These lines from the poem of a famous Russian poet Fyodor Tyutchev came to mind while we were preparing this post:
Нам не дано предугадать,
Как слово наше отзовется,-
И нам сочувствие дается,
Как нам дается благодать… *
Really, we never know what the last line of a poem will be when we write the first one. Especially when we’re collaborating with you, our Dear Writers and Readers.
And guess what? It’s this very thing that makes the Open Source Poetry feature one of our favourites here on Unbolt Me. We believe it’s one of your favourites too. The overwhelming number of submissions bears this out!
The lines quoted above also serve as a kind of epigraph. They’re strangely relevant to the themes of our newly completed poem, and pose pertinent questions. How often do we regret words that were said? How often do we hurt those closest to us with our tongues, sharpened with jealousy, even obduracy?
But, hey, you can rest assured that we won’t have any such regrets concerning our new poem! (Oh, and g’day Andy! Your contribution to our Open Source Poetry feature was an absolute corker!)
She looks in the book like into a mirror
The face of her sister is there
She wears daffodils in her hair
She reminds her of Shakespeare’s Ophelia
Amid weeping willows along the shore
She lives in the memory of a love no more
She regrets a past whipped with hysteria
And a tongue sharpened by jealousy
That stabbed at fond hearts so zealously
* Time will return the word we place
In ways we cannot ask ahead;
Compassion comes our way instead
Much as the blessedness of grace.
(Translation by Evgenia Sarkisyants)