Wednesday, November 23, 2016

ANZHELINA POLONSKAYA ~






Paul Klee's Boat


Soon it will be winter and soon

a nightingale with a bandaged throat,

a plum tree in bloom, and a white

hill pushed up against the door.



Illness arrives like Mozart,

sits down at the black piano

and its voice touches with a single note.



I see January, a blockade,

you're sketching Paul Klee's boat,

big on petite.



It sails along, the fool, not knowing —

can't brush the wave from its eyelash.



Somewhere a shutter bangs shut,

and you bend toward the sketch.

Mozart creates like a god!

And the two of us, childless.



We'd be husband and wife,

together forever it seemed.

But burned by Greeks and barbarians

we fled, leaving no trace.

_________________

Anzhelina Polonskaya
translated by the Russian by
Andrew Wachtel  
Zephyr Press
2013






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