Speaking In Tongues
Guided by Voices

Jenya Krein


* * *

...and I am saying it.
I am repeating myself.
...in the dark of the night
I am repeating myself,
in the dark of the night...

And my message is so old and so trite,
these familiar, used and loving words,
these soft, full, and tired arms of mine.
...in the dark of the night.

Do you know it?
Do you know that I am bursting with love --
shy, humble, and tangible love...
after all...
Would you care to know that I love you?

No, just listen,
in the dark of the night.

* * *

I can't really do it,
can I?
Start from the beginning...
Love you all over again,
can I?
What a wonderfully curious notion,
this love of yours.
I loved you forever.
...You always looked so familiar
like an old relative of mine,
Like an old lover
of my unbelievable past.
And now?...
When I turn around
and see your... thoughts,
your pain,
even when you do not see it,
do not wish to see, to know it?

First, when we were so amazingly greedy,
so very full of ourselves --
vain, pained, angry, and young,
we looked at each other
and saw our own reflections.
And now?
Now, you want me to love you,
to love you when I am really capable
of loving you,
now, when I am saying my farewells --
every time when I am looking at you,
every time I kiss you,
my love...

* * *

In the simple hours of another morning
In my nightdress and bare arms
Breath out the night,
the dreams and all,
your body next to mine.
...Step by step, treading through minutes,
...Inch by inch -- through the hallway
to the watersupply.
In the easy hours of the morning
Open eyes to another day.

* * *

I have listened for ages
All the pros and cons
Your world and mine

What is it?

It is not so cozy, is it?
With me being present
With me having a voice

Do you say
That my mind works
That I do not come across
As you do

And it is not my skin
My eyes or my nose
Not even religion

But my mind
My feelings
My emotional
Make up
The way I am

You tell me how to be
What to feel and to think
Right and wrong
Good and bad
You and me
Yours and ours

And it's very subtle
Your argument is so skilled
That I am lost forever

if I am vulnerable
You say that I am needy
And a walking trouble

Being in pain is to burden
You and him
And don't
Just don't

And you are gentle
You do understand
But unfortunately
Can do nothing
So sorry

On the planet X
There they dwell
In a perfect harmony
Special perfect creatures
With a wonderful past

Those who overcome
Who do not complain
And don't represent
Any problems
For the world
For you in particular

They look the way
They suppose to look
They do
All the right things
They live «good lives»
And they don't complain.

* * *

I say thank you
For another day
For the simple pleasures
of an early morning --
that in spite of bombings
and losses
and children that grow up too fast --
in spite of all that and some other things
that happen in one lifetime --
I am still breathing.

...and for you, friends,
that scattered around the world.
I say thank you
and consider myself happy.

* * *

There is a chat group I used to belong.
This piece is a result of almost a year of my dwelling on that chat sight.
It was an experience of mutual support and plain fun which I had with these wonderful people.
They are aspiring and professional writers and poets from around the world.

«The God is dead,» proclaimed Nietzsche.
«Leave no stone unturned,» said Phyllip.
«Music is God,» says Wolfe.
«Sensuality rules,» insists Tom.
«Be your own self,» whispers Anni.
«Climb every mountain,» coming from Bake.
«Mommy, you are always busy,» says my daughter.
«Live,» blows the wind.
«Food and adventure,» chirps in my squirrel.
Shirtless and happy.
Summer again.
Summer again.

* * *

This poem was written mutually with the group of writers and poets on Writers&Poets sight Night Cafe. My lines are 1 through 3 and 7 through 8:

...In the midst of summer
early mornings
are piercingly quiet...
But for the glorious music I hear
from raging sun on scattered cloud.
Their sweet promise
with unbearable lightness...

* * *

Again and again.
The cloudy air, the light.
Small pleasures of fall -- the smells
and my slow, engulfing, reluctant feelings.
My Fall.
Stay, envelope my senses, and stay.
Don't go.
My Fall.