The Seasons, and: ( . . . ), and: Photo Albums
Rent from DeepDyve- The Seasons, and: ( . . . ), and: Photo Albums
The Seasons
Sometimes it seems to me that the plums are in bloom. Sometimes, that evil can’t be overcome. That a dog’s shadow is cast on the snow.
I know that all poplars are equally female when laid on their backs. [End Page 160] That a single voice (repeat after me) is harder to take than any chorus.
I remember that I shouldn’t look into the garden. That we will separate sooner (quiet) or later. That the unluckiest people are those who can’t let go.
( . . . )
During the short night I became grey as the foam on the wave’s crest. I listen to the ships on the thin wire, their white grimace sails before me. My hands prevent me from talking with you, I’d like to tie them behind me like black ribbons. If you only knew the blinding cold inside me (if I only knew, I wouldn’t have pinned on the crepe). The candle stub’s extinguished—the last ray of light.
Photo Albums
No question, the first things to be cursed are photo albums: a girl with a ball and mommy. A bench, the lilac bush should all be cast onto a bonfire. And the sun declared outside the law. Call some thieves—let them make off with the iron bedsteads where we slept long and straight. Then cut down the rowan by the fence so we can’t bury the dog beneath it. There’s no call to cry over emptiness. And without the past in your pockets, live like the grass, not asking; who are you. Flow like water, not tempting memory.
Anzhelina Polonskaya was born in Malakhovka, a small town near Moscow. Since 1998 she has been a member of the Moscow Union of Writers and in 2003 she became a member of the Russian pen-centre. In 2004 an English version of her book A Voice was shortlisted for the 2005 Corneliu M Popescu Prize for European Poetry in Translation. Polonskaya has published translations in World Literature Today, Poetry Review, The American Poetry Review, International Poetry Review, and others.
