From “Holy Winter” [Wind. The blue of the mountains invisible]

^{translated from the Russian by Sasha Dugdale}

Wind. The blue of the mountains invisible
In the twilight, under winter stars
Our little house is covered in snow
I hear the dogs barking
By the village gates
Through snow and wind
Someone is coming home.

Foreign words melt in the cheek
Like sugar cubes.

From “Holy Winter” [I remember everything just as it was]

^{translated from the Russian by Sasha Dugdale}

I remember everything just as it was
And even that today is poetry day in the City.
I’ve lost the art myself: poems are the toys of the fortunate
Who like to play at misfortune.
But still, thinking of you all rushing about
From one poetry reading to the next
The taste of wine in your mouths, your wreaths still green —
Not one of you would stem the tide of confessional lyric

Maria Stepanova

2024

From “Holy Winter” [How did we come to be in this wardrobe?]

^{translated from the Russian by Sasha Dugdale}

How did we come to be in this wardrobe?
(How did I come to be in this coffin?)

We aren’t alone in the wardrobe:
Ancient shaggy pelts,
A frozen fleece, hung with icicles
Fur coats with deep dark shores
You are lost in them (we are lost) as in a forest
The dreadful smell of chill, nightfall
The snow marked by the pox.

In a distant and strange realm
There rocks a crystal tomb,

Maria Stepanova

2024

Poems

From “Holy Winter” [Wind. The blue of the mountains invisible]

More by this poet

From “Holy Winter” [I remember everything just as it was]

From “Holy Winter” [How did we come to be in this wardrobe?]

Poems

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From “Holy Winter” [Wind. The blue of the mountains invisible]

More by this poet

From “Holy Winter” [I remember everything just as it was]

From “Holy Winter” [How did we come to be in this wardrobe?]

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