Tatjana Terebinova

Tatjana Terebinova

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Tatiana Terebinova (Russia)

Terebinova Tatiana is a poet she lives in Otradny Samara Region and Moscow.
She uses the technique of sillabic-tonic, free verse ( vers libres) , haiku and tanka.
Tatiana graduated from the Moscow Cultural and Arts Acadimy in 1989.
The poet is a winner of the Moscow International Free Verse Festival (1996).

Her poems were pablished in the Anthology of Russian 
free verse (Moscow, “PROMETEI” 1991), 
Almanac “Arion” (Moscow) , 
“Journal POetri” (2018, №№ 1 – 3 , Moscow) , 
Almanac “Jour-nal sto-litsa” (2018, №3, Moscou) etc… 
Her name is mentioned in the Samara Historical and Culturen encyclopedia (1995).

The sky weightlessly sits on your shoulder

——————————————

Blooming gardens fly into the light abyss of the sky.

A red kitten-star fell asleep in the blue fields.

And a little water snake looks over the stars in puddles.

The city today is a sleeping angel wing.

Once again, silence has become God, and in His eyes

All waiting times speak to you,

Like brooks under a thin piece of ice of time.

The golden bucket of moon spills

its spired gold of strange voices.

And the sky weightlessly sits on your shoulder

And as a shimmering blue-gray pigeon falls to sleep:

Let the flame of your sorrow scorch me around.

A word as a blade

——————–

A word as a blade –

in the icy streams

of burned skies.

A word as wings of praying waterfalls –

through the voice of the stone

of the great abyss.

The fire of Universe.

 ———————————————————-

The echo of moon comes on a shore of tree trunks.

And the fate of smiles is ripening in cocoons of windows.

The sky is impaled on someone’s soul.

I feel the syllables of your penitent bottom.

The forest runs as a wheel, catching up with the fire of Universe.

The goal is to recognize the divine – the world of nets.

Patina naps, updating a snowflake – to rain.

A herd of winds is grazing on the pastures of snow.

Suddenly, the mimes of winter float and pass Vesuvius blades.

A herd of winds is grazing on the pastures of snow.

Patina naps, updating a snowflake – to rain.

The goal is to recognize the divine – the world of nets.

The forest runs as a wheel, catching up with the fire of Universe.

I feel the syllables of your penitent bottom.

The sky is impaled on someone’s soul.

And the fate of smiles is ripening in cocoons of windows.

The echo of moon comes on a shore of tree trunks.

In the depths of the Words 

——————————————–

Today is your day of

signs and changes.

An apple tree’s wings are waiting for you

in the petals of dragonflies.

Lovers and children 

recognize you by looking at stars.

The sky is a mysterious

spiral of soul.

The deity of seeds

is ripening in herbs again.

Shadows fall

in mirrors.

Hope is looking for a turtle dove

in the crowns of soul.

Your spirit is born

on the anvil of time.

In the depths of the Words 

flames – burn,

footsteps – sound,

and arrows – fall.

Two edges

of the serrate break…

The sky – a string.

And it’s hard to comprehend right away,

that you seek in the forest lake 

the future

between two numbed lilies.

Through the palms of the clouds

———————————————

The black cat of starless night

sneaks – steps are transparent.

The Moon Garden teases me

with petals’ lisping –

the golden echo of your Doppelganger!

Maybe our Sleep sees us 

like a breath of flowing butterflies,

where the Garden and Moon catch again

the harmonious secret that floats on

the eyelashes of grass and pebbles of sky.

Here, through the palms of the clouds – the moon is falling:

and the trees – my witnesses of the fact that I see you again

through the elastic and mesmerized shadow.

A man

——————

A man – the road of the Universe

to the inspiration of gatherings.

Someone knocks

on the door or

heart.

The Moon – a bloody rider –

washes his wounds

in the clean waters of your soul. 

A godchild

—————–

I bow to translators!

They take a poem into their hands,

nursing it as a beloved nanny:

holding the godchild during the christening,

becoming its second parent,

revealing it through their souls –

the soul of the baby – a poem.

With rhymes of rhythms they teach how to walk,

and with lullabies of vowels – how to sing;

the ones who disagree are only consonants.

When the poem grows up,

they release it, like a bird,

from their good hands to

the other speech and language

which becomes to the verse a family where it’s welcomed!

The guest

————————-

When suddenly a poem appears

on a street,

for sure – you just stand still so

you won’t lose it on the way home.

Your silhouette keeps on leash stanzas,

shoulders cover the meaning,

and your eyes  hold  some shimmering images

strung at the sight and veiling  the world;

your hands barely breathe;

your breath, in time with the poem,

conducts the double meanings

of emerged words.

The transport is afraid to touch

the brought to life in open space streets

and your revived  heroes 

from the mysterious ether.

Words and lines vigilantly observe our world

out from that non-existence or the Garden of Eden,

revealing to us the doppelg;ngers of hell and paradise,

and often changing their places!

Constructions the verse are marching down the spine.

Branches of lines grow together with the branches of trees.

Finally, you open the apartment door with a key,

and the Poem invites you into the house,

as a welcome guest !

