Alicja Maria Kuberska – awarded Polish poetess, novelist, journalist, editor, member of board of directors of Soflay Literary Foundation. She was born in 1960, in Świebodzin, Poland. Now she lives in Inowrocław, Poland.
In 2011 she published her first volume of poems entitled: “The Glass Reality”. Her second volume “ Analysis of Feelings”, was published in 2012. The third collection “ Moments” was published in English in 2014, both in Poland and in the USA. In 2014,she also published the novel – “ Virtual roses” and volume of poems “ On the border of dream”. Next year her volume entitled “ Girl in the Mirror” was published in the UK and “ Love me” , “ (Not )my poem” in the USA. In 2015 she also edited anthology entitled “The Other Side of the Screen”.
In 2016 she edited two volumes: “ Taste of Love” ( USA), “Thief of Dreams” ( Poland) and anthology entitled “ Love is like Air”
Her poems have been published in numerous anthologies and magazines in Poland, the USA, the UK, Belgium, Chile, Israel, Canada, India, Italy, Uzbekistan, Czech Republic, South Korea and Australia. In addition, her poems were read on various radio programs in Poland and Belgium. She was a featured poet of New Mirage Journal ( USA) in the summer of 2011. Her poem” Train” was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2011.In the 2014, her poem “ In the attic” was mentioned in the international competition Nosside, in Italy. Next year her poem entitled “ Thief of dreams” won the medal on this Italian competition and her poem “ Dance on the dew” was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. She was a featured poet in the magazine ”The year of the poet II” in march 2015 (USA).In 2017 she received reward of IWA Bogdani.
She wrote also a few plays for the theater, a lot of interviews for Polish and American magazines and newspapers.
Alicja Kuberska is a member of the Polish Writers Associations in Warsaw (Poland) and IWA Bogdani(Albania).
Alicja Maria Kuberska
Gwałtowne podmuchy wiatru
uderzają mocno o okno.
Krople deszczu dzwonią na szybie.
Ulewa komponuje sonatę.
Na niewidocznych pięcioliniach
zapisują przezroczyste nuty.
łączą się w grzmiące akordy.
W muzyce drgają zimne krople,
kruszą się antarktyczne lodowce,
parują gorące źródła gejzerów,
rzeki spływają w rytmie allegro.
Woda jak Żyd Wieczny Tułacz
ciągle wędruje po Ziemi.
Nigdy nie zazna spokoju
w przemianie od pary do lodu.
Wczoraj była oceanem,
jutro popłynie łzą.
Sudden gusts of wind
Tap rhythmically upon the window
Raindrops jangle on the glass.
Downpour composes a sonata.
It records transparent notes
On the invisible staves.
Single sounds join together
to create the thundering chords.
Cold drops vibrate in music,
Antarctic glaciers crumble,
hot springs geysers steam,
river flow down rhythm Allegro
Water, as the Eternal Wanderer,
will never know peace.
It will continue roaming
between steam and ice.
Yesterday it was the ocean.
Today it is the lake.
Tomorrow it will be a tear
The Wonders of the World
I have never been to Hawaii.
Not for me, do the palm trees dance in the wind,
The sun’s rays do not caress my skin,
The hot magma does not flow from the heart of the Earth.
I have not seen colored hummingbirds
hanging like living jewels on the flowers.
The exotic and beautiful butterflies,
Similar to the fans of the Japanese geisha,
do not fly around me.
I have not climbed the steps of the ancient pyramids.
I have not seen the treasures of the pharaohs
And the huge Temple of Amun.
I cannot dance the Spanish flamenco
And I am not enveloped in a delicate, Indian sari.
The Amazon does not open the gate to the green paradise
And ruthless tundra does not lead to the white hell.
The ocean does not show its underwater treasury
And dolphins do not play on the backs of the waves.
I have not met a happy eternal love,
But this does not mean that it does not exist.
Thief of Dreams
I was silent, smiling, undemanding.
