This blog is dedicated to my original, authorial poesy, poetry in prose, musings, construals, and translations. My heart is aflame with passion for both dance and writing as channels for my creative self-expression. Both constitute a language of its kind and to my liking that metamorphizes, alchemizes and reveals the inner world. Here arises a soundless voice that yearns to be heard; here thumbs a wild heart in a dervishesque whirl. The I is poetry in motion, mine is a dance of words.
Clouds of black ravens are swarming in the heart,
bewildering mojo abracadabra,
into a blur dives the world
of my eyes, faces, cars;
the army of darkness in the bareness has sown fright.
Love, a dream of the sun you've become,
shining every heavenly day
to die bewildered by will-o'-the-wisps at night;
a child lost to its mother you are,
obscured in dispair of eyes.
Love, Spellbound © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Lásky zakletí", written 2001
Hope ‒ the perfidious promise
of childlike, smiling eyes,
sweetly kissing lips,
a gratifying embrace;
hope ‒ but one touch of yours suffices
for yet another hopeless day
to arise.
The Perfidious Promise © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Věrolomný příslib", written in 2001
You can break me up,
as I have no heart;
you can condemn me,
as I have no soul;
you can slay me,
as I have no body;
you can ignore me,
as I am nonexistent.
💔
Omnipotence © Ladansseuse
Transl. "Všemoc", written in 2000
Behind the window meows a cat
like a lovelorn sweetheart
with shining eyes, dreamily
wandering at night
until the cerulean skies of another morning
makes the wanderer
veiled in melancholy
go beddy-byes.
She will then curl up
in the warmth of her fluffy coat
to roar once more
behind my window
at night,
she, naughty wanderer!
I am lonesome, as if lost. As if I dreaded all smiling faces in the scent of spring long gone. As if all was shiny in my dark, in my invisible dark. Strange how hard it is, being able to be happy. Being able to shy away thoughts of my own nothingness. The world turning around me. The sleepless nights and the heavy daily sleep. The undying restraint. Runaway feelings fly on the streets like fragments of the soaring soul. Those dark thoughts, those thoughts have taught me to fear, to fear the world in its seemingly staged defenselessness, fear words, fear to move, fear to look, fear to live, fear a wild joy that lies in things I cannot but need if fulfilled. In the need for protection and safety, the need for support and encouragement, the need for a smile and an embrace, the need for understanding and harmonious consonance..., the fulfillment of which cannot be troublefree, the fulfillment of which cannot be complete. There are no solitaries ‒ there are warriors only, indomitable and unbreakable and incorrigible spirits only. Only those that can perceive each nuance innerly, emotionally, under a veil of mystery, under a mask of untouchability, under a cloak of impassivity. Words may be unsubstantial and deeds illegible. Is the world possibly drunk with its own fame, who knows? Giving must surely be more than taking; it is like a fervent wish that has started burning within and engulfed all of me, with a remaining void afterward. And I am just a reader of unwritten lines, a listener of unspoken words, one drowned in the shine of a never lit light. I am roving and longing and pining ‒ for the shining bliss of dance; for the road that will lead me there; for the hand that will reach out to lift me and hold me... so that I can get up, wake up and see the truth devoid of wandering fantasies that change reality into a blur of a never experienced morning. Who am I and what can I do when unaware of it and the world is silent? Why do I always feel that the world starts dancing the moment I fall asleep? That I must not look on or even touch that dancing world? If only my palm print on a window pane never faded away and my footprints never disappeared, if only my eyes were never consumed by sleep, if only my heart were never in want. Unless unrestraint is possible, all the doors to the world remain closed: All cannot be managed, understood, gotten, believed... My doubts are paralyzing, breathtaking, blinding, darkening, and so deafening that all the rest is inaudible... and my smile has gone some place and cannot be found. Are there only dreams left? Who can hear, see, feel, understand? Where is MY angel? Whence does my constant sense of being depreciated and underestimated derive? I do not know-not know-not know, but I need it so. Please, I am begging please in spirit. Why am I alone when not being so? Why am I sad? Why do I have needs, why is there a need for needs? I want. To change. The World. The world of colors, the world of sounds. This one. Mine. Ours. No-n-sense. Truth. Laugh. Tears. I must find strength, the strength to see beauty, the strength to emanate beauty. A beauty unknown and ungraspable and alluring. I want to give in to it, to be it. To believe that there are no dark shadows; and if so, that they can be shied away. To feel. To be near love. To percieve nuances of all. Not ignorance, not madness ‒ certainty in the discovered truth. A strength that will fill me with longing and I will walk up a hill like a happy fool, my scream being louder and my faith stronger. And I will dispose of my body, as I have chosen my soul. In my dance will I find my heart that will never stop beating. In the immateriality, in the life energy. I will become my dream. And when I hear the calling, I will respond. Always will I respond. In all certainty, I too will get a response, coming to awareness once. There is nothing, except for fear perhaps, to be found in ill premonitions. I would like to feel alive without remaining unknown; to know that my being equals to my giving. I know of my ability to love, fight, be; to find the energy of an untethered strength. There is a need to learn to live. To understand what I can and cannot have; acknowledge the value of what I have and have not. To go on, without asking futilely, to find that which I am meant to eventually. DANCE! DANCE! DANCE! To be dance. To be dance. To be dance, music, and myself in all faith. To love and to give myself. Not to hear my heart weep. It is diminishing my stamina and I need to go on... to go on and on unwearingly step by step getting closer to my dream..