Midday prayers bells

It’s midday prayers bells.
In the pink scales of pine
slips a tear of resin.
A may lily of secrets is in a butterfly garden.
The shadow of fire sprouts the foliage
of anticipation.
On the tablet of the Universe
falls the grain of your glance.

More than love

You split personality…
I bang against the walls
of your madness,
in order to enter,
as a wounded soul,
into the furrows
of your sorrows,
so your shadow —
would become you,
so that you’d become –
a song,
so that my light before you –
might become more
than love.

A word as a blade

A word as a blade –
in the icy streams
of burned skies.

A word as wings of praying waterfalls –
through the voice of the stone
of the great abyss.

the scream of silence

At midnight
try to open the prayer of a stone
Barefooted trees
are broken
by the scream of silence.
Ahead – the past
Is covered with dust –
the recklessness.

Rowan bitter dewdrops
light up your voice.
Through the wall of your eyes –
to pass the secret door 
of forgiveness:
through the garden –
into some other times,
in a sleepy voice of stars
and birches.

With the silver skull of moons
draw the light of a stream
that abounds
over the thorny foliage
of your words.

The sky weightlessly sits on your shoulder

Blooming gardens fly into the light abyss of the sky.
A red kitten – star fell asleep in the blue fields.
And a little water snake looks over the stars in puddles.
The city today is a sleeping angel wing.
Once again, silence has become God, and in His eyes
All waiting times speak to you,
Like brooks under a thin piece of ice of time.
The golden bucket of moon spills
its spired gold of strange voices.
And the sky weightlessly sits on your shoulder
And as a shimmering blue-gray pigeon falls to sleep:
Let the flame of your sorrow scorch me around.

The fire of Universe

The echo of moon comes on a shore of tree trunks.
And the fate of smiles is ripening in cocoons of windows.
The sky is impaled on someone’s soul.
I feel the syllables of your penitent bottom.
The forest runs as a wheel, catching up with the fire of Universe.
The goal is to recognize the divine – the world of nets.
Patina naps, updating a snowflake – to rain.
A herd of winds is grazing on the pastures of snow.
Suddenly, the mimes of winter float and pass Vesuvius blades.
A herd of winds is grazing on the pastures of snow.
Patina naps, updating a snowflake – to rain.
The goal is to recognize the divine – the world of nets.
The forest runs as a wheel, catching up with the fire of Universe.
I feel the syllables of your penitent bottom.
The sky is impaled on someone’s soul.
And the fate of smiles is ripening in cocoons of windows.
The echo of moon comes on a shore of tree trunks.

In the depths of the Words

Today is your day of
signs and changes.
An apple tree’s wings are waiting for you
in the petals of dragonflies.
Lovers and children 
recognize you by looking at stars.
The sky is a mysterious
spiral of soul.
The deity of seeds
is ripening in herbs again.

Shadows fall
in mirrors.
Hope is looking for a turtle dove
in the crowns of soul.
Your spirit is born
on the anvil of time.
In the depths of the Words 
flames – burn,
footsteps – sound,
and arrows – fall.

Two edges

Two edges
of the serrate break…
The sky – a string.
And it’s hard to comprehend right away,
that you seek in the forest lake 
the future
between two numbed lilies.

Through the palms of the clouds

The black cat of starless night
sneaks – steps are transparent.
The Moon Garden teases me
with petals’ lisping –
the golden echo of your Doppelganger!

Maybe our Sleep sees us 
like a breath of flowing butterflies,
where the Garden and Moon catch again
the harmonious secret that floats on
the eyelashes of grass and pebbles of sky.

Here, through the palms of the clouds – the moon is falling:
and the trees – my witnesses of the fact that I see you again
through the elastic and mesmerized shadow.

A man

A man – the road of the Universe
to the inspiration of gatherings.
Someone knocks
on the door or
heart.
The Moon – a bloody rider –
washes his wounds
in the clean waters of your soul. 

A godchild

I bow to translators!
They take a poem into their hands,
nursing it as a beloved nanny:
holding the godchild during the christening,
becoming its second parent,
revealing it through their souls –
the soul of the baby – a poem.

With rhymes of rhythms they teach how to walk,
and with lullabies of vowels – how to sing;
the ones who disagree are only consonants.
When the poem grows up,
they release it, like a bird,
from their good hands to
the other speech and language
which becomes to the verse a family where it’s welcomed!

A guest

When suddenly a poem appears
on a street,
for sure – you just stand still so
you won’t lose it on the way home.

Your silhouette keeps on leash stanzas,
shoulders cover the meaning,
and your eyes  hold  some shimmering images
strung at the sight and veiling  the world;

your hands barely breathe;
your breath, in time with the poem,
conducts the double meanings
of emerged words.

The transport is afraid to touch
the brought to life in open space streets
and your revived  heroes 
from the mysterious ether.

Words and lines vigilantly observe our world
out from that non-existence or the Garden of Eden,
revealing to us the doppelg;ngers of hell and paradise,
and often changing their places!

Constructions the verse are marching down the spine.
Branches of lines grow together with the branches of trees.
Finally, you open the apartment door with a key,
and the Poem invites you into the house,
as a welcome guest !

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