Anzhelina Polonskaya
translated from Russian by Andrew Wachtel
Here, in a devastated land,
write directly to me: the disease,
an overly white glance.
Here a knight takes the queen, but the queen
cannot salve sadness.
And the endless crying of violins,
the quietly falling leaves.
We laid out campfires for others,
but we became the ashpit.
Here, in a devastated land,
you can’t expiate your original sin.
Does a lover see light’s reflection,
while slitting his wrists?
Or does the glass of your memory,
broken somewhere nearby,
vibrate in the silence,
like a vine climbing a fence?
It is very difficult to say anything definitive about writing poetry; we always depend on inspiration, and at the beginning never know what to expect from the next line. I would like to say that all my poems reflect themes of exile and the anguish it can cause, as well as war, lost homes, and personal relationships. I live in a country where literature in general and poetry in particular takes us to the edge of a precipice: of loss, separation, and mortality—and “Here, in a devastated land," is no exception.
I believe no matter where people live we are all human beings, and our emotions are the same. Unfortunately, in the 21st century, everyone on the planet could be impacted by war, suffering the loss of family, homes, or freedom. This poem is a small protection from our huge and restless world.
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 became a member of the Russian PEN Centre. Polonskaya has published translations in Iowa Review, AGNI, The Massachusetts Review, Ploughshares, and Kenyon Review, among others. Her latest collection, Take Me to Stavange, was published by University of Pittsburgh Press.