You did not expect that I would take without consent.
I was too close, and everything was within the reach of my hand.
Like a thief, I stole your glances and loneliness.
Your thoughts, I tied in a myriad of knots, creating a dense net,
And from dreams, I wove a gentle curve of a woman’s figure.
I stoked the spark of passion in your eyes, and a fire erupted.
I wrapped us in a sweet scent of flowers in my hair
And we glided towards many, distant nights.
Day has no right to enter the precipitous depth.
It is a place, in which the contours of black shadows fall asleep.
Only at the bottom of the abyss, can dreams and starlight be seen.
You are from Mars, I am from Venus.
Far planets are the bright points on a firmament of tenderness.
Our words and hands attracts to the force of gravity of life.
I wait for the downpour of stars,
Maybe I have time to whisper a wish.
I look with hope to the Leonids.
I believe that I will see the falling sparks.
The dancing Pleiades stirred up a cloud of dust.
Jealous Orion will not overtake them
And Sirius will not find the seven nymphs.
Morpheus leads to the land of sleep
Somewhere on the edge of the River Styx.
My beloved knows the secrets of existence
And all the metamorphoses of the cosmos.
Every night he carries me in his arms
And gives to the possession of Apollo and the muses.
He plaits visions into prophetic premonitions.
Berenice sacrificed her golden braid to the heavens.
She explains sadly,
That she has not found happiness on Earth
Among the gods and among stars.
(Not) My Poem
I wrote a few words and secured them permanently.
Reflections and emotions created the stanzas.
I uttered the final sentence,
and my poem moved like a zephyr,
Kissing my lips lightly as he left, gliding away to strangers.
He slipped into eyes, where tears are born.
He whispered tender words to hearts
and they faintly shivered.
He pricked dormant consciences,
made stale by daily routine.
He consoled a sad lady, Melancholy.
At night he soared skywards
parting heavy curtains of clouds.
The stars glistened over illuminated moonlit paths for lovers
The tender song of a lone nightingale
echoed around the dark abyss
and sank softly into swooning scents of flowers.
Sometimes my faithless lover returns
– beloved son of the muse, but child of mine no more
A Winning Lot
Life happened to me.
With a gift of knowing the good with the bad.
I can capture fleeting thoughts
And stop time with a word.
The everyday delights,
Bring great mysteries.
Constant wonder is my lot.
I marvel at the greenness of the leaves
And how many sounds
Are concealed in the throats of birds.
To examine the shapes and colors of clouds,
To feel the menace of lightning.
It is a pity to waste any minute
On senseless sorrows.
I have a one-way ticket
The Islands of Happiness
dreams come true in the Bahamas
let’s go there
where the wind brushes the green hair of palm trees
the huge ocean murmurs sleepily
the golden sand remembers footprints
and the sun disappears in blue water in the evening
before the black butterfly appears
we have time to write a few lines of a poem
and to share our thoughts like a slice of bread
we can entrust our secrets to the stars
Only a Letter
My heart had the shape of an envelope
I mailed it to you
– It’s only a letter – you said.
You opened it and read hastily,
And then you put it on the desk
On the top of bills and ads.
My heart faded
And turned into a piece of square paper.
I’m standing on an empty street accompanied by a cold wind,
which throws about pieces of paper and foil airily.
Rain drops whip my face and hands.
Darkness woke up windows of local houses,
their yellow eyes look at me with hostility.
I’m not going home, all addresses are unfamiliar.
Thoughts like a frightened flock of crows fly around my head.
I don’t remember anything – fear chokes me, suffocates me.
I don’t belong to anybody, loneliness drags me into oblivion.
I don’t know my name and where I come from,
where I will find a safe shelter.
My handbag, the guardian of privacy, shut its mouth.
I have no documents.
I have no money.
Keys to an unknown door glitter.
A touch of an angel woke me up.
Regained consciousness shouts out my name.
I repel a bad dream from under my eyelids.