I Went Sick as a Child

By ARSENY TARKOVSKY

Translated by VALZHYNA MORT

 

             I went sick as a child

with hunger and fear. I’d rip the crust
of my lips—and lick my lips; I recall
the fresh and salty taste.
And I’m walking, I’m walking, walking,
I sit on the steps by the door, I bask,
I walk delirious, as if a rat catcher led me
by my nose into the river, I sit and bask
on the steps; I shiver this way and that.
My mother stands and beckons me, and seems
within my reach, but not:
I’d approach—she stands seven steps away,
and beckons, I’d approach—she stands
seven steps away.
So hot
I got. I unbuttoned my collar, lied down.
Suddenly the trumpets blared, light struck
my eyelids, the horses dashed, my mother
flies above the pavement, beckons me—
then she flew off.
Now, in my dreams
a white hospital stands in an apple orchard,
and a white sheet comes up to my throat,
and a white doctor stares,
and my white sister stands at my feet,
stirring her wings. And so remained.
And my mother came, beckoned me,
and flew off.
Arseny Tarkovsky (1907–1989) was a Soviet poet and translator who successfully published in the1960s through the 1980s. His poems are recited in his son Andrei Tarkovsky’s influential films Stalker, Nostalgia, and The Mirror.

Valzhyna Mort was born in Minsk, Belarus. She is the author two poetry collections, Factory of Tears and Collected Body. A recipient of the Lannan Foundation Fellowship and the Bess Hokin Prize for Poetry, she teaches at Cornell University.

[Purchase your copy of Issue 09 here.]

I Went Sick as a Child

Related Posts

Black and white image of a bird with a long neck

Dispatch from Marutha Nilam

SAKTHI ARULANANDHAM
With the swiftness and dexterity / of a hawk that pounces upon a chicken / and takes it by force, / the bird craves / snapping up a vast terrain / with its powerful, sharp beak / and flying away with it. // When that turns out to be impossible, / in the heat of its great big sigh, / all the rivers dry up.

Tripas Book Cover

Excerpt from Tripas

BRANDON SOM
One grandmother with Vicks, one with Tiger Balm, rubbed / fires of camphor & mint, old poultices, / into my chest: their palms kneading & wet with salve, / its menthols, to strip the chaff & rattle in a night wheeze. Can you / hear their lullabies?

Blue cover of There is Still Singing in the Afterlife

Four Poems by JinJin Xu

JINJIN XU
my mother, my father. / Her skinny blue wrists, his ear caressing a cigarette. In the beginning, / it is already too late, but there is hunger & no time / to waste. All they need are six hands, three mouths, a clockwork / yearning for locks of their own, windows square & fresh.