Drunk from the Bitter Truth: The Poems of Anna Margolin

MARY AND THE GUESTS

194 ʨʱʲʢ ʩʣ ʯʥʠ ʩʸˋʮ ˝ˌ ʯʥʠ ʳʩʥʠ ʯʸʲʮʩʶ ʩʣ ʸʲʡʩʠ ʨʩʩʢ ʩʸˋʮ , ʨʫʥʸ˦ ʩʣ ʨʬʲʨʹʲʶ , ʯ‫ٷ‬ʥʥ ʭʲʣ , ʯʲʮʥʬʡ ʲʷʰˋʬʹ ʩʣ , ʪʩʦ ʨʢʩʩʰ , ʨʱʥʬ ʸʲʨʸʩʥʥʸˋ˦ ʯʩʠ ʨʬʫʩʩʮʹ , ʨʱʥ˝ ʦʩʠ ʡʥʨʹ ʩʣ ʯʥʠ , ʯʲʰ‫ٷ‬ʦ ʲʬˋ ʹʨˌʫ ʯʲʮʥʷʲʢ ʩʩʦ . ʯʸˋ ʸʩʠ ʨʶʩʠ ʬˌʦ , ʢʰˋʬ ʨʰʢʥʩ ˋ ʱˌʥʥ ʢʰˋʢʸˋ˦ʰʥʦ ʱʰʨʬˋ ʭʲʣ ʨˌ ʯʩʠ ʨʷʰˋʶʲʢ ʩʦ ʨˌʤ ? ʸʩʠ ʯʸˋ ʬˌʦ , ʭʲʨˌ ʸʩʠ ʬˌʮ ˋ ʨ˝ˋʫʸˋ˦ ʨˌʤ ʱˌʥʥ ʯʡʲʬ ʯʥ˦ ʬʩ˝ʹʸʲʩʥʸʨ ʱˌʣ , ʪʩʦ ʨʹʲʬ ʱʲ ʯʲʥʥ , ʣʲʢ ʯʣʰʣʰʲʬʡ ʯʥ˦ ʯʥʠ ʹʥʠʑ ʩʩ ʯʥ˦ ʨʩʩʬʢˋʡ ʷʰˋ ? ʯʨˌʹ ʸʲʱʩʥʸʢ ʸʲʣ ʪˌʰʸʲʣ ʢʰˋʬ ʸʲ ʦʩʠ ʯʦʲʥʥʲʢ ʯʲʮʲʬˋ ʩʩʦ ʸʲʡʩʠ , ʸʲʮʩʥʸʨ , ʯʸˋʤ , ʨʫʲʰʷ , ʨʫʲʰ ʩʣ ʯʩʠ ʨʰʲʷʲʢ ʨˌʤ ʩʦ ʯʲʮʲʥʥ . ʸʲʷʩʣʰʢ‫ٷ‬ʥʥʹ ʥʣ , ʸʲʰʩʥʸʡ ʬʢʰʑ ʩʩ , ʸʲʣʮʲʸ˦ , ʯʸʲʨʹ ˋ ʯʥ˦ ʨʲʹʦʣʰˌʬʡʸˋ˦ ʩʥʥ , ʸʲʮʩʶ ʯʱ‫ٷ‬ʥʥ ʯʩʠ ʨʫˋʰ ʯ‫ٷ‬ʮ ʯʲʥʥʲʢ ʨʱʩʡ , ʢʰʩʬʩʸ˦ ˋ ʯʩʠ ʸʲʫʲʡ ʯʫʩʥʤ ʯʩʠ ʯ‫ٷ‬ʥʥ ʸʲʬʷʰʥʨ ʹʩʨʱʩʮ ʯʥʠ . ʸʲʫʲʸʡʸˋ˦ ʡʬˋʤ ʯʥʠ ʸʲʷʩʬʩʩʤ ʡʬˋʤ ʥʣ ʯʥʠ , ʨʲˌ˝ ʸˌʢ ʩʶ . ʣʩʩʸ˦ ʲ˦ʸˋʹ ʩʣ ʨʱʷʰʲʣʲʢ , ʯʥ˦ ʯʫʥʸʡʱʩʥʠ ʩʣ ʨʩʩʷʫʲʬʨʸʲʶ ʯʸˌʶ ʯʥʠ ʯʸˌ˦ ʲʨ˦ˋʤʰʲʫʸʲʮ ʱˌʣ ʨʶʲʬ ʥʶ ʯʥʠ ʰʲʬʮʩʸʣ ʪʸʥʣ ʯʥʠ ʸʲʮʥʦ ʪʸʥʣ ʨʲʨʹ ʲʷʩʣ ? 195 MARY AND THE GUESTS Mary goes from room to room, in and out, arranges the fruit, the wine, the slender flowers, bows, smiles in agitated joy, the house is empty, though everyone came. Should she now mind that long ago when young she had flickered in this old man’s sunset? Should she care, who once had caught her breath at the sad game of an ebbing life attended by despair and blinding thoughts? Long afterwards, he remained the great shadow over all of them—dreamers, lords and slaves, whom she