Gennadiy Aygi Poems

Around our poles and posts
our gates and gardens —
...

Dog running through wheat
as if amid the shouts
of my whole — swift — childhood
...

From that little wood,
finally,
forever or for a long time,
...

The quietness
where the child is- seems uneven
...

in the invisible glow
of pulverized melancholy
...

XIX
And in the fog
the green oak
...

a smouldering
(from the paper
into the world)—
...

and so here behind the drawn Yellow
I sleep and 'sleep feet—I say—and sleep arms'
...

punched through—not as into sunlight
but into the light-of-the-Idea
...