Here's the knife

Boris Khersonsky is a Ukrainian poet who often writes in Russian; his day job is as a psychiatrist near Odesa. His poetry in both Russian and Ukrainian flourished after the collapse of the Soviet Union. He frequently tackles the subject of war, using Biblical imagery to get the job done.

Today’s entry for National Poetry Month, “Abraham is walking”, is not specifically for Easter, although the sacrifice of Christ features in it. But it was published just before Easter two years ago, when COVID-19 hit Odesa.

“Abraham is walking”

Abraham is walking—old, bearded, severe.
Behind him, Isaac, bent under a bundle of wood,
young, timid, trembling from the strain.
It’s an unbearable weight, a burden like this.
Here comes Abraham. Knife in hand.
Here’s the knife. Here’s the firewood. Where is the lamb for the burnt offering?
Carry this, Isaac, you’re the victim, you’re the two-legged lamb,
But the Lord isn’t all that bloodthirsty, His thoughts are pure,
relax, God’s only testing
the bearded ancient’s patience, your earthly father:
Will Abraham trust the Lord to the end?
How this senile face has changed!
His features have sharpened, his eyes grown dull.
Lie down on these logs, Isaac, pawn in a weird world.
Don’t be afraid—here’s an angel—he’ll intercept that hand and knife
and here’s the ram, horns caught.
The ram will be stabbed and burned before God.
It all ended well. But you’re still tense
youthful Isaac, a sacrifice for all the living.
You bent low under the firewood’s weight, Isaac, bent low, but carried it.
Like you, Christ too will carry his cross,
exhausted, thrice falling in the via dolorosa.
But Christ’s angel-savior didn’t fly from heaven.
He died, then he rose again, in that order.
Arose, and then ascended, according to that famous book.

Translated, from the Russian, by Amelia Glaser and Yuliya Ilchuk