Chichikov

DID HE EVER TELL? 

By Pavel Chichikov

V. M. Blokhin

Has he descendants?

The one with the leather apron

And the leather hat

And the leather gloves to the shoulders

With the Walther pistol

With which he killed

300 Polish prisoners in one night

7,000 in four weeks

A monster, you might say

“A being, not a human being”

But to me he looks like someone’s uncle

He looks like one of us

Gazing from the surface of a mirror

Well shaved, indeed

With a straight razor

But now not needed

Not necessary

Not in this modern era

Because there will be machines

To do Stalin’s black work

Chyornaya rabota

And they need not be intelligent

But only diligent

Easy for machines to kill

With great dispatch

No vodka needed afterwards

And no remorse

No bothered sleep

No dreams

To cause the sleeper to sit upright

Shout and pull the phantom trigger

But who was Blokhin killing on those nights?

Whose blood hosed out on the sloping floor?

Whose neck was bared for the bullet?

Whom did he see as he killed?

Over and over again

Three minutes by three minutes

A resurrected body

That would not die—

                        Did he ever tell?

THE GATE 

By Pavel Chichikov

There is no Temple yet to see

Nor open wide the twelve-fold gates,

But I will change the maple tree

Into a ruby lit by light

Through your vision enter in,

The temple glows with joyful red,

A moment’s glimpse of labor’s end

Where light can resurrect the dead

This is foretelling and a sign

This dying into peace that glows,

A gate of ruby that is Mine

                        A jeweled way that you may go 



The Poetry of Pavel Chichikov