Why do you, arriving at the sea, sit by the river
of time, washing your feet in it, crushing your brains,
turning your hooked nose up to the sky?
On many days there’s not even a miaow or a bark.
Like this river, this water,
silence grows on you like a peasant’s beard
and while a sea urchin or star floats up from the bottom,
you think
‘Yeeees’,
how voracious time is, the herd of bodies
has gone for a moment, disappeared
among the rowboats and schooners,
the Sirens sob on their last journey,
the dolphins catapult.
Olga Khvostova (20th century) Russia
Translated by Richard McKane
Source: Modern Poetry in Translation New Series No. 20 - 2002 [Poetry Magazines]
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