LIGHT AND CONFESSION
For Halyna Chubai
1
a wooden cuckoo in an old clock
will sound the desertion of time
the apple tree will sever
from the heavy dew
You’ll return from the well
with pails unfilled
2
I’ll ask You in darkness
about when the snow fell
and an echo an abyss
will fill my every word
from a courtyard through a gate ajar
a light will step barefoot onto the trail
to leave us behind forever
but even in darkness it is clear
that You have a fleeting shadow
3
nowhere around
can You see a reflection
in which You are not
strange
find other still waters
in which to gaze at Yourself
leave behind a recording for me
a song about Your leaving
Your run begun in jest
escape now for real
4
run at midnight along the sandy beach
let the water there keep up with You till morning
in the form of a river bed
let the silvery bass carved out of the moon
run before You
lighting the water’s way
5
I won’t follow at Your heels
I’ll shut my eyes like falling leaves
I will not see
when the tracks’ leaves fall
from the time-worn branches of the paths
6
a mute cuckoo will sit across from me
with summer’s hoarfrost on its beak
I’ll let it sift through last year’s
herbarium
which has been gathered
by the wind and by You
7
the purest voices
in long corridors
recite prayers
composed of numbers
here the hours’ madonnas are dressing in white
there the hours’ madonnas are hurrying off
to their clock’s holy place
in order to light up by dawn
not candles below icons
but snow
8
from the window and from the pond
above the orchards and the tracks
all that flew sang
with the eyes of water
the sleds will have their hosanna
in the winter to come
and glorifying words
will arrive on their own
and now the hours’ madonnas
have lighted the snow
leaving a trail behind them
only one
9
I’ll run along it with a rifle
the rifle will turn into a cane
the tracks will lead into the high rye fields
the rye fields will slowly become smaller
and amongst the rye
a new year’s tree
and me so little beside it
“But Daddy, don’t three trees
make a forest?”
10
I don’t know where
I don’t know from where
a clock made of hay
its hands broken by the wind
the wheat stubble’s name has been silenced by the snow
I want to forget You
the ploughed field’s name has been silenced
I want to love You
11
the wind straightens out the crumpled grass
the grass straightens out and forgives us
of everything
bells ring in ant-sized
empty churches
signal the cleanest of confessions
12
and You atop the tall mountain
from which the sun is visible at midnight
stare at Yourself in a thin sheet of ice
13
You’ll dream of clear water
return
fly in an airplane
to repeat the cuckoo’s path
from when it first sang to when it became silent
look from up high into the empty nests
return before the light
before the birds fly south and before your voice
enter the house silently
Translated by Mark Andryczyk with Yaryna Yakubyak