Philanthropy
in such a get-up don’t you think
blasphemy such a subject discussed
diaphanous low-cut evening
let’s call her by her christian name
things by their name she was interpreting
an interpreter dresses below the waterline
her get-up-and-go now her
control of language because she was
of them and not above them
but married such yes made such a
and ladies and gentlemen her husband
her husband’s name silk lining
embroidered into the neckline
her husband’s family a well-turned
shoulder that leichenblasse skin
where the collarbones meet I’d like to
embroider my name I’d like to donate
to her cause which is the old world
and its poor her forename her name
diaphanous she wants women to give
their second-best vowels their new world
phonemes to these blaspheming tongues
their lisping lips to these stout speakers
stood before them and spoke her forearms
bare under a stole ladies and gentlemen she has
an accent such a subject like her discussing
the cause of marriage and of parting
the waves separating man and wife
the plimsoll line the freight between
and how in a life before she
interpreted she was of
them
Psalm 137
On the sand at Brighton Beach we sat down and wept
Because what we thought was Europe was in fact Rockaway Peninsula
And actually, once you leave a place it disappears.
We arranged our clothes neatly, folded them
And walked towards the sea so it rose calmly up our legs
Into us, over our hips and at some pre-ordained moment
We lay forwards into the water.
We sang our songs of home, but the kids preferred the new
And slid off their chairs and vanished when we began to sing.
One day they’ll return with phones and recorders, but by then
We’ll be winging it, singing the romances of our foes.
Cleave my tongue if you like, but it began ripping itself apart
On the first day I sat at the Singer and pressed the pedal down.
It forked in my head and in a yellow town I followed the crowds.
Who cares how many travelled, I don’t see myself as alone
It’s not forgetting that matters, oh no Lord, it’s mercy
Sasha Dugdale has published five collections of poetry, most recently Deformations (Carcanet, 2020) which was shortlisted for the T. S. Eliot Prize. She is a translator of Russian literature.
