Minsk Poem by Anja Kampmann

I never saw so much snow
never so many tracts of land frozen so thick
cold and icestill like the land that turns away from us
sinks into an inner conversation
the breadth with the breadth
some run across die croak thousands
dig and draw lines of wire into the
icy air in. The woods are deep
no one wanders within
groundlessly
only gradually unfolding history
the propellers of machines
ceaseless repetitions of
the cold
not will not earthbones only
how far can one run
when the heavens bend inward sleet grasps
the static of the heavens the stars
shiploads the dockers of foreign ports
coal bones hope for something
which lies distant
touched from deep inside
young beeches
bright or new or wind.
Translated by Anne Posten