Translated from the Belarusian by Hanif Abdurraqib and Valzhyna Mort Grandnanas, great grandmamas, great great grandparents,transparent, fairy, dressedin earth fluff, puffing into their palms,they perch on my ears and tweet:Here’s your field.Here’s your calendar.Sow, girl! I’m so for it. I farm.But in my field grow onlyred grass,green grief,that reek of guilt and shame and gray…
All the people at onceslip by unseenbetween your fingersin the silencethat distance makesThey are all thereexhaling their gasesin the companyof plants inhaling theirsThe mad roots scrambleafter water, soil and sunSome holes openas insects speakto the leaves
In the end I was not made for this; I havenone of the pragmatic agnosticism of thosewho carry words, words, words, and yetreturn to themselves with joy and gladness.I am drowning in words, in clauses—in their present selves, the future promiseand their haunting history; they staywith me unless I destroy them, clearall memory. This is…
Today I walked with two poets through a small forest.The bugs kept yelling questions. When I tried toanswer, they denied asking me the questions. The air isso wet here that it only knows how to touch my lipsassertively. The bugs are loudest behind me. Theysound like fractions of pain, like Agnes’s tree, which isvisible because…
And aren’t we all always jonesing for a way outor in, a better deal, a shorter distance to x, morey. Satisfaction is a shallow goal, counterfeit, butreassuring as a binky. Will Durant took creditfor the maxim I stole for my title, but he stole itfrom Aristotle. We steal a lot. In 7th grade my friendPam…
Translated by Ming Di My body is a dovecote. Doves howl in my gut,flapping. I want them all to go, even though they hang in the air, wireless, andwait for a certain soulto receive them. Then, I return to earth an empty self, empty dovecote.
After Lucie Brock-Broido Am the midnightzone, pelagic and unstudied. Am classical, the heart’s distracted secretary. Was unbaptizedand addicted to sparks. Am horny for self-awareness,a slut for emotional work, and am still unsolved. Was anonymous, even under my nightgown,even in your hands. Was nailed tight,like the seam of a velvet couch. Was muddied with the river’s…
Translated by Ming Di Mirrors in the elevator from all directions—shed light on those with ghosts in their hearts. A man and a woman lower their heads, admitting no guilt.There are two other people behind them defending them from the mirror.They seem to come from different cities, years. But here, in the elevator, they arriveat…
Blood on snow is the cardinal in the yard.The sudden deep freeze.A glittering.Listen!Here we are among the gloved leaves.No wings.Only the slow blades which break awayinto the snowmelt water.Between two junipers, a child blinksinto the glass of the moon.I do not dare disturb the water.I listen as she breathes, aware of nothingoutside the circle of…
No products in the cart.