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Анна Гальберштадт

Translated by Maria Bloshteyn

Again

A typically atypical historical moment —
the ship is keeling over
or even sinking outright.
It all happened before.
During World War I,
German officers were billeted
at my grandfather’s place in Wilno.
An old photograph sent
by a former classmate shows a sign
posted on that five-story house
on Kalvariju street – The Halberstadt Officers’ Club.
According to my grandmother,
whom I’ve never known,
the German officers behaved
in a very civilized manner
back in those days.
Grandfather’s brother, an engineer,
lived in Germany
and married a German woman.
They would frequently visit their relatives in Lithuania.
And then German officers and some locals
stopped behaving in a civilized manner.
In 1941, my grandmother, her mother, and her eldest son
were all killed in Kaunas.
My father spent World War II
fighting on the frontlines.
He was lucky—twice wounded, he survived.
When his heart failed
he was sixty-seven
awaiting surgery
at the Astoria General Hospital,
with a pulse rate of twenty beats per minute,
which is not very compatible with life,
and when the car carrying the pacemaker
got stranded in a snowstorm,
my father told me: “Both my parents
perished when they were fifty-seven.
How am I better than them?”
And now too, when it seemed that
the pandemic was the one trial
our generation was fated to undergo,
it turned out that we were also meant
to witness scenes of a massive destruction in Europe,
such as the one whose remnants
I had seen in my childhood.
In Vilnius’s medieval Old Town
where I grew up,
there were still bombed-out buildings,
walls without windows,
for decades after the war.
One of them collapsed only
moments after father and I
walked into a bookstore across
from it on a narrow street—
and saw day turn to darkness.
And now it’s happening again.
Refugees from Ukraine are on the run,
they drive, they walk,
they scream, shielding their own heads
and their children,
they plead with God and they curse those
who came up with it all.
Those, who, it seems,
had once behaved in a civilized manner.
And then stopped.

March 18, 2022

Мария Блоштейн родилась в Ленинграде (Санкт-Петербурге) и эмигрировала в Канаду в возрасте девяти лет. Она получила степень доктора философии (PhD) в Йоркском университете города Торонто, а затем изучала влияние Достоевского на американскую культуру литературу и литературу в Колумбийском университете Нью Йорка. Мария опубликовала монографию «Создание Контркультурной Иконы: Достоевский Генри Миллера» (2007), а также переводы книги А. Галича «Генеральная репетиция» (2009) и А. П. Чехова «Шалость» (2015). Её переводы печатались во многих журналах и сборниках, в том числе в «Антологии русской поэзии» изданной Penguin Classics (2015).

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