Poem + An International Story

I just rented a Russian movie called “The Italian.” It’s about Vanya, a six year old about to be adopted out of a Russian orphanage by an Italian couple. I haven’t even watched it yet, but I can’t help thinking of my Italian friends, Anna and Enrico, and their Russian children, Sergei and Dasha (both adopted from Russian orphanages).

Anna and I met at an adoption conference in California. I got to know her because I had once spent six months in Italy and could give Anna a rest from listening and speaking in English all day. And she could give my Italian a little walk around the block (which it needed).

Anna and I became friends, and we have not only visited back and forth across the Atlantic, but we have also translated some of each other’s writing. A few years ago, Anna took her daughter back to Russia to see what they could learn about Dasha’s first mother. The first poem here is me being moved by hearing about that trip. The second poem is Anna remembering the trip; she really takes you there, I think.  Actually, the second poem is my translation of “Nadezhda,” by Anna Genni Miliotti. I should mention that Anna also wrote a novel about the same trip. It was a bestseller in Italy in the Young Adult category.

 AN INTERNATIONAL STORY

My friend Anna is Italian,

her daughter Dasha Russian.

Recently my friend Anna

took Dasha back to Russia

where they had gotten her

as we so

inelegantly

say in English.

And Dasha met people there who

remembered her at the orphanage.

And went with her mother

to her other mother’s grave.

And Anna e-mailed that while she

had done this trip for Dasha,

what it gave her  (Anna)

was more of her daughter.

One thing Anna did in Russia

was to order a new headstone

(una nuova pietra tombale in Italian,

novee pomm yaht neek in Russian)

for her daughter Dasha’s

Russian mother’s gravesite.

Someone named Jeanne

was going to place this headstone

and they were going to pray together

from Russia and from Italy.

I join them now from the USA

(ooza in Italian, sah sheh ah in Russian),

already joined by e-mail and in

not wanting our children to have

any part of their history –

people places words feelings

(which are parts of themselves) –

either purposely

or thoughtlessly

removed.

Let us pray.

NADEZHDA

There’s a village beyond the city far away

old factory

red hospital

market, fields

tiny houses

There’s a dusty road far away

white building

blue door

dark windows

dirty staircase

There’s a courtyard far away

chickens, dogs

children playing

shirts flapping

a terrace

There are woods beyond the village

tall trees against the sky

narrow footpath

which everyone takes

to find someone

many names carved in stone

and one

wooden cross

Nadezhda

Now there’s a mother bringing

flowers through these woods

to meet you with

her/your daughter

who is close

to exploding

Peace to you Mama Nadezhda

and peace to us

finally

here today

together

with you

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