are strewn with December snow.
Melodies of the autumn day were ordered to resound when
The thousand-year-old wines of this city have quenched the thirst
For distant journeys and impressions. Slowly
A park on a slope has dimmed like the palette of a fresco,
Musicians on the Charles River Bridge playing autumn jazz,
A distraught woman’s voice calling someone in Czech,
And for an accidental arrival who\'s already a bit tired,
Coming not so much from the new world as from one no one knows,
Life seemed more like a Dvorak symphony or a Secession period
Alphonse Mucha stained-glass window in St. Vitus Cathedral.
© 2000, Michael M. Naydan
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