- translated by Yana Kane, edited by Bruce Esrig
- russian text: https://kopilkapoetry.org/?p=718
so… I talk with people
from the war zone.
based on what, really?
on my own will,
the caring of others,
the underlying unity,
on the authority of my profession,
on the voice of experience or on hunch,
on skype, whatsapp, viber calls,
on all my knowledge,
and, most importantly, on the strength
of us all being in the image and likeness–
we mustn’t forget about that.
and so… what do they say?
same things, different things—
fear and numbness,
fearlessness and madness,
anxiety, anxiety, panic—
‘no, not panicked, but I just can’t eat,’
‘my medicines are running out,’
‘we’ve stocked up on the food with the neighbors,’
‘I’ve volunteered, now my mom is mad,’
‘my brother got drafted, I am home alone,‘
‘the internet is still working at the moment,’
‘electricity, water and gas are still on,’
‘we’re all in the basement for a fourth day,’
‘we made it out and are in another country,
but my daughter screams, keeps screaming for hours,’
‘my ex has been bringing me food for the past three days,
but what if he does not want to anymore?’
‘but I’m in a wheelchair,’
‘but I don’t know: leave or wait it out,’
‘but what if that highway is caught in crossfire,’
‘but I am not able to step out of the house,’
‘during the shelling we hide in the corridor,
at least it does not have exterior walls,’
‘but I’m worried about my sister—
we are all together here, and she’s alone over there,
they won’t shoot her, they’ll just shut her up,’
‘I can’t stop crying—ninth day in a row,’
‘stay or run—
but mom doesn’t want to, the kids can’t sleep,
and there’s no air, there’s nothing to breathe…’
but what can I say to all this?
I keep silence, ask questions,
try to figure out
what other sources of help to tap,
and that’s what I talk about,
and listen, listen, listen,
and again and again ask: “breathe,”
and I breathe together with them,
and with each one of them in turn,
then I conclude the conversation,
try to recall who am I,
and what my name is,
and then start the whole thing anew.
in fact, that’s all there is:
breathing out, breathing in.
Olga Agour
Born in Russia, lived in Baku, moved to Israel in 1990. Author of two poetry collections in Russian, one in Hebrew and a book of translations from Hebrew into Russian of the Israeli poet Yona Volakh. Member of the Writers' Union of Israel. Published in many periodicals, print and online. Lives in Haifa. Psychotherapist.
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