0

October 19, 2004 by AK

Ksenia of St. Petersburg

Another poem by Elena Shvarts, this time on the Blessed Ksenia (Xenia) of St. Petersburg, whose husband died suddenly in the middle of a drinking party, and who insisted on wearing his clothes and being called by his name for a while after his death. For hagiographical links see this old post.

Ksenia sacrificed Ksenia:

“My beloved one died. I’ll become him myself.”

She went out of her mind

and, like onto a round ice-floe,

jumped into another:

into another one’s memory,

into another one’s dreams,

into a silken vest,

into red pants.

Running, in a basso

she shouts into damp dark:

“Live! I’m disappearing!

“Live!” she cries to him.

Then runs out of Ksenia,

“Sick her! Quick!”

Now she’s already him —

alive again, Andrey.

But life is shifting, stinging,

Both have no living.

She’s got to quit,

The trouble is — where to?

While you were rambling there,

Subterrene water

Kept knocking on your house.

It washed out mind and sleep —

Into that void

To move’s without your power,

Within but Christ’s.

Ksenia sacrificed Ksenia:

“My beloved one died. I’ll become him myself.”

She went out of her mind

and, like onto a round ice floe,

jumped into another:

into another one’s memory,

into another one’s dreams,

into a silken vest,

into red pants.

Running, in a basso

she shouts into damp dark:

“Live! I’m disappearing!

“Live!” to him she cries,

then runs out of Ksenia,

“Sick her! Quick!”

Too late: already she’s —

alive again — Andrey.

But life is flowing, and stings a bit —

both have no living: she

will have to quit — but where to? Woe!

While you were rambling there,

subterrene water

kept knocking on your house.

It washed out mind and sleep —

into that void

to move’s without your power,

within but Christ’s.


0 comments »

Leave a Reply

Archives

Subscribe to Blog via Email

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 10 other subscribers

%d bloggers like this: