Quarterly Literary Review Singapore
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Vol. 3 No. 1 Oct 2003

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Here Russia spreads her legs like the body compass of a prima ballerina

Here Russia spreads her legs like the body compass of a prima                                                                                 ballerina,
undoes a button on her soldierís greatcoat by the railroad                                                                                 station
and gets poured like soup to the aluminum dish in the restaurant
where Raskolnikov confused the bread of doom
with virginsí wombs.
Night, and in the Hotel Ural,
at the crossroad to Siberia,
I hang my belovedís face upon the portrait of Lenin drawn on                                                                                 the wall.
Her lips are painted revolutionary red
and a sled-dog etches
in the snow of her body
the thousands of miles that separate her
from the hand that writes these lines
in vodka ink.

Translated by Vivian Eden

By Ronny Someck


QLRS Vol. 3 No. 1 Oct 2003

_____


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Return to Vol. 3 No. 1 Oct 2003


 
   
  Other Poems in this Issue

On Silence
By Mark Pirie.

Rimutakas
By Mark Pirie.

Mouth Piece
By W.B. Keckler.

Return to Kuantan
By Oswald LeWinter.

modes of transport
By Shazanah Hassan.

Planting Mines
By Thow Xin Wei.

The All-Night Attendant at the Foreign Experts' Compound
By Charles Lowe.

 

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