Porquê tanto cansaço? Porque as cidades são duras e o corpo é mole

 

by Iryna Shuvalova (ukrainian poet)

9. February

we planned to get through February
like any other month—
only shorter

to cross it like crossing a little stream
day by day
stone to stone

to stand, having made it across,
on the green shore of spring

but instead, the river roars and grabs us by the legs
this red slippery foaming
February-fury

knee-deep in darkness
we hasten to build rafts

our rolled-up pants
grow heavy
filling up with water

or maybe with triumph
or maybe with death

***

10. a bun

by the river, a bun in my hands
I pretend death doesn’t exist

spring is coming buzzing over plum trees
spring is coming it’s already spring in nanjing
the columns are moving toward kyiv military columns
on the river, a bun in my hands
I pretend death doesn’t exist

but death is coming and death is buzzing
over plum trees over cherries and quince
the ruthless stinging of metal bees
spring is coming it’s already spring in nanjing
the columns move toward kyiv military columns

I read the news feed
cry straight into my bun

***

11. worry

worry
is sitting on my neck
like a hairy devil

a devil with a human face

a devil with the face of a little man
with a big dark shadow
spreading halfway across europe

it’s gogolian dostoevskian
bloody axes troubled times
a plague at the threshold enemy at the gate

europe is backing off
europe stands cautiously aside

trying, confused,
to wipe the red splashes
off its patent leather shoes

***

12. your own

at first glance every bombed house in the photo
looks like your own

every child sleeping in the kyiv metro
has the face
of your daughter

the news doesn’t happen to us
happens to us

the woman in the photo
desperate palm covering
her twisted weeping mouth

i don’t know this woman
i know this woman

Translated from the Ukrainian by Amelia Glaser and Yuliya Ilchuk, in consultation with the author.