Дощ у Нью-Йорку

RAIN IN NEW YORK
Vasyl Makhno
Translated from the Ukrainian by Olena Jennings

yesterday it rained and today it is raining
I kept a light on until midnight – didn’t sleep – because the rain didn’t sleep
I looked at your freckles in the photo
the olives of your eyes, my raspberry bush
is full of thrushes again, fighting
rustling about like sand in a kidney

and I rustled papers – read about Judah
I swore to you and to God that I wouldn’t
get up at 3am anymore to write
these twenty poems of yours, for you
I know that in our home it’s dark
but we don’t have a home – so what is there to complain about?

I also read in the rain in Washington Square:
the pages got wet – the wind tore at the poems
I strained my memory because I forgot the lines
tightly held an umbrella in my left hand
you were that rain and prolonged storm
a cold cough and a bracelet from your hand

well yesterday the rains came again
I drew a circle for my youngest daughter
I didn’t get through to the older one – long dial tones
and so: I read the book of rain and thrushes
and also amber freckles and you
and the color of your hair like a river of clay

I closed the book – inserting a piece of paper as a bookmark
I turned off the light – loosened my tie
felt the house and electrical wires shaking
and the New York rain seeped into my collar
and why does it prick the heart like a needle?
And why isn’t your star visible above the house?