WHO, MARLENE, WHO?

A spool of heart in a sarcophagus.

In the frames before that censored kiss

the corners of your lips rise wearily . . . Marlene,

who was it wound your youth in reels,

splicing frames to taunt the hearts

of grieving fans long past their prime?

Snow heaps the unswept stairs

of the shuttered film club.

So who did you love then, Marlene?

Whose forehead singed your palm,

who tattooed the bomb shelter walls

with your perfect Aryan profile?

Do you hear, Lili Marlene,

this melody, this song of songs, this tolling sweetness

turning back the miles, years, departures

on the ragged movie screen, foxed with time,

your smile a palimpsest of eyes?

But who remembers who

Marlene loved?

Translated by Askold Melnyczuk