Don’t Touch

I translated this poem from Russian in 2002. It remains one of my favorites. I am not a skillful or experienced translator. However, the experience of translating poetry is rather creative. It is not merely about producing a literal translation of words. There is rather a translation of thoughts, feelings, and emotions that are conveyed in one language and must be ushered into another. Necessarily, those words pass through a translator who is rarely a pure conduit. So, there is something of the translator in the poem as well.  Certainly this poem is Pasternak’s. Yet, it is also mine. To provide an illustration, below my translation is that of my professor. Both are accurate translations.

Don’t Touch

“Don’t Touch! Wet paint!”
But, the heart (soul) wasn’t careful,
and now, the memory is full of stains -of calves and of cheeks,
of hands, and of lips, and of eyes.

But then, I loved you,
despite all the joy and all the misery,
the tainted white light
grew whiter with you.

Now, my gloom, my beloved, I swear
it will, somehow, grow
white again – whiter than delirium,
whiter than a lampshade,
whiter than a white bandage on the brow.

Boris Pasternak, (trans. Anna Juraschek)

Don’t Touch
“Watch out! Don’t touch – wet paint,” it read –
the heart’s caught unawares,
and memory is stained with calves,
cheeks, hands, and lips, and eyes.
And more than for delight and grief
I loved you after all
because the once-bright world, grown wan,
again grows white with you.
I swear to you, my gloom, my dear-
it will grow whiter, white
as fever, as the lampshade, as
a bandage on the brow.

Boris Pasternak (trans. Polly Gannon)

Where I’m From

I wrote this poem for my AP English class at BTA in the fall of 2009. It is not a fantastic piece of work, but seeing as I have little posted here. I thought I would submit this.

Inspired by “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon

I am from Anna Dorcas Juraschek but now Harris. I am from people, places, things. I am from Ideas. Ideas. Ideas. I am from here today, gone tomorrow.

I am from Miecaswala Scmuvska Kowalska, from Ja Cie Kochem, pierogis, kapusta, gumkis, and pickles. I am from proud to be Polish. I am from immigrants. I am from poor, working class stock who fought through discrimination to earn what they could so I could have better.

I am from Dedham. From a room shared with three siblings and a house with one bathroom. I am from station wagons and neighborhood friends. I am from the “Hate Anna Club” and the homeschool group. I am from ordinary people living extraordinary lives.

I am from a family with a sister who had brain surgery and from always being known as Elizabeth’s sister. I am from struggling to communicate and to love someone who is different. I am from fiercely defending my own. Don’t mess with my family.

I am from pets like Priscilla the Chinchilla, and Lava the newt, and from Biscuit my first dog who got hit by a car on my street.

I am from apple picking, and apple cider donuts, and juice dribbling down my chin. I am from Plymouth Plantation and homeschooling. I am from experiments that set the kitchen on fire and adventures that you wouldn’t believe. I am from my brother is my best friend, and legos, and forts inside, outside in the leaves, in the snow.

I am from practice makes perfect and pounding on the piano. I am from a teacher who hit me because she knew I could do better. I am from learning to try and try and try. I am from Chopin and Debussy. I am from John Denver and Kirk Franklin, Rachmaninov and Nina Simone.

I am from Little Women, and the Tempest, and George M. I am from acting because it was easier than being. I am from poetry that I love to read and recite but for some reason can never write.

I am from hating to be smart, and wishing I were beautiful. I am from aching on the inside and the outside to be loved, really loved. I am from friends who changed their moods and boyfriends who changed their minds. I am from pain and questioning if happiness were real. I am from wondering why I was alive? I am from walking down streets alone in St. Petersburg, Russia and wondering,  “If I died would anyone care?”

I am from singing in the rain, singing, singing, singing. I am from “Jesus loves me this I know”, from “I will survive”, from “It is well with my soul”, and from “Amazing Grace”.

I am from sports and trying to please my dad with soccer, basketball, and lacrosse, and being an athlete so I could prove myself and win his love, and from playing even when he never came. I am from finally finding a sport where I could shine. I am from rowing and from the feeling of the boat as it pierces through the mist and steam that rises from the water before the sun does.

I am from pushing my body until I was so strong and so powerful that I was the best. I am from pushing my body until I was so strong and so powerful that I broke. I am from two shoulder surgeries and an ended career.

I am from protest. I am from questioning. I am from WHY? Why do people suffer? Why is there injustice? Why? I am from Heigh Ho Heigh Ho Walmart has got to go. I am from standing in protest in front of the Gap, in a Gap sweater knowing I was a hypocrite.

I am from chewing tobacco for a whole week and spitting the juice into a paper cup. I am from rebelling against a Duke culture fraught with sororities and sadness. I am from graduating from college before I was old enough to drink and from feeling like I was the wrong age and maybe the wrong person too.

I am from many marriage proposals and one true love. I am from people staring at me with my Love. Why? How? No. Yes.  White. Black. I am from learning that what other people say or think doesn’t matter but love does.

I am from the Philippines. “Are you Miss America?” I am from Russia. I am from Brazil, Taiwan, Zambia, Botswana. I am from England, Estonia, Slovakia, Switzerland. I am from eating what I was served and praying not to gag. I am from travelling alone in Sweden. Getting mugged in the subway. I am from surviving and believing the story of Jonah because I too am from the belly of a big fish.

I am from singing. I am from waking up every morning hearing my mom sing sing sing. I am from her beautiful voice and a love of opera. Puccini is my favorite.

I am from silence. My mom is dead. I am from a broken heart. She is gone. I am from picking up the pieces and stumbling through the tears.

I am from believing. I am a believer. I am from faith, the life that’s really life. I am from a God who hides Himself but is always there. I am from a God who is real and personal but not religious. I am from finding my Savior in Jesus Christ.

I am from life, exploring, experiencing, loving, learning. I am from not wanting to stop, to stagnate. I am from passion, intensity. I am from holding my breath, waiting, expecting, anticipating where from next.

an-aph’-o-ra

Repetition of the same word or group of words at the beginning of successive clauses, sentences, or lines; from Gk. ana “again” and phero “to bring or carry”