Alicja Maria Kuberska

Alicja Maria Kuberska       
Poetess, novelist, journalist, editor. 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 a 
novel – ‘Virtual Roses’ – and another collection of poems ‘On the Border of Dream’.  Next 
year her volumes entitled “ Girl in the Mirror “ was published in the UK, “ Love me “ and   
“(Not) my poem” in the USA .In 2015 she also edited anthology entitled “ The Other Side of 
the Screen”. In 2016  she published two volumes – Taste of Love in English and Thief of 
dreams in Polish.

Her poems have been published in numerous anthologies and magazines in Poland, the USA, 
the UK, Canada, India, Italy, Israel  and Australia. She is awarded Polish poet. Her poems are 
noticed abroad too. She was the featured poet of New Mirage Journal (USA) in the summer of
2011.  Her poem ‘Train’ was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2011.  In 2014, her poem 
was mentioned in the international competition, Nosside.  In the 2015 her poem “ Thief of 
dreams” won the medal in Nosside competition .This year also poem “ The dance on the dew”
was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. She was the featured poet of magazine “ The year of 
the  poem “ March 2015.

Alicja has written 8 monodramas and a play for teenagers.   The monodrama ‘Cousin’ won the
first prize in Kołobrzeg in 2013.
Alicja is a member of the Polish Writers Association in Warsaw.  She was one of two editors 
of an artistic-literary quarterly journal ‘Metafora’, published by Miniatura.

(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 Philosopher and a Poet

they met between heaven and earth
at the place where time and matter are irrelevant
at a higher level of abstraction
they overcame the barriers of the real world

he brought a white canvas and philosophical maxims
she brought the paint brushes 
and a handful of dreams in words
they painted the picture in many shades of blue
they poured their thoughts and feelings into the ether

he sketched the outlines of life with a bold navy blue line
she filled the background with gentle azure brushes.
together they added a few colorful spots of astonishment.
his eyes are hazel and hers are green

Tree and I

with my body, I am near to the roots
with my thoughts, I reach the longest branches
I soar towards the sun
I caress the green canopy

the tree records years in its rings
warm-cold, dry-wet
and I record emotions on a piece of paper
sadness-joy, love-loneliness

we are dear to each other
often, I embrace its trunk
maybe it will remember the touch of my hands
rustle with memories

Among Stars

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.

Lost Data

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.

Your touch woke me up.
Regained consciousness shouts out my name.
I repel a bad dream from under my eyelids.

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