POETRY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KIEV

By

Ilona Martonfi

 

 

An old toothless female wolf keens

 

marshes, peat meadows and bog

 

barbed wire fence borders

 

the stone road in a dead zone

 

of Chernobyl

 

rosehip, red currant, nettle

 

poisoned with caesium and strontium

 

pear trees

 

 

 

village superstition

 

silence of the woods

 

 

 

without warning

 

azure painted izba,

 

peasant house,

 

windows low to the ground

 

 

 

in a day of evacuation —

 

 

 

folktales of Baba

 

rural harvest festival:

 

wearing embroidered white blouse,

 

red-purple linen skirt and apron

 

dancing in the fields

 

always homesick

 

for cold blueberry soup

 

the circus coming to town

  

 

Rachael in the leukemia ward —

  

 

her mother collects birch tree juice

 

in the forest around Kiev

 

 

 

 

 

 

ABUELA’S MANTILLA

By

Ilona Martonfi

 

 

And what had she seen?

 

 

a look at one’s death

  

 

tortoise shell peineta

 

worn under mantilla lace

 

 

 

the ash veil had spread

 

the year without summer

  

 

how cold was it?

  

 

almond trees bloomed late

 

all was froze, hills barren

 

16 July 1816,

  

 

stratospheric fog over the Earth

  

the sun rose each morning

 

red and rayless —

 

 

hidden behind Andalusian walls

  

 

playing Arabic oud

 

flamenco guitar

  

 

song of the jilted

 

she was culpable

  

 

legend of blue snow

 

in the orange garden

 

 

 

pomegranates

grape vines blackened

 

abuela Margarita’s diary:

 

unharvested half-rotten maize

 

 

 

the poor ate tortillas de patatas

 

wild asparagus

 

watercress

  

 

stinging nettle

  

 

 

 

Hibakusha

By

Ilona Martonfi

 

 

On the island of Kyushu, Mount Inasa

 

in storytelling, calligraphy

  

 

umeshu, green plum wine

 

 

silk brocade kimono robe

  

 

sliding shoji screens

 

a deformed fetus

 

could not be a dirge

 

 

 

how small Nagasaki

 

with its frame houses gone

 

where river reeds grow

  

 

— the sound of color

 

 

I was six years old

 

catching cicadas

 

with my sister Shigoko

  

 

riding a red bicycle on the street

 

holding the sun

 

the stench of

 

childish shadows

  

 

blue-white atomic light

 

Omura bamboo forest

  

 

melted skin from her face

 

hands bent into claws

  

 

when mother heard her voice

 

she didn’t recognize her

 

 

 

everything was silent

  

 

the black rain

  

 

ancient camphor trees