Russian Poetry Of A Certain Era Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

the needle points north, the needle.
but the heart, the heart
can't settle itself

a thousand stories or one play
it's Chekov in summer, Turgenev in May
or starlight trained on the ballet,

cherry orchards, brimming over with nightingales
a stage set, set
laments spelled out for something

not yet named
an ill fated train. a lilac veil
over landscapes of interminable snow;

unfinished, the Wanderers,
no matter where they go; the students with
scores of Mussorgsky under their arms

court moodiness and the Neva;
the fairy tale spires, the steppes...regret;
the incommunicable mysteries
Bells of all the years;

in Scythian gold
a drifting cloud, cloud full of tears;
my groundless soul

above History.


mary angela douglas 11 december 2018; rev.19 january 2019