I will not narrate it all; this will not be the absolute but fragmentary traces of the magical depth of perception that lies in the power of moments, for whatever is once verbalized and named ‒ particularly that which cannot be contained so ‒ will be taken out of that deep, endless sphere of the essence and pure truth, nearing the superficial and the limited, wherein it will be veiled in illusory secrecy ‒ whereas the nonverbal, impalpable and spontaneously free will remain where it is supposed to: in the instances that have endowed a perceptive soul with an understanding that needs no words...
💞💞
I have made a spiritual, even mystical journey, being filled with pain and sadness on the verge of explosion at first to gain power of a good, unbeatable kind after an inner rebirth. All was nurtured by the intensity of all, by a plethora of percepts: the starry sky above; the nature teeming with life and yet devoid of the suffocation of a city; the nightly silence, absolute but for the chirps of crickets, monolithic just as dark; the sun that burned as it warmed up; dance and my strolls through the village, both of which were wearying me physically but spiritually turned into a hungry need, nutrition and then fulfillment; music ‒ the age-old beating of drums that pulsated through my body daily; and all the souls drawing near one another just as growing apart, both fighting and embracing each other, becoming one...The total mindfulness, freedom of the mind, emotiveness... And one would create, starting at each new dawn, so as at night, when one would coalesce into its still, one would become fully aware that the day had not been fulfilled by time as much as by traces one had left behind on one's journey... and that if one had been a painter of light on that day, one had become a child of infinity...
💞💞
I have come to a realization that the pain I felt is not ‒ cannot be, despite all appearances ‒ my enemy. It is inevitable, and even if not ‒ I should not shun it. If I let it enter me, dwell in me; if I suffer it, letting it go through me, and make it go away on a psychical plane ‒ then, when the pain disappears, I will grow from it, becoming stronger than before.
💞
I am said to have taken the "difficult" path, which is said to be "incorrect". I do not decide for a path according to its easiness or difficultness ‒ of optional ones, I choose such that I consider right, as it leads to the (notional) temple; i.e., where I would like to get. If the path that leads to my destination happens to be hard, am I supposed to turn around and leave it so as to tread another, easy one instead that leads nowhere though? Certainly: if I am not genuine and if I do not mean business; otherwise: hardly. The way to success cannot lead through successfulness; in constrast, it leads through failures; before climbing up the mountain top, one will likely fall and get hurt many times on one's way there and the time spent on it will be a test of one's patience, but if one wants to reach one's destination, the choice to be made is clear-cut.
💞
Moreover, there is the aspect of dissatisfaction: Since it is not satisfaction but dissatisfaction that makes one to take pains to meet the desirable end; since when one is satisfied, what would one strive for? One might as well rest on one's assumed pedestal, but if one made no effort whatsoever, what would one live for? Just to breathe and eat and sleep? And if it was true that one's world is so perfect, spotless, light-heartedly floating in time, if it is fulfilled, why would one seek other worlds ‒ spheres that will wake one up, interrupt one's slumber, and enliven it with authenticity?
💞💞
We floated like water
unknowingly in our sweet reverie,
but we were tinder
that caught fire,
which plunged us into misery.
