Saturday, March 21, 2009


By Pavel Chichikov

The severed branch the wind threw down has shown
Green sprouting leaves where nothing should have grown
Without a root, green petals from a stem—
Who would have guessed the green and spring of them?

Jonathan, from what root were you raised
The four and one year life of your decades?
A gale of wind to break you where you grew;
Who would believe a green and spring of you?

Who would have guessed that severed branches green
Can grow another leaf—what can this mean?
What practice of a sign can make such things?
Who understands these likenesses of spring?

By Pavel Chichikov

Rain-soaked trees, the owl calls,
Clouds resist the setting sun,
Long to wait the daylight falls,
No shadows on the hillsides run,
Who would have guessed he would not be
Here among the rain-soaked trees?

Though the trees and streams defer
To dying, see the kingfisher
Dart and bank a way upstream,
Sky-blue, swift as any dream,
Who would have guessed he would not be
Here among the rain-soaked trees?

The sky departed into night,
It is a rhyme that God recites,
Fleeing fleeting metaphor
That what He takes He can restore

By Pavel Chichikov

Are you ready for a sleep?
Yes I am, for I would meet
The one who came before me
May I rest beneath your gracious tree
Until he comes this way?
May he not delay

Time is neither long nor little
In this deep shade, nor is there trouble
My leaves are sleep and rest
You are my guest
My garden has no wall
Or gate impregnable

He was my son who died with You
By suffering his spirit grew
In courage, spirit he
Attains the comfort of this tree
The deep recumbent shade
Where life once more is made

The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov

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