Like Rembrandt
Like Rembrandt, chiaroscuro’s martyr,
I’ve gone deep into time’s numbness,
The sharpness of my burning rib
Protected neither by these watchmen nor
By this sentry asleep beneath the storm.
Forgive me, great brother, master,
Father of the black-green darkness,
The eye of the falcon’s quill-feather
And the hot casks in the harem at midnight
Cause confusion, confusion to the tribe,
The troubled tribe in furs at twilight.
— translated from the Russian by Seth Zimmerman