🔥
We fondly wish it had not happened, for the flood of pain was, and still may be, maddening. Even if we heal, we remain scarred forever; even in the brightest shine, there is a flitting shadow here and there. We rightfully feel that it is “not right”
But... it is the deepest pain that can lead us to become our highest Self should we possess enough strength to undergo such an inner transformation.. Pain can be alchemized into power, the greatness of the former being directly proportional to that of the latter. There is a Sufi prayer that says, "Break my heart into thousands of pieces so that it can be filled with endless love." We wish to be safe, despite which we cannot remain closed to the world, as only with the open heart can we be loving.
This too is part of our becoming whom we are now; such is the path we have taken; such is our destination: Here we come as such and we cannot "unbe" so. We would be different if it had not happened the way it did, not necessarily better off ‒ temporarily happier perhaps, but likely poorer in spirit too. We would not have reached as far as here ‒ where we are predestined to be.
It is not about the negation of reality ‒ it is about re-focus on inner growth and wisdom; about the finding of some meaning even in dark places as we shine our inner light upon them. It is baptism by fire, but one through which we will be reborn.
🔥
Inner trials are immeasurable and individual, thus futile are efforts to measure them objectively. My heartbreak or trauma may be devalued in uncompassionate eyes that regard it as "no big deal", but still it is my reality that reserves, with due empathy and understanding, such recognition.
Therefore, rest assured, I say so with utmost respect and compassion for people and that which they must have gone through. I know what suffering is and so do I know that no-one wants to suffer, thus I deeply feel for all sufferers. I, being but a humble one, do not imagine triumphing over all ‒ I just refuse the victim mentality that would only render my hands tied.
The mythical Phoenix rose from its own ashes as a transformed, new being, which, to me, is a great symbol of a sufferance that has lead to greatness. Alas, not all rise... But can we rise? Yes, we can! Whatever exists or happens is what it is, but it is our perception of it that predetermines how we perceive it, and thus it will appear to us. Who or what determines what is or is not beyond us? We ourselves do! Let us stay strong!
🔥
Should you rise, like I have risen, from the ashes of your own life, you will discover that...
not even annihilation is the very end, as from the incinerated a new life shall spring;
there exist no irretrievable losses, for any loss is followed by renewal;
neither do bad events last for eternity but strengthen one for self-advancement.
Änd so find in yourself the faith in continuation, courage and resolve to go on;
find in yourself the strength to live and you will soar like a Phoenix high above!
That is, yours is a brave heart!
Phoenix Rising © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Fenixův vzlet", written 2020 - 2021
It is called love,
but it is a desert of the flesh;
a game of tears – souls – verity – happiness
with innocence.
Screaming reflections of bodies outlined in the dark
– a flickering dream –
pain is gushing out
with life.
Stone to stone,
it is the soul's end:
in a single yank,
into a fumbling craziness –
the soul fills with emptiness.
And the desert of the flesh
full of despair,
temptation – love,
which, when expelled from the mind,
means nought.
The poetry of words has turned into stone;
when it's over with the soul,
the flesh becomes all.
There is a war raging
in the heart –
and I cry out: Amen!;
and I cry out: Peace!
The Desert of the Flesh © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Poušť těl", written in 2000, edited in 2021
She heard the wind as he whispered into her blossoms;
the flower – inquired – what do you want?
He caressed her – nothing, I just like you.
But the wind intensified;
the flower – still, she would thrust herself into his arms.
He blew – I just want to be with you.
The first droplets advised her
of an imminent storm;
the flower – her petals were falling off.
He squalled – get lost!
Then the wind subsided;
the flower – in vain did she seek the sun.
He had fallen silent.
And last, the wind blew away;
and the flower?
The Wind and the Flower © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Vítr a květina", written in 2000, edited in 2021
I once dreamt of strolling a landscape the beauties of which fascinated me and excited my longing to capture them, but their greatness frustrated my efforts to do so and so they slipped away, making me feel so hollow...
I felt that it was the depth of my sensitivity, perceptiveness, and focus that would determine my ability to recall that which had passed, but which I longed for to endure unchanged, to immortalize – to reclaim the lost from the abyss of time and animate it.
It is as if all vital energy sprang from the onflowing moments. There is the preciousness of things that we hold dear but that will never recur, if only in dreams. The full grasp of the present moment will do for the wisdom of infinity, so let us enjoy each gulp of the wine of life to the fullest.
