Irina Kovaleva
And there was beauty
. . . And there was beauty –
A hem, flying up – above a slender foot,
Over the greyish timber of the bridge.
Morover there was love for apples. Each fruit
Was divided into two (but he
Recalling the story, with a tilt of the head, declined
The apple. The hand . . .
His wings are buoyant,
Dazzling, like flickering
tongues of flame – burning heat –
But when he goes – the heart,
Which was like a star,
Stays empty.
A word, uttered by your voice,
Became golden
And round, goldenly translucent, ripe
In the radiant air, golden and white,
And, immutable, it remains whole.
This, of course, is not the garden, but close enough.
And a branch, glancing out of the garden,
Is reflected in it
Like light, falling into a pool.
[1999]
Translated by Daniel Weissbort
Page(s) 107-108
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