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THE BIRTH OF A SMILE by Osip Mandelshtam (translated from Russian by Tony Brinkley and Raina Kostova)

October 1, 2010 Contributed By: Osip Mandelshtam, Raina Kostova, Tony Brinkley

A child’s first smile, its mountain-
bitterness and sweetness, its ends—
not easily—extend and nurse
the ocean’s anarchy.

He is well—invincibly—his
soothed lips toy with names and
stitch a rainbow suture, his unlimited
awareness of appearances.

Stirred, the subsoil paws—
the snail mouth flows and hastens—
tuning lightly in amazement,
in my eyes this Atlas moment.

8 December 1936-17 January 1937, Voronezh

РОЖДЕНИЕ УЛЫБКИ

Когда заулыбается дитя
С развилинкой и горечи и сласти,
Концы его улыбки, не шутя,
Уходят в океанское безвластье.

Ему непобедимо хорошо:
Углами губ оно играет в славе—
И радужный уже строчится шов
Для бесконечного познанья яви.

На лапы из воды поднялся материк—
Улитки рта наплыв и приближенье—
И бьет в глаза один атлантов миг
Под легкий наигрыш хвалы и удивленья.

Return to table of contents for Issue 3 Fall 2010

Filed Under: Poetry, Translation Posted On: October 1, 2010

Further Reading

LIP by Kathy Fagan

selections from LIP      Eastern Washington University Press, 2009 by Kathy Fagan     ONTOLOGY AND THE PLATYPUS   So which mammalian fuck-up list produced the platypus, produced the bird-billed, flat-foot, erstwhile beavers dressed like ducks for Halloween? Crepuscular and nipple-less, they suckle hatchlings in the changeling dusk— Diaphanously the god-swan boned a married chick and she […]

ASSIMILATION by T. R. Hummer

Even his fingerprints vanished. His skin smoothed like river stone; his grip on the world diminished. He was sliding someplace frictionless. * Lovers had become landscape–the woman he knew that ancient summer was lost in a hedgerow, flowering, leaving, framing what could be seen. * What he touched penetrated skin and clung, but he did […]

UNTITLED a series of prose poems by Antara Datta

Window She came to live with us when I was 12. She would sit at the window with a toothless smile, wrapped in white with breasts that needed no cover or holding up, eyes layered with years, looking at the road outside, longing for home. Perhaps. Big mother. Old mother. Grand mother. She left me […]

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