Curtain

This is another of the poems written after the writer's daughter's death. It is not difficult to imagine the situation presented in this song:

I opened the window, and curtain
she fluttered towards me,
Like Anka in a casket.

The curtain, moving within it, resembles a lyrical subject (We can identify him with the author himself) a deceased daughter: dead, closed in a casket, not full of life, dynamic young woman, not even her spirit. This is quite a surprising association: curtain is lightness, airy, The coffin is a sign of eternal stillness, weight. The simplest explanation of this association is such: Infected pain, Almost everything resembles the deceased to the suffering father, sees her there, where Anka's paintings suggest his imagination, not simple references to reality. Like in another train, w Clarity:

… "Friend,
Look: cloud,
Look at, This is my daughter,
You see, fruric,
look – The same feathers…"

Of course, The daughter is not in this room. It is only breathing, rustling curtain, which – maybe – is arranged in shapes resembling a twenty -year -old woman. Constantly returning in the poet's imagination, which still recalls the remembered paintings of Anka, She has her figure in front of her eyes. Or maybe it was Anka, Her shadow outside reality, from the extraterrestrial world. This issue does not clearly decide the poem:

How nice… how nice… how terribly,
my nice…
I don't think I will fall asleep anymore…
Curtain?… Have you been here?

The lyrical subject feels the child's close presence. Provided, that it is a nice feeling. But at the same time and terrible. These are two contradictory emotional states, which, however, can, And that's how it is in the poem, coexist. The unexpected arrival of my beloved daughter at first causes joy, which the fear drowns out in the next second, painful reminder: Anka is dead, She can't be here, and I feel her presence. Imagination, Marked with pain, imagination will probably not allow the lyrical subject to fall asleep that night. Maybe, It will pass in his memories, recalling the moments spent with the child.

It is essentially a poem about the poet again (His imagination is not used to write poems now, but recalling memories of my daughter), his regret, experiences and the state of the spirit. Not about the deceased child, which is only a breeze here, skewer, delusion. Undoubtedly, however, suffering remains real, Constantly returning images, in which Anka is in the foreground. But, These two worlds, imagination, imagination and reality, It is difficult to separate in the curtain. They penetrate, complement, They create an unusual mood, waiting for something indefinite.