By ANNA GLAZOVA
thread your fingers through whole hinges
if the opening is blocked if there is no new
no old moon in the window.
behind tight brackets
is the crack that one could either be reading by a table lamp
or have spilled a full glass;
had no time to drink and was sent for stones to wear
behind his back.
eyes hurt from his being so used to the dark
being that a stranger against the light
who has thrown his shadow over yours behind the back weighs more than the house.
if the hinges lock like a chain
you will have moved
the sheet and the glass
by a half-sound.
half a sound, that’s a whole night.
Translated by Anna Khasin
Anna Glazova was born in Russia and now teaches and resides in Hamburg, Germany, and the United States. She is the author of three books of poems, the most recent of which was honored with the Russian Prize for Poetry in 2013. A scholar and a translator of European literature, she has translated into Russian books by Paul Celan, Robert Walser, Unica Zürn, and Ladislav Klima. A volume of her poems, in English translation by Anna Khasin, was published as Twice Under the Sun.
