Daughter of the River / Fille de la Rivière
French Translation
Pourquoi se précipiter, fille du fleuve, comme brisée d'un barrage comme un lapin libéré de son piège.
Enfant, je savais que je vivrais aussi profondément et longtemps que les racines de l'arbre du berger—
Une vie prolongée qui perce un trou dans son puits souterrain. Pendant que je marche, le désert
se déploie dans sa courbure sans couture, sa poitrine sous mes pieds, bêlant.
Un printemps se connaît par ses hivers - jambes d'eau élancées musclées par la glace et le dégel,
comme le cœur du cerf battant dans mon poing.
Je connais les siècles que j'ai vécus du corps, du sang versé dans les étangs sombres
où les astres se regardent - leurs faces mortes revivent leur jeunesse de flammes, les monnaies argentées et
Bleuir sous la terre. Les lucioles de la fin de l'été ne vivent que pour hériter de leurs globes pulsants -
sulfurique dans la nuit, et peut-être tracer le bout du doigt d'une vieille femme avant qu'elle ne croasse, pour couper
Sur les bois d'un élan sombre alors qu'elle défile, mariée comme un agneau, à travers les humides
montagnes du nord. Le vent ne demande rien d'autre que d'enrouler ses doigts fins à travers le champ.
Original
Why rush, daughter of the river, as if broken from a dam like a cottontail released from its trap.
As a child, I knew, that I would live as deep and long as the roots of the shepherd tree—
A life extended that cuts a hole through its underground well. As I walk, the wilderness
unfolds herself into her seamless curvature, her chest beneath my feet, bleating.
A spring knows herself by her winters—slender legs of water muscled by ice and thaw,
like the heart of the deer thumping in my fist.
I know the centuries I have lived from body, from blood spilled into dark ponds
where the stars look upon themselves—their dead faces relive their youth of flame, coins silvered and
Bluing under the dirt. The fireflies of late summer live only to inherit their pulsing globes—
sulfuric in the night, and perchance to trace the tip of an old woman’s finger before she croaks, to clip
Onto the antler of a somber elk as she parades, bride-like as a lamb, through the damp
north mountains. The wind asks for nothing, but to wrap her slender fingers through the field.
Lada Egorova has a bachelor's in film from the University Gustave Eiffel in Paris. She will be graduating with a degree in film directing from the University Paris Saint Denis as an exchange student at Cal State LA in May 2022. After working at production companies such as Louve Productions and Ernest Films in Paris, Court 13 in New Orleans, Summer-Set Pictures in El Paso, and Happy I'm Sad in Los Angeles, she has written, directed and produced seven short films and directed three short documentaries. Her films have been selected for several film festivals; some went on to win prizes.
Anastasia K. Gates is a writer and artist from Pennsylvania. She is currently an MFA candidate in Poetry at Columbia University in the City of New York.