thread your fingers through whole hinges

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.
 

From the beginning, The Common has brought you transportive writing and exciting new voices. We are committed to supporting writers and maintaining free, unrestricted access to our website, but we can’t do it without you. Become an integral part of our global community of readers and writers by donating today. No amount is too small. Thank you!

thread your fingers through whole hinges

Related Posts

The Kestrel

ERNESTO PÉREZ ZUÑIGA
I often see it hovering against the wind. Motionless in an impossible point in space until the kestrel insists on tracing its outline. Its own will against the void. A will that dances in a barely perceptible vibration. This is the vertigo of stillness. While its gaze sweeps the ground in search of mice or lizards.

Caribbean picture

Self-Portrait in The Caribbean

PAOLA ASSAD BARBARINO
Sometimes I am emboldened, / I decide to stand in the people’s balcony / I decide it is Maundy Thursday I decide to place a priest behind me that can speak to the people behind / my back / I decide to put out the fire and light my throat / scream

Feltspade

ELIAS SADAQ
I serve out my conscription / sleep in a bunk bed / for four cold months / in the engineer regiment at Skive Garrison / in a room with three other men / I fuck the colonel / the only sign that time is passing / is a pile of snow outside the window / that grows smaller