Sample Poems

Issue 6

Sample Poem

Names with asterisks link to bios.

"Snow falls on the young sailor's shoulders."

from For the Fighting Spirit of the Walnut

Александру Ильянену

Снег падает на плечи матросу.

Матросик, произноси уверенней звук the, –
это то, чего можно коснуться
(раздвоенный подбородок друга),
или поймать (его взгляд),
или запомнить (улыбка).

Он перебегает улицу на розовый свет.
Белое зарево мятущейся геометрии ниже нуля.
Справа красное солнце,
слева легкая полиэтиленовая луна.
Ей лишь два оборота до белой ночи.
На восточном стебле розы ветров набухают вербные почки.

Он переходит улицу.
Или улица проходит через него.
Пересеченье вспыхивает.
Негатив оседает
в физрастворе
желаний,
в фиксаторе снов.

Матросик Петров,
золотые пуговицы,
высокие ботинки.
Ты всегда спешишь.

Небезопасно бежать в переулках славянского мира –
в нем нет очертаний.
Нет артиклей, вымеряющих расстояния.
Разбирай – все твое.

И тебя заберут, перетянут. Ты – ничей.
Часть лучей,
пересекшихся улиц,
двухголосное пенье толпы.
Блеск твоих пуговиц
рассылает снопы.

Воздухошественно,
как стяги или хоругви,
они вырастают вдали,
и у водных границ
в амальгаму летучих знамен
хмуро смотрят военные корабли.

written 1999–2000
*Aleksandra Petrova | Александра Петрова

Aleksandra Petrova (b. 1964, Leningrad) studied in Tartu, emigrated to Jerusalem, and since 1998 has lived in Rome. Her two volumes of poetry in Russian are Liniia otryva (1994) and Vid na zhitel’stvo (1999). A third collection is in press in Moscow. She has also published a “philosophical operetta” entitled Pastukha Dolli that recounts a tale of cloning in pastoral terms. The poem published here is dedicated to Aleksandr Il’ianen, contemporary Russian fiction writer and poet.

For Aleksandr Ilianen

Snow falls on the young sailor’s shoulders.

Sweet sailor, say “the” with confidence —
it is a thing that one can touch
(a friend’s dimpled chin),
or catch (his glance),
or fix in memory (his smile).

He runs across the street into the rosy light.
The white glow has dropped below zero in its skewed geometry.
The red sun is on the right,
a weightless polyethylene moon is on the left.
Barely two phases of the moon till White Nights.
On the Eastern stem of a wind rose compass, willow buds swell up.

He crosses the street.
Or the street walks through him.
The crossing flashes with light.
The negative settles
in the salty chemical mix
of desires,
in a fixative solution of dreams.

Sweet sailor Petrov,
with your gold buttons
and high boots,
you are always in a hurry.

It’s not safe to run down back streets in the Slavic world,
where boundary lines cannot be seen.
There are no articles to measure out the distances.
You figure it out — it all belongs to you.

You will be taken up, pulled to one side. You belong to no one.
You are one of the light beams
that crossed these streets,
you are the two-part harmony of public song.
The shine on your buttons
sends out rays in all directions.

You are a procession that moves on air,
banners and standards
that grow in the distance
and reach the very edge of the water,
where warships wait gloomily
and stare at the mass of flags.

translated from Russian by
*Stephanie Sandler

Stephanie Sandler teaches in the Slavic Department at Harvard University. She has written about Pushkin, including Commemorating Pushkin: Russia’s Myth of a National Poet (2004), about sex and gender in Russian culture, and about contemporary poets. She translated poems by Elena Fanailova, Nina Iskrenko, and Elena Shvarts for An Anthology of Contemporary Russian Women Poets (2005).