Passion and the pen

The poem my heart forgot

Apr
25

This is a translation of a poem I wrote in swedish, 2015; the original version is under the page “Dikter”:

THE POEM MY HEART FORGOT

I.

Starwaterfall and glittering steps
among little faintred signpostmarks.
The songs echoing rhythm in a melody
follows me when I flee to the light of the sea.

I want to find the poem my heart forgot
and feel the scent of its new-born’ness.
I have to find myself in the rain
my burning tears have crushed.

Don’t be so longingly warm, my heart
The tears will not cool it down –
The fire defies a violent fight
with myself and the poem in me.

I can not find the poem
that my heart forgot
without finding myself
who went lost in life.

II.

I maybe will find the poem
my heart forgot –
When I take off my shoes
and stroll in the forest and by the lake
barefoot;

novemberdestiny hanging over me.

Can it be that it hides itself
beside the footsteps of another like me;
a friend with a poem in his heart
but with hands empty as mine.

III.

The lightsoldiers shine beside the road
under a weak glowing moonhaze;
I only have one glove, one hand naked
which freezes in a longing numbness
and wants to write the poem my heart forgot.

IV.

There is a flower-meadow
inside every frozen raindrop!
I know it, I am a poet.

On the frozen asphalt my steps feel like
naked feet on a fragrant oasis.

Every streetlight has its own little sun
which is guarded by the soldier under light.
Its own chaos theory inside every petal
which has died to be reborn in its time.

There is a flower-meadow
inside every frozen heart
There has to be, yes! There is.
Towards a frozen heart I shoot an arrow
it is warm, my friend, formed by words,
naked skin to skin!

V.

I can not find it –
I, a tigress! Maybe torned apart
the poem when I dreamed?

Or the cubs chewed it to pieces?

Maybe the society sprayed poison into it!
No originality! No character!
Nothing that a poem must have! Aha!

But it is and it’s clawed at my heart;
shall it bleed there?

VI.

The poem my heart forgot
turned out to be my own self.
The life I thought I lived
in the light of the Truth
was a different life completely.

It was a lie –
that you, my dear, embedded me in.
It was a slaughter –
that you, who I loved, executed
inside of me.

(Sirle Körvits, 2015)

Cold hands

Apr
19

 

My hands are often cold
It is maybe because
All the warmth is in my heart…
I didn’t know what to say
When you asked.
Because someone recently claimed
That my heart is warm.

(Sirle Körvits, 2016)

***

(the original, in swedish)

Mina händer är ofta kalla
Det kanske är för att
All värme är i mitt hjärta…
Jag visste inte vad jag skulle säga
När du frågade.
Då någon nyligen hävdade
Att mitt hjärta är varmt.

(Sirle Körvits, 2016)

Illusionpatterned dreams

Apr
16

 

Illusionpatterned dreams
Dreamwoven fantasies
Fantasysewing in a sleepblend
Whirling around reality
You, lifelike invisible
Limitative crown of my view
In my dreams around me braided
In my life my heart You’ve taken.

(Sirle Körvits, 2016)

***

(The original version, in swedish)

Illusionsmönstrade drömmar
Drömvävda fantasier
Fantasisömnad i sömnblandning
Virvlande runt verkligheten
Du, verklighetstrogen osynlig
Synfältets begränsande krona
I mina drömmar runt mig flätad
I mitt liv mitt hjärta Du fångat.

(Sirle Körvits, 2016)

To my different friend

Apr
16

TO MY DIFFERENT FRIEND

Do you ever ask yourself:
Do I notice little things around me?
Do I see what others might not see?
Do I recognize hidden beauty capturing me?
When you notice, recognize and see
You will know you have found the different
And the different turns out to be your friend…
And she is asking herself:
Do I notice? Do I recognize? Do I see?
And a little smile capturing the beauty
of today together with you
is the seal of the answer – yes –
closely embracing this friendship
so different but within us so strangely alike.
This is the beauty of one little thing
everyone else might never see.

(Sirle Körvits, 2016)

A little verse

Apr
15

In the endless rain I walked the streets
of poets, writers, dreamers, the sorrowful ones
with a glimpse of life and passion
just enough to stay alive.
Because some days are heavier, the rain is colder
and too much like the tears within.
Because a birth is supposed to hurt.
And I haven’t written a poem for some time.
I guess it’s the universe’s way of reminding me of writing.
It’s the sorrow in me that urges to put the cry
into words and give birth to a little verse
of something from my soul.
Taste my soul and be with me.
Then I am less alone.

Thank you.

(Sirle Körvits, 2017)

Red

Mar
23

I felt connected to this lonely cat
laying on a warm red rock by the ocean
She was looking straight at me.
I looked back, into her being –
For one moment I was the cat
and the cat was me, we shared this
evening as a silent prayer of letting life,
and every pain in it, just be.

Waves were roaring at a near distance
The wind brushing my hair like a large
caring hand, just before sunset, just
before the end, the cat looked at me
one more time; then settled her eyes on the
ocean. I followed her into the storm and
were carried away by this calm, living
inside the waves, that I adore.

This red cat must have a tiger heart
Brave, but too large to fit inside…

(Sirle Körvits, 2017)

Iron Wing

Mar
23

Iron wings
in a weightless world
one broken soul has found
They seem to be for flying
but somehow are weighing her down
She wonders about the shape of the wings
inviting freedom from suffering within
but found in a world too heavy to bear
wings of iron… she bows her head
and on dark eyelashes are glittering tears
She with iron wings is captured by fears
buried within a silent cry
She tried…

Only the wind is holding her dreams
about friendship, love and to live free

Who wants to hold her…
without cutting her wings
and together
forever
to be.

(Sirle Körvits, 2017)

Poet

Feb
18

POET
Passion is the essence
Obsession the discipline
Emotion the waves of words
Thinking beginning and end.
It is thunder and a calm
A paradox in being
I would lie if I said only to build
Sometimes it’s for tearing apart
of wounds of old long forgotten
not forgotten in the heart of the poet
No, in this heart there is the essence
The essence of passion
Passion does not forget
My words are waves
and I sometimes nearly drown
But still I am alive
Still I am a poet.

(Sirle Kõrvits, 2017)

In between hurt and healing

Feb
18

When burned you know
that cautious is your shield
When betrayed you know
trust is a precious pearl…
you now carefully choose
who to give to.
In between hurt and healing
I know my trust is safe
and my heart, my life, my all
only in the hands of Christ
The sweetheart of my soul
And the Love of my life.

(Sirle Kõrvits, 2017)

Come with me

Feb
13

Alone, I stand on top of the mountain
I found myself here while wandering…
I lift my hands into the position of flying
Close my eyes and imagine… imagine
How the light of the sun together with
the light breeze of february wind
coming from my lake is lifting me up
from the ground into the skies where I belong.

Come with me. I whisper. Come.

(Sirle Kõrvits, 2017)