What matters most in the end

In the end these things matter most: 

How well did you love? 

How fully did you live? 

How deeply did you let go?

~ Siddhārtha

Art is a journey into the most unknown thing of all – oneself.
Nobody knows his own frontiers…
I don’t think I’d ever want to take a road if I knew where it led.

~ Louis Kahan

Being a woman

Moters portretas

Turėtų būti leista pasirinkti. 

Keistis, kad tik niekas nepasikeistų. 

Tai lengva, neįmanoma, sunku, galima pamėginti. 

Jos akys, jei reikia, tai pilkos, tai mėlynos, 

juodos, džiaugsmingos, be priežasties pilnos ašarų. 

Guli su juo kaip pirma pasitaikiusi, pasauly vienintelė. 

Vaikų pagimdys jam ketvertą, nė vieno vaiko, vieną. 

Paika, bet geriausiai patars. 

Silpna, bet pakels. 

Galvos ant pečių neturi, tačiau turės. 

Skaito Jaspersą ir moteriškus žurnalus. 

Nežino, kam tas varžtelis, ir tiltą pastato. 

Jauna, kaip visada, jauna, vis dar jauna. 

Laiko delne žvirblelį palaužtu sparnu, 

nuosavus pinigus ilgai, tolimai kelionei, 

kirvį mėsai kapoti, kompresą ir stiklelį skaidriosios. 

Kur taip lekia, ar niekada nepavargsta. 

O ne, tik truputį, nieko baisaus. 

Arba jį myli, arba užsispyrė. 

Dėl visa ko gero, negero, dėl dievo meilės. 

(vertė Kornelijus Platelis)

~ Wisława Szymborska

EN:

Portrait of a Woman

She must be a variety.
Change so that nothing will change.
It’s easy, impossible, tough going, worth a shot.
Her eyes are, as required, deep, blue, gray,
dark merry, full of pointless tears.
She sleeps with him as if she’s first in line or the only one on earth.
She’ll bear him four children, no children, one.
Naive, but gives the best advice.
Weak, but takes on anything.
A screw loose and though as nails.
Curls up with Jasper or Ladies’Home Journal.
Can’t figure out this bolt and builds a bridge.
Young, young as ever, still looking young.
Holds in her hand a baby sparrow with a broken wing,
her own money for some trip far away,
a meat cleaver, a compress, a glass of vodka.
Where’s she running, isn’t she exhausted.
Not a bit, a little, to death, it doesn’t matter.
She must love him, or she’s just plain stubborn.
For better, for worse, for heaven’s sake.

Being carefree

Blossoms

Here in my cottage I forget my loneliness Thanks to the blossoms. Only to find myself waiting For someone to show them to. ~ Tonna

Forgetting to go home

Since middle age I've been

A most enthusiastic Buddhist

Now that I'm old I’ve settled

Here in the mountain country

Sometimes I get so happy

I have to go off by myself

There are marvelous places

I alone know about

I climb

To the source of a stream

And sit

To watch the rising mists

Sometimes I come across

An old man in the woods

We talk and laugh

And forget to go home.

~ Wang Wei