knew in the nights. You, silent brown youth, strayed from a star, like an alien, you were my night in the white room one springtime and also the mystic dark wine in tall goblets. And you, half-holy, half-criminal, or altogether a poet. Remember that sharp joy, the outbursts of tenderness and fury and at the end, the fateful journey through summer and through dreamy cities? 196 ʸʲʬʨʲʡ , ʨʱʩʸʢʲʢ ‫ٷ‬ʦ ! ʡˌʸ ˋ ʩʥʥ ʸʲʨʶʰʩ˦ ʯʥʠ ʱʥʠʩʮ ʨʱʩʡ , ʡˌʤ ʪˌʣ ʨˌʢ ˋ ʩʥʥ ʯʫˋʬ ʷʩʨʫʩʬ ʪʩʣ ʯʲʦʲʢ ʪʩʠ ʭʲʸʥʨʹ ʯʥʠ ʩʩʰʹ ʯʩʠ ʬˌʮ ʯʩʩʠ . ʯʸʲʨʹ ʸʲʰʩʸʢ ˋ ʦʩʠ ʨˌ ʯʥʠ , ʯʩʮʱˋʩ ʯʥ˦ ʱʲʨʱʥʷ ʩʩʥʥʶ , ʳʩʥʤ ˋ ʯʩʠ ʭʲʰʥʸʡ ˋ — ʲʨʩʬ ʯʥ˦ ʨʱʲʢ ʵʬˋ . ʤʰʥʺʧ ˋ ʯʥʠ , ʨʱʥʬ ʲʨʩʬʡʲʶ , ˝ʲʷ ʳʩʥʠ ˝ʲʷ ʯʹʨʰʲʮ ʯʥʠ , ʸˋʥʥʸʩʥʥ ʯʩʠ ʯʱˋʢ ʯʥʠ , ʲʨʩʬʢʸˋ˦ ʢʰˋʬ ʯʸʲ‫˦ٷ‬ ʯʥʠ . ʨʮʲʬʷʲʢʰˌ ʯʸʲʩʥʮ ʯʹʩʥʥʶ ʭʬʥʠ ʯˋ ʦʩʸ ˋ ʯʥʠ . ʭʬʥʧ ʯʨʱʣʬʩʥʥ ʯʥ˦ ʨʷˋʤʲʢʱʩʥʠ ʯʥʠ — ˝ʲʸʨʬʣʰʩʥʥ ʲʷʩʣʬʣʰʩʥʥʹ . ʨʫʲʰ ʩʣ ʯʥ˦ ʸʲʩʥʸʨ ʯʩʠ , ʨˌʨʹ ʸʲʨ‫ٷ‬ʥʥ ˋ ʯʩʠ , ʨʥʬʡ ʯʷʩʣʰʲʷʰʲʡ ʯʥ˦ ʯʢ‫ٷ‬ʨʹ˦ʩʥʠ ʩʩʦ ʯʢʲʬ˦ ʳʩʥʸˋ ʩʦ ʯʸʩ˦ ʯʢʲʬ˦ ʯʥʠ , ʳʩʥʸˋ — ʯʩʤ˒ʥʥ ? ʡʥʨʹ ʸʲʷʩʸʲʣʩʰ ʸʲʰʲʩ ʯʩʠ ʸˌʢ ʸʹ˦ʠ , ʷʩʣʬ˝ʲʰ ˒ʥʥ , ʨʰʲˌʰ ˝ʮˌʬ ʭ‫ٷ‬ʡ ʪʩʦ ʯʫʩʩʬʡ ˝ˌʷ ʸʲʩʥʸʢ ʱʸʲʨʥʮ ʸʲʣ , ʥʣ ʯʥʠ , ʥʣ ʯʥʠ , ʥʣ ʯʥʠ — ʨʩʩʷ ʲʢʰˋʬ ˋ . ˌʣ ʦʩʠ ʣʰʩʷ ʱˌʣ ʯʥʠ . ʨ‫ٷ‬ʥʥ ʸʲʩʩʦ ʯʥ˦ ʸʩʨ ʱʸʲʨʥʮ ʸʲʣ ʥʶ ʯʲʮʥʷʲʢ ʦʩʠ ʱʲ . ʨʷʥʸʸˋ˦ ʪʩʦ ʬʷʰʩʥʥ ʯʩʠ ʨˌʤ ʱʲ , ʨʩʩʷʸʲʩʥʸʨ ʨʩʮ ʬʥ˦ ʯʥʠ ʯʩʩʬʷ . ʨ˦ʩʨʸˋ˦ ʪʩʦ ʯʩʠ ʦʩʠ ʱʲ , ʣʰʩʷ ʱˌʣ , ʱ‫ٷ‬ʥʥ ʯʥʠ ʬʩʨʹ ʯʥʠ . ʠ ʯʢʩʥ , ʯˌ ʨʩʰ ʪʩʮ ʨʢˌʬʷ , ˝ˌ ʨʩʰ ʪʩʦ ʨʸʲʷ ʯʢʩʥʠ . 