The Infinite in Us © Ladanseuse
I would love to be wise enough
always to capture the meaning of a moment before it is gone,
since, my goodness,
it is something so passing and immaterial, and yet of essence,
for eternity must have started with a single instance,
for life is a succession of moments,
of which this one and only is the first step on a journey—
a journey the destination of which is destiny.
Hidden Riches © Ladanseuse
It would be a success to me always and clearly to see the meaning of my life,
whatever it would be based upon,
and get the subsequent sense of contentment and happiness.
People can set high goals:
as if they were climbing up a mountain that is constantly growing;
as if their forest was taken by wildfire on a yearly basis;
as if each of their depictions was better than the previous one without any one ever becoming the conceptual ideal;
as if they were reaching out their hands toward dreams burning in the sun or drowned in the ocean;
as if they let their soul get lost, fly to the stars,
and escaped from the surrounding darkness into the salvation of inner light,
still being empty-handed on the outside this notwithstanding.
People want to see their star shine, not look down upon their dreams trampled upon.
People are creators: Oftentimes, they wish to create something great, palpable, and striking
that would represent kind of a proof of their worth, that would leave a trace --
and that is their poetry of life: to fulfill a void.
And yet, it is a miracle that they are alive at all.
And yet, they paint light like children of infinity --
all despite their losses, pains and failures,
all despite their imagined quirks.
As individuals, they are a towering mountain drowned in flames of the sun.
Starlight of the Growing Mountain © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Hvězdná záře rostoucí hory", written on 20. 11. 2006, editen in 2021
In your youth,
no-one has mercy on you;
you are but junkies of a delirious night,
of visions of a lost ideal,
the condemned of putative delight.
Putative Delight Junkies © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Feťáci domnělé slasti", written in 2000, edited in 2021
NO PEACE WITH MUTENESS
he wrote on the wall glaringly blank
in the color black
with a spray in the hand
in the war of the silent
messengers and rebels,
the downtrodden and the odd,
in too loudly screaming nakedness.
The Picture of Mute Defiance © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Obraz neslyšného vzdoru", excerpted from the poem "Malíř" (Painter) of 2000, edited in 2021
If only it would come alive,
if only it could be alive,
my laugh.
And eyes that wander in the haze of the earth,
shadows on the wallpaper come alive,
inaudibly does the heart thumb from afar.
It bears traces of the past,
slumber is hosted by closed eyes
and the still engulfed
dreams of dancey visions of the mind.
A tranquil breath resounds in the peacefulness of duvets,
the Pole Star has risen from the cold of the night
in its warm shine
that watches over castaways.
In the place where beauty has spread its wings
gentle moon reigns the night;
in my presence that golden bloom appears to rise.
How severe is the fight
with irreversibility,
love leaves even in the sleep.
Where's it gone,
the innocence of childlike love,
with the sound of steps
joyful child voices resonate.
Farewell, my concubine?
If Only My Laugh Could Be Alive © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Kdyby tak uměl žít můj smích", written in 2000, edited in 2021
It is waving me,
time that has spread its wings;
the night is white,
a full glass of wine;
the mind is engulfed,
yet in silence entrapped.
In the morning
the mist silently veiled traces of me;
like my dream
I disappeared
in the whiteness full of queries.
Whenever his soul sings,
peace is embracing me.
🐦
His is a warrior's heart,
unbeknown to him;
I can sense the pain
as it's weeping in secret,
as "men" do not cry aloud;
the burnt soul
wills its wounds to cool
like a running train
that is going through all stations.
🐦
In the morning
his nearness
became a labyrinth;
the day smiled;
his voice drowned in the sea.
Where has it gone,
the little flame
that he ignited in me
and that is still burning?
Why am I looking for him
when as though he was omnipresent?
On the Wings of Time © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Na křídlech času", written in 1999, edited in 2021
A fanciful-wakeful lass
with a magic star on her palm,
she's climbing up to the sky,
drowning in the rising sun
to fall down, beat the dust
and kiss the day good-bye.
She's drawing a picture of beau monde,
keeping her mind so madly strong;
she's down on her knees,
dropping her heart, so weak;
her sorrow makes her blind to see
through salty tears
that rob her eyes of joy
in the world full of jeers.
