Carmen Bugan

This month's featured poet is Carmen Bugan who is the author of Crossing the Carpathians (Oxford Poets/Carcanet). Her poetry and prose appear, among other places, in 'PN Review', 'The Times Literary Supplement', 'Magma Poetry', and 'Modern Poetry in Translation'. She obtained her doctorate from Oxford University, where she researched the work of Seamus Heaney in the context of East European poetry in translation.

Far Away

From the edge of her cornfield you could
Take the path of the weeds to the house

Some said she was deaf, so I waited
Until I saw that she noticed my shadow.

We sat outside the whole day. I remember
Her deep blue apron smelled of wild apples,

Slowly, the short noon shadows around the garden
Grew tall, the gate shadow touched

Her bed of lilies, our shadows moved
On the whitewashed door, without us moving.

Once, the light of her eyes broke and
Her almost tears moved like water in a healing fountain.

In the evening I started a fire of twigs
And she watched fireflies while I listened

To the crickets sing of summer in the grass.
There used to be days so long

I could see a thought begin on her lips
And slowly disappear in her wrinkles.

She was my silent companion,
The keeper of wild apples, she was my far away.

The Heron

Vast wings
Rose from the river

Leaves
quivered,
White
blooms
fell

A gap of air
Went up with her

Leaving me

A channel from
Dreaming to waking.

She flew so closely above,
I shivered.

This poem first appeared in The Oxonian Review of Books