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Poem by Mary Hobson
Another Winter in Zaraisk…
For Marina, with love. At 42, on Freedom Street, how shall I say – it’s less than neat. It wouldn’t pass a test. But that’s because of three rambunctious cats. What gives it dignity and status is that it’s home to two translators who sit and read and write and then, next day, go at it all again. At 42, on Freedom Street, Shakespeare and Pushkin, they compete. It is the cultural centre of Zaraisk, you know. Forget Tambov. It’s warm and welcoming and low, besieged by scintillating snow. New Russians would despair of it. I wouldn’t change a hair of it.
Mary Hobson's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org