John Van Doren

In Leningrad

In Leningrad they tell you, and you see,
How carefully they keep the palaces,
Restored by order of the People’s State,
That once proclaimed autocracy. Of course
The People have to pay for this, which costs
More than they’d feel it sensible to spend,
Perhaps, were they consulted, on glitter
Painfully at odds with their gray lives.
And yet they stand in line to view the rooms,
Rich beyond comparison, possessed now
In their name. You’d think they might despise
Such scenes as proper to a privilege that
Kept them poor and ignorant when not enslaved.
But still there’s held within the Summer Gardens,
Loved by Chekhov, the solstice celebration
When no dark falls, and actors dressed in fashion
Of the eighteenth century stroll smilingly
About, or move in step to music made for them
As if aristocratic ways survived. And I myself
Observed on such a night, when I had come
With other tourists from abroad, how impromptu
A young gallant in coat and wig that, granting
He lacked a shirt and stockings, would otherwise
Have served at court, noticed the wistful look
With which one of our number, a woman wearing
A built-up shoe, followed the figured turns.
Bowing, he offered her his outstretched hand,
And leading her a little off, while strings
Played Mozart for his costumed company
Showed her that she could dance a minuet.

1987

Migration

See there, look —
Bright, small
Upon the sidewalk,
A sign of fall —

That pretty goldfinch,
Flying high
Mistook a window
Reflecting sky.

This time of year
So many downed,
Meeting a heaven
Hard as ground.