197 You, and you, and you—a long chain. And the child is here. It arrived at mother’s door from a great distance. Crawled into a corner, small, suffused with sadness. This child, sunken into itself, silent and pale. Eyes, don’t reproach me, eyes, don’t turn away. Greetings, beggar! You are ugly and black as a raven, yet once in a snowstorm I saw you laughing brightly like a god. Here are a green star, two bushes of jasmine, a well in the yard—the guests from Lithuania. A wedding, full of people, bubbling with joy, streets in confusion, fires long since banked An immense crowd clamped between walls. And carved out of the wildest dream— dizzying, winding stairs. In a distant city, in nightly sorrow they would arise with yearning blood and would carry her aloft, aloft— Whereto? Perhaps even into that humble house nearby, where hazily, mother’s grey head, mother’s quiet hands 198 ʨʰʲʤ ʲʬʩʨʹ ʱʸʲʨʥʮ ʸʲʣ . ʯʢʩʥʠ , ʯˌ ʨʩʰ ʪʩʮ ʨʢˌʬʷ , ʯʢʩʥʠ , ˝ˌ ʨʩʰ ʪʩʦ ʨʸʲʷ . ʯʸʲʨʱʩʬ˦ ˋ , ʯʫʸˌʹ ˋ , ʨˌ˝ʹ ʸʲʬʩʨʹ . ʩʩʢ ʯʸʲʮʩʶ ʩʣ ʸʲʡʩʠ ʩʸˋʮ ˝ˌ ʯʥʠ ʳʩʥʠ ʨ . ʥʸ ʲʨʬˋʷ ˋ ʸʩʠ ʳʩʥʠ ˝ˌʸˋ ʦʩʠ ʱʲ . ʸʲʨ‫ٷ‬ʥʥ ʵʬˋ , ʨʱʲʢ ʩʣ ʸʩʠ ʯʸʲʥʥ ʸʲʨʰˋʷˋʡʮʥʠ . ʥʣ ʥʨʱʩʡ ʸʲʥʥ ? ʨʱʩʡ ʸʲʥʥ ʥʣ ʯʥʠ ? ʥʣ ʯʥʠ ? ʯʩʩʬˋ ʦʩʠ ʩʦ . ʨʱʲ˦ ʯʣʮʲʸ˦ ˋ ‫ٷ‬ʡ . ʨʡʲʥʥʸˋ˦ ʩʩʦ ʨʩʮ ʯʲʥʥʲʢ ʨʩʰ ʬˌʮ ʯʩʩʷ ʦʩʠ ʩʦ . ʲʢ ʨʩʰ ʬˌʮ ʯʩʩʷ ʯʡʲʬ ʸʩʠ ʨˌʤ ʩʦ ʨʡʲʬ . 199 fade in the lamplight. Eyes, don’t reproach me, eyes, don’t turn away. A whisper, a rustle, quiet mocking. Mary goes from room to room, in and out. A chilly calm descends upon her. Her guests are more distant, more unfamiliar. Who are you? And who are you? And you? She is alone. At someone else’s celebration. She was never part of it. She never lived her own life. ...