No. 4 & 5


Dariusz Pacak  

Translated from the Polish by Ryszard J. Reisner  



In hollowed silence
Cherry Blossom
falls to bed
pot blood splash 
now purple siege
black table sarcophagus

a sorcerfull of phones
a Chinese spelled garden
lie unnoticed
laced in fragrance
smiling Nirvana
burgeoning rock of Tradition


New China
street angels
crown of Void
the lost Buddha 
temples in jasmine
not knowing prayer
snowbound in incense
beyond city hustle bustle
cinema of night lit markets

locked out in another space
engulfed in Pacific’s hymn
deprived of truth’s voice
it is the last I reach out 
for Taipei far no more
heart fills Tradition
Sun Yat Sen bows
and only a tear 
of gold I trace 
a gift to you 

A Wisp Out Of Childhood 

A garden laden with fables
wherever fancy’s flight takes me
so as to pry the gate to secrets

Bound with books 
I mislaid childhood
among the backs of days falling 

And I observe but from afar
scattering the darkness
illumed by oil lamp 
shades of bliss upon a time once granted

To Mother 

such a lot of hurt
ran through us

words assigned
irretrievably to death

split eye to eye 
barb wire and trench

salt-laid storms
so as to drown out others

once more bearing wildfire
we laid time waste

and it all 
as if atrocity now breach

with no recall

so as to sacrifice self
one final unending silence


Scherzo c minor by Johannes Brahms

nothing to bear
still in fallow
I sift the hours
coppers now rust-green
fingers blooded
on passing earth ungiving

look I sunwards
all as moss now veiled 

the hour beckons
for the laurel to yield
yet doubts are a vice
in the blinding chasm
it would seem
I will not bear fruit


In the Figures Museum of Imagination
a decaying cross with Jesus
Allach’s daily top of the pops
and absent steps of the Messiah
thick silence of Sakyamuni

and the fading laugh of Godot
leave hope lifeless
a safe harbour for each of us
an empty place where meaning ends
in the Culture Museum of Civilisation 


‘Batter my heart, three-personed God…’
John Donne, Divine Poems

I cannot recall
the place of my birth
I cannot find my parents 
the house where I live

But now I know
my way 
swept by the tide of fate
a page unknown from a diary

I know
at which door shall I knock loud
break blow burn and
be made anew 


in silence
deepening blush-scarlet

I delve
among your petals
bedewed in expectation

heart of soil
with a ruptured other

the pond
trespasses beyond
spilling onto clouds

and returns
to the parting
in crown of silence

there water
unknown to dust-track
the road of wayfarer

deepening amazement
remain forever


stones murmur
the language of flower is soft
a prayer with rosary 

the majesty of Pagoda
in crown of Azalia
awakens beads of grace

circled in Lotus petals
Budda of granite
ri-ng-s  ou-t  MU--

Boriam Temple

comes to form silence
deafening Budda having
unlocked now the language of flower

grasshopper sound
and deftness of a spring
every single awakening of the bell
marks the next chapter without words

set in the breeze
of the Southern Sea a
stone falls silent


Still only a few heavy clouds
Not prodded about by a horse’s snout:
Still only several steep hills,
And then – just sun and harmony!...
- Still only a few helmet feathers 
In the wind swept away by emptiness;
Still only one fractured point -
One lightening, one thunder bolt -
And then -  nothing more!...

                        Cyprian Kamil Norwid
                        ‘Holy Peace’

She has dispensed me as her object of affection
my vocation is giving up on me
money has no need of my pocket
my health has decided to seek a better place

All this bric-a-brac of mine
can be viewed
in The Museum of The Superfluous

I decided to keep
Godly whims
be it April when it showers and fortune good is 
be it March when gaudy are its flowers

Together we blunder on the Way
in swamps and marshes
at the parting of hours and deserts of hearts
among undeciphered whirlpools and storms

We blunder on
setting out to meet him on the way

April 20 2000 Mödling  near Vienna



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