Vain are hopes, empty's damnation,-
love is her icon,
so wanted, so untold,
belonging to Heaven,
having fallen to a fragile soul,
to a tiny nook in the huge space,
as a weak ray of light in the dark,
always finding its place.
And the lass, strange to reality, is awake,
awake to her dreams.
A Fanciful-wakeful Lass © Ladanseuse
Written under the title "A Stranger to Reality" in 1999, edited in 2021
Water roars wickedly
in an avalanche of colloquies
that torment my soul
in silence.
My Soul Unavowed © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Duše má, zamlčená", written in 1999, edited in 2021
In the vicinity of the beloved
hatred lies in the distance;
there is just one step to an abyss
in the labyrinth of a silent world.
In the company of the unsuspected
fear hides in questions;
thoughts are too lively,
faster than light.
Close to Farness © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Blízko nedohlednu", written in 1999, edited in 2021
Those eyes
that will no longer see the light,
drowned in tears,
set upon the heavens;
those eyes
downcast, fixedly,
that seek,
that wander;
those eyes
that has been loving for too long
are pining.
Those Wistful Eyes © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Ty oči unylé", written in 1999, edited in 2021
Heartbeat in the mist;
shadows are dispersing,
light is floating,
tears are murmuring.
A bitter moon of the eyes;
traces are vanishing,
silence has resounded all around.
Heartbeat in the mist,
moist palms of hands;
the soul is melting away.
Inaudible tidings
the mind is slumbering,
dreams have drowned in the night.
Heartbeat in the mist;
a muffled scream
has torn the heart into pieces.
Life in fallen leaves;
angels are listening;
writings on walls
say, I love you.
Dreams are floating about;
another darkened street;
legs have grown heavy;
breath.
Like bell it sounds,
the heartbeat in the mist;
loudly it is crying out,
and yet softly it is treading.
Heartbeat in the Mist © Ladanseuse
Transl. "Tlukot srdce v mlze", written in 1999, edited in 2021
Perusing the book of life,
they find out
a gaping gulf;
their bodies entangled,
their soul's breaking out.
Gazing downward,
they read palm lines
in which paths of their life are inscribed;
all human history's
swallowed up their past.
The moon is up in its glittery realm,
the night's veiled all in darkness,
and mist's effaced fingerprints from window panes.
And the taste of kisses and the bodily scent;
mornings that are empty, dismal, desolate;
wilted flowers;
eyes immersed in wine.
Hope is wrecked,
having submerged itself to the edge of senselessness
and vanished into pure whiteness.
Body And Soul © Ladanseuse
Transl. „Tělo a duše“, written in 1998, edited in 2021
Time and again Time plunges into Night's arms;
I see him every time I close my eyes.
Heavens shed tears of rainy cold;
in the purity of void, in the abyss of dark
memories are born.
Pain
creeps in, parts of my life thievin';
without him, solitariness
is part hope, part hopelessness.
Sleepy Morn
puts to flight remants of Night
that is both my foe
and a blessing in disguise.
He lingers here with me while nobody knows;
I open my eyes just to find out he is not here at all.
An Apparitional Guest © Ladanseuse
Transl. „Přízračný host“, written in 1998, edited in 2021
Why tread upon love, upon joy
and leave behind but snowfall?
And what about silent angels
seeking their dreams cast-off?
They read, desperately whispering,
in thoughts of days long gone.
There are books, open,
and yet filled with mystery
hidden in all those spots empty,
which cannot be read without comprehension.
Who hears the weeping of unsung beauty despite laughter?
Angels of Fallen Dreams © Ladanseuse
Transl. „Andělé padlých snů“, written in 1998, edited in 2021
In Soul's Tongue © Ladanseuse
The existence of certain phenomena
has no explanation,
and yet they are...
like intangible magic
floating in the ether like a beauty
that will reveal itself
to the most vigorous seeker only.
Secret Enchantment © Ladanseuse
As if I roamed on the path of oblivion,
stuck as the world passes away,
like a fool dreaming in the rain
of salvation and condemnation,
chained by pride which is self-humbleness,
asking whether silence is a question
or the answer
to what my heart is unaware of.
No muddled rhetoric
will redeem darkness of this tantalizing life
where all the hope is frustrated...
Gone Astray © Ladanseuse