Untitled Transalations II

By Stephen A. ROzwenc 

Hawaiian

Mai ia manawa mai
ʻO ka ʻalani
ʻAʻohe mea i moeʻuhane maikaʻi

Ever since
The watermelon
Nothing has dreamed better

Untitled Translations I

By Stephen A. Rozwenc

Spanish

Vuelos de colibrí
Abrir la cremallera
Nada sublime

Hummingbird flights
Unzip
Sublime nothingness

Series

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

1.
Pluie tôt le matin
Un simple mot pour la grâce
Les morts répètent
 
Early morning rain
A simple word for grace
                                                              The dead rehearse

2.
Das Yin-Yang-Eigelb
gut/böse Muscheln brechen auf
Caw caw caw-caw-caw
\
The Yin-Yang yolk
Good/evil shells crack open
                                                             Caw caw caw-caw-caw
3.
Vuelos de colibrí
Abrir la cremallera
Nada sublime
 
Hummingbird flights
Unzip
                                                               Sublime nothingness
4.
Palillos de lluvia revuelven
Sufrimiento y adoración
como uno y el mismo
 
Chopsticks of rain stir
Suffering and adoration
                                                              As one and the same
5.
Aðallega bara úr vatni
Við getum alltaf hellt
Fyrir utan hið þekkta
 
Mostly made of just water
We can always pour
                                                                 Beyond the known

silent prayers

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

 silent prayers

for betrayed autumns

these remaining New England trees

conceal nothing

 

their projected limbs

climb skies to eat sunlight

only punch air in bitter winds

scheme no species death masks

and utter the soundless Ommmm

that lets go pain

of never again released beauty--

treetops crowned the highest right

between wrong

and we

 

still glowing coals and embers

of dying lives

their all-seeing leaves

are miniature orange robed Buddhist monks

doused in human gasoline

to set themselves on fire

as flaming ghosts

who chant purple crimson supplications

to feed the earth

as they drip down hillsides

Lines

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

In the church of the starving
Crucified bread
Never goes stale

the sacred white elephant

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

the sacred white elephant
charges up
the tousled green mountainside
with a tiny sliver
of Buddha relic bone
tightly clutched
in his trunk tip
 
his sole purpose
to collapse
and die on the sheerest cliff
to signify
where a temple should be built
 
fashioned
from the millions of voices
in the world
crying out for peace

Untitled

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

not natural or ethereal
not composed of elements
from any needy origin story
this particular Bangkok morning
revels
in luminosity
 
with the first rising sun
ritual sacrifice
skyscraper phalanxes
those high priests of profit
who are really deluded prophets
cast beloved death-waking shadows
to confess monstrous alibis
deep listening heals

for the second blinding
white flash
of nirvanic rapture
beyond tenacious reality
the alter-ego mirror
of the collective unconscious
shatters
ornate sprigs of Thai gold
that cheerfully drown in restless pajamas
of heroic separation
from any earthly body
ordeal or recovery

Lines

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

dew and lightning
mountains and rivers

sacred doctrine

Lines

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

three evergreen triangles
slowly climb
a steep hillside

"then there are"

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

then there are
those long frigid winter nights
when the shivering mind desperately resorts to cold calculation
for warmth

perception becomes beatified delusion
and crucial explanation
of why
riparian New England snowscapes
swath moonlit snow’s creamy vellum
with iridescent comforters of thermal profusion

movement becomes meditation
a restless Chi of wind moans hotter eroticism
up through the back pasture
sailing disbelief like a ghost schooner
its barely audible foredeck jib a filigree powdery swirl

more resolute abstinence tacks across a hillside meadow
pausing only
to marvel at the rusted hay baler
and its half emerging halo of snow
inviting reckless deer to feed
on heavenly light
instead of ragged strips of hemlock bark

a pearly necklace of enterprising stonewall
belies the edgy hill’s diffident proposal
of fire clamoring inside ice
and a runway back to blissful heat
and the blessed Pleiades within our DNA

there’s no such thing a loneliness

Stephen A. Rozwenc

there’s no such thing a loneliness

weather trembles admirably
the opera glass snake aria
serenades pleasurable rocks
that dapple the river bank

venerable waters sparkle genius
dark bowers wander fearlessly
bleating palm trees
welcome lush adoration

in a breathless hush

"as close"

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

as close
as sweet jasmine scents
perfume each evening selfless

my love

"rain sharpens"

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

rain sharpens
the latest infatuation
with clemency

palm trees lining the avenue
sway with death sacrament vertigo

sidewalk angels
schoolgirls from another time
costumed in dark blue pleated skirts
and frilly white blouses
glow like perfect criminal flowers
forbidden and thus exalted
by the magic tongue
that twinkles from the universal mind

"each year at dawn"

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

each year at dawn
on the selected day
tuna fishermen from this quaint
Japanese fishing village
sail out
to slaughter dolphins
because  they rip fishnets
and suffer the catch to swim free

that hideous day
the fishermen clamor to the wharf
bristle with gaff hooks
harpoons
samurai swords
shotguns
grenades
sticks of dynamite
and slews of other fatal weapons

boat engines grumble to life
and the angry fleet
lurches forward
to depart the harbor
only to find the way out
to open sea
blocked by 4,000 dolphins
collective tail fins foaming
and dolphin language-clicks calling
for a nonviolent demonstration
to halt another massacre

"orange dawn"

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

orange dawn
spreads coral pink legs
to give birth
to live island young

sand crab
turtle
osprey dive
loitering pelican
inimitable jellyfish
afterglow violets
present themselves
to the white shell goddess
of the beach
that knows rebellion
is the highest form
of obedience

"when I was 9 years old"

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

when I was 9 years old
I played Mohawk Indian
hide and seek
creeping
among the comforting shadows
of forest trees
and the lacy silhouettes
of ferns
longing for grace

now I’m a 73 year old expat
who has fled
an angry withering
culture
that offers schoolchildren
in schools
as human sacrifices
to appease
merciless gun manufacturing gods

Untitled

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

it’s so stifling hot here
in this fashionable extermination dome
we’ve so neatly constructed
New England’s spring wild flowers 
are blooming 3 weeks earlier

but the cross-pollinators
those visionary bees birds insects
and butterflies et al
have not arrived yet
to seed
each vivid pistil
with another generation’s
stamen lush clarity

maybe if we try feeling as deeply as they
before they’re greenhouse gassed
like Jews
in a Nazis death camp

we won’t lose them

'limitless space'

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

limitless space
through which to pursue
the divine healing mystery
beyond thought
feeling
language and form

the tenderest one
that does not pretend
to own the land
as if it were a child sex slave

Untitled

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

through the open temple door
a jade Buddha glints
like an emerald jelly fish
swimming the ocean
of benign munificence

the intrepid rapscallion
peers down
down down
all the way down
to where foolish attachment
lets go
of its chattering monkey self

Untitled

by Stephen A. Rozwenc

brick after brick
sown in harkened earth
by anonymous monks
this stairwell of silent prayers
ascends straight up
the puckered mountainside

where unutterable genius
envelopes the highest peak
in palpable mist
a gold leaved temple
beholds the green valley far below
bluer than the simple ability
to accept love
without the paraplegic futility
of desire