My handwriting is not calligraphic. <br />Not following the rules of beauty, <br />words stagger about, <br />reeling, <br /> as if clobbered on the jaw. <br /> <br />But you, the descendant, my textual critic, <br />following on the heels of the past, <br />take stock of those gales <br />your ancestor got caught in. <br /> <br />He walked on a pugnacious coastal freighter, <br />a bit arrogant, <br /> but you <br />should see beyond the pitched handwriting <br />not only the author’s traits. <br /> <br />Your ancestor wrote while tossed about, <br />not kept too warm by squalls, <br />habitually, <br /> like having a pack <br />of his usual cigarettes. <br /> <br />Of course, far off we made our way courageously, <br />but it’s hard to write a line, <br />when your head is smashed with relish <br />against the bulkhead. <br /> <br />Risking skin and bones, <br />it’s tough to sing acclaim, <br />when what you see compels you <br />not to praise, but only to throw up. <br /> <br />When churning water strangles motors <br />and a wave’s curl is aimed at your forehead, <br />then smudges are better than flourishes. <br />They’re black-but true. <br /> <br />Here- fingers simply grew numb. <br />Here- the swell slyly tormented. <br />Here- the pen jerked with uncertainty <br />away from some mean shoal. <br /> <br />But if through all the clumsiness, <br />through the clutches of awkwardness, <br />an idea breaks through the way a freighter on <br /> the Lena breaks through to the arctic shore- <br /> <br />then, descendant, be slow to curse the style, <br />don’t judge an ancestor severely, <br />and even in the handwriting of the poet <br />find a solution to the enigma of time. <br /> <br /> <br />1967 <br />Translated by Albert C. Todd<br /><br />Yevgeny Yevtushenko<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-handwriting/
