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Toska: A Field of Dreams
In a field where my dreams lead me to
A field of golden strands of grass
Flow and wave like yellow silk
In a soft, warm breeze
Bundles of grass dipped into velvet blue paint
Brushed and contrasted against a blue heaven
Leaps forward and lashes backwards
Without a flaw and is perfection
Beauty in such simplicity
As the wind howls and runs and weaves
Through these bodies of grain and grass
It waves and pushes to a new beginning
Of blue moons and rivers of sap
Where the sky has no color
And logic is mystery
Clouds of screams rain down on hollow fires
Known there as Litost
A mystifying place, you see
And experiences further than just subconsciousness
Feelings of content is not what you will
Expect...
A field of golden strands of grass
Flow and wave like yellow silk
In a soft, warm breeze
Bundles of grass dipped into velvet blue paint
Brushed and contrasted against a blue heaven
Leaps forward and lashes backwards
Without a flaw and is perfection
Beauty in such simplicity
As the wind howls and runs and weaves
Through these bodies of grain and grass
It waves and pushes to a new beginning
Of blue moons and rivers of sap
Where the sky has no color
And logic is mystery
Clouds of screams rain down on hollow fires
Known there as Litost
A mystifying place, you see
And experiences further than just subconsciousness
Feelings of content is not what you will
Expect...
Published 6th Mar 2012
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7th Mar 2012 1:32am
Toska is a beautiful island just as your poem. I don't think that anybody that has been there could discribe it has you have. Great write
8th Mar 2012 4:43pm
Heheh thank you.. but actually it's not really about the island.. it's vaguely about the following... Toska - noun /ˈtō-skə/ - Russian word roughly translated as sadness, melancholia, lugubriousness.
"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”
― Vladimir Nabokov
"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom.”
― Vladimir Nabokov
8th Mar 2012 11:41pm
eto slovo ya ne znakom s i ya govoryu Rossiya. Dazhe v Chekhii ne zvonil kolokol. da ikh neskolʹko slov, kotorye ne perevodyat.
(it's a word I am not familiar with and I speak russian. Even in czech is doesn't ring a bell. yes their are some words that do not translate)
I thought of another, now-dead English word taken from French, which may be the most beautiful word I've ever heard: chantpleure, to sing and cry at the same time. It's translatable, but I don't see how it could be more elegant.
Thank you it now my word of the day. ;)
(it's a word I am not familiar with and I speak russian. Even in czech is doesn't ring a bell. yes their are some words that do not translate)
I thought of another, now-dead English word taken from French, which may be the most beautiful word I've ever heard: chantpleure, to sing and cry at the same time. It's translatable, but I don't see how it could be more elegant.
Thank you it now my word of the day. ;)
