Translations from the Russian

Landscape by Mary Vezey

Do you recall the place:
station—
               a field—
                              a river—

there was a bridge to cross. . .

The simplest possible view:
thinning groves on the right,
graveyard at left, across.

Shard of a shattered life—
village beyond the grove,
street—
            and the dust—
                                    a fence.

Along the fence—a ditch,
second turn to the right—
footbridge—
                   wicket—
                                the yard.

You do remember? Good.
Only. . .you shouldn’t enter:
the bitterest way is—back.

Cottage. The four worn steps.
Clusters of purple lilac.
Know it?
                       And now, forget.

Poem by Inna Lisnyanskaya

Near the sea oleanders bloomed
pink shadows entered the sand
waves hitting the parapet
sounded like a Cassandra.

Did she foretell, weeping,
rise of a bloody star,
trains with barred windows
travelling North?

Moesei, my curly haired
uncle, passing the Yenisei
into the permafrost,
mines, darkness. . .

Brother would deny brother:

my Father, put through a wringer,
turns the key twice
and the family album chokes
in the kerosene filled stove,

Grandmother holds the empty
kerosene bottle,
cradles it like a child,
croons in a wet voice.