[We waved them off long ago. So why]
translated from the Russian by Philip Metres
We waved them off long ago. So why
Do they who are no longer here
Still wave to us? The time to sow
Approaches, and the land awaits seeds
As the wind waits for weeds, waving
Them with purpose, as dilapidated roofs
Waited for us. We waved our hand
To those distant, flown over the edge
Of the earth; and we stood beneath
The ripe wind that is born here
And roams here, as well, until
The words on my starling tongue,
Numb from mint, go mute, and
Our enormous dreams gutter out.
[Мы махнули давно рукой.]
Мы махнули давно рукой.
Что там машут кого здесь нет?..
Приближается сев, и пашни
Ждут семян, как ждёт ветер трав,
Колыхающий их со смыслом,
Как нас ждали ветхие кровли.
Мы махнули рукой тем дальним,
Улетевшим за край земли;
И мы встали под спелый ветер,
Что рождается здесь и бродит
Тоже здесь до скончания слов
На моём языке скворчином,
Занемевшем от мяты, и
До скончания снов великих.
Copyright © 2026 by Dimitri Psurtsev, translated by Philip Metres. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on September 4, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
“This poem was written when the Soviet regime collapsed, and some of our best friends chose to leave Russia for greener pastures. Staying involved thinking more about why you stay and what you do. Mending the roof, long overdue, is a biographical denotation, and also a metaphor for trying to make amends for the unfortunate historical things. But, most importantly, the poem is about the bliss of writing in a place where you belong, in the language you rightfully own, in the sown field where the treasure lies that years cannot change.”
—Dimitri Psurtsev
“A translator’s job is to make a poem live and sing in a second tongue. If this translation reached your ears as its own kind of music, then I will have succeeded. Dimitri Psurtsev’s ‘[We Waved Them Off …]’ is a poem from the perspective of one who stays behind a troubled country. For Russians, emigration of loved ones has often felt like a kind of death. The ones who stay, of course, have to turn back to the work ahead, the work of sowing seeds, fixing leaky roofs, and tending to the small flames of their dreams.”
—Philip Metres
Dimitri Psurtsev
