Dzvinia Orlowsky

Take from my open hands
By Osip Emilievich Mandelstam, 1920

 

 

A little sun,
Honey
Like the bees of Persephone
No one
can free a boat
unanchored,

hear the shadow
shod in fur,

track down fear
this dense forest.
We are left with kisses,
Tingling
tiny bees that die
On leaving their hive
Rustling
In translucent underbrush of
Their night.
Home:
Taygetus’ thick wood,
Their nourishment is
clover    mint   and
Time
Take my gift
a simple necklace:
Dry dead bees
Honey turned into sun.

 

—translated by Dzvinia Orlowsky

 

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