A person is reflected by the whirlpool - Ekaterina Boyarskikh

A person is reflected by the whirlpool, not the face
in the intelligent Angar, crazy January water.
Silver foil speaks in all human languages
and those of the angels. It makes the New Year
secrets ring out.
The mirror in the town-house is covered by
the white of the royal mourning.
Beyond the sheet – steam, beyond the snow – desert.
A person is reflected by the cold, winter spectacle
and blood flows
into the liquidity of the shaky door.
What can one ask for from the deaf and dumb almighty,
using a fish, a toy animal with a knocked-out eye,
primitive silence,
a torn eyelid,
the youngest child in the family?

I plunge a ladder for myself through each prison spy-hole,
into the quaking sands
at the bottom of the eyes.
Go away, reflection, quickly,
or else I’ll think again.
Silver foil, silver foil.

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Ekaterina Boyarskikh (born 1975) Russia
Translated by Richard McKane
Source: Modern Poetry in Translation