After the publication of poems by Helen Galway city she fell in love with our readers. Here is a letter from Olga Magnitskaya from Blagoveshchensk
“Hello, Dmitry! My husband poet Yury Magnitsky saw on your page the poems of Helen Galway city. The day before our friend the literary critic from Hong Kong sent me an article about the speculative nature of modern poetry… We have argued, I insisted – after the death of Yevtushenko poetry has died. The next morning Yuri ran up to me with “Russian newspaper” with poems by Helen Galway city and shouted: “I told you that there is in Russia today, the real poets!..”
before you Today new poems Helena. And precedes their small belinterflou.
Your favorite book?
Elena City: “Eugene Onegin”.
Your favorite poet?
Elena City: Osip Mandelstam.
Your favorite verses?
Elena City: “I Go out alone on the road.”
Your favorite place on Earth?
Elena City: shelukovo (in Kostroma oblast).
Your idea of happiness?
Elena City: When well nothing.
rain Splashed barefoot
in the bonnet askew.
Solid band
hovering clouds shadow.
We were out in the rain,
no, under one umbrella.
Where we go?
and here is the house.
Had everything: the sun and the rain.
My sleeve gets wet the left, your right.
Remember: so here go,
no, go, no, float – grass,
St. John’s wort, marjoram, tarragon
under the feet of us was breathing.
What us the rain! – praline and ethlyn.
Hearing: beating, pounding, stinging,
that is stinging and singing
bitterness of speech, sagebrush meeting
from the well and cold drinks
burning throat and evening
he’s not black, it is bright yet
covers gray monk.
hand stretched hand.
Clear sweet lime smell.
When the darkness and the rain the window,
came To me a hero.
together we Watched a movie
Rainy at times.
I Said, “I Love you”
he Said: “I am.”
He was like a Sparrow,
No, I’m on the Sparrow.
And it is similar to the light forest
wild garden of Eden
Where the trees to heaven,
And apples hang.
turned on the light behind the window –
And he covered the house.
And I said, “Behold – live”
And he answers: “I Live!”
walk of Zvenigorodskaya
fresh, as the monastery’s bread.
wooden boxes
as if created for treb.
On the third time came to Sawa.
And the tale began:
you’re a moose, I’m a bird. Called
“SV��them” to the oaks of coveted hole.
Laughed from sun and rain,
picking herbs.
All this happiness will be called
as we get back to Moscow.
Lost in easy thoughts
about tulips and you.
Only in the morning the clouds hung
lost their lives in the struggle.
and now – and life is a miracle:
time – and the sun! And the haze
gone away
as the cardiac needle.
To SIP a Cup of tea
humility – generosity – magic.
I love you like no other.
You’re the soul in me is not prepared.
Matches the celebration.
