Valery Kourinsky

02.27.1999

TO BE FOUND

1

Where am I? Tell me, friend-geographer,
what is the point in the ocean, in the time,
where am I now thinking my small thought,
where am I going to arrive in future?
I lost coordinates when I was found by storm,
which has transformed me into a wooden splinter
on waves, in soulless and barbaric notions, dominated
within the trouble that one calls now day now night.
The sun, the destiny, the colors are switched off,
the whiles are mined with cunning heartburns.
My thirst for the meridians is growing afeard.
They are in need so as to draw map for feelings,
but I must first invent a kind of mapping
on air instead of paper, parchment or display.
Help me, my friend, my parallel to reckon,
when I flop into vilest whirlpool flat-ways,
when I am thrown towards the laughing nothings
by delicate hand that educated kiss.
And so I am -- without a neediest place,
without a point in the empty space,
without a while where I could dwell a little,
till I would see you to acquire all that.

2

And yet I love, therefore I am.
And loving means, thanks Goodness, also thinking
that genuine mind produces in the stream
of our adoring somebody which is doubtless the best
(we so better spoiling world, oh friend!).
I am therefore I am to like
all that is waiting for the tips of my creating music fingers,
all that is here to turn out more perfect under rays
of co-feeling views of ourselves
(oh, so we do the evolutionary job, my friend!).
I know every future turn of my pathway --
by lighting dot it is distinctly demonstrated,
candescent tracing point of moving joy for us
a time to-be pre-lined,
and sureness chose for itself the role of a forecaster
(oh, there is a love there is a will there is a way, my friend!).
By now my every step is more than simple movement --
it has a cartographic by-sense that makes to happen
optimal events,
that makes to make the overwhelming things
of common trifles
which are used to be dispersed and scattered over days,
that makes us, makes actually us, my friend.
In other case, we do not have our places,
they then make off and we become then placeless
and therefore we lose our real time
(oh, time 's impossible without place, you know).
But more than placelessness is life in doubt.