The Flower (Italian Sonnet) * Poem by Gert Strydom

(after Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin)

In my Bible I find a flattened flower,
that to me smells somewhat scentless stale.
Between you and me it has a sad tale,
it reminds of love that does overpower,

of cosmos in the veldt after each rain-shower,
shriveled in beauty it does still prevail,
as love which it present it does not fail,
it reminds of you in this midnight-hour.

I do get a sense of your sweeter side,
of how my life is withered without you,
memory fades, like you it's unfathomable,
like your love for me that you do now hide,
but as a woman to me you remain true,
as a soul-mate, I thought you were fathomable.

[Reference: 'The flower' by Alexander Sergeyevich Puskin.

Poet's note: I am quoting his interesting poem here:

'The flower' by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin

'A flower - shrivelled, bare of fragrance,
Forgotten on a page - I see,
And instantly my soul awakens,
Filled with an aimless reverie: '

'When did it bloom? the last spring? earlier?
How long? Where was it plucked? By whom?
By foreign hands? or by familiar?
And why put here, as in a tomb? '

'To mark a tender meeting by it?
A parting with a precious one?
Or just a walk, alone and quiet,
In forests' shade? in meadows' sun? '

'Is she alive? Is he still with her?
Where is their haven at this hour?
Or did they both already wither,
Like this unfathomable flower? '

Translated by: Genia Gurarie, summer of 1995
~ The Flower - Alexander Pushkin]
© Gert Strydom