The Sparrows of Butyrk

by Irina Ratushinskaya

Now even the snow has grown sad –
Let overwhelmed reason go,
And let’s smoke our cigarettes through the air-vent,
Let’s at least set the smoke free.
A sparrow flies up –
And looks at us with a searching eye:
‘Share your crust with me!’
And in honourable fashion you share it with him.
The sparrows – they know
Who to ask for bread.
Even though there’s a double grille on the windows –
And only a crumb can get through.
What do they care
Whether you were on trial or not?
If you’ve fed them, you’re OK.
The real trial lies ahead.
You can’t entice a sparrow –
Kindness and talents are no use.
He won’t knock
At the urban double-glazing.
To understand birds
You have to be a convict.
And if you share your bread,
It means your time is done.

Translated by David McDuff

It was one of those weeks where I seriously wondered if I should throw some crockery through a window or not leave bed ever again. Didn’t know whether to scream or to cry. I can only acknowledge helplessness in this never ending cycle of bad news or anxiety-inducing ventures into a seriously restricted world. The way we process death from Covid – or refuse to – by thinking of the thousands of daily victims as poor or POC (if you are a Trumpist) and thus not counting, or unvaccinated (if you are not a Trumpist) and thus somehow deserving, was just one of the things that had me upset.

My usual distraction, filling my eyes and brain with images of nature, did not exactly work out either. Having driven for over 40 minutes to the spot where birds of all kinds are usually guaranteed, I found none, well, just a few ducks and geese. It was as if all, in view of the ominous skies, had decided to leave or hide, exactly the hint I did NOT need. No hawks, no herons, no raptors of any kind, no shorebirds, zip.

Except a few sparrows, immature gold-crowned ones, I believe, but what do I know. Which led to locating the poem by Russian dissident Irina Ratushinskaya, imprisoned for years in a hard labor camp South East of Moscow, until she was released early for strategic reasons to affect the Reykjavik summit between then US president Ronald Reagan and then Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev.

Ratushinskaya, trained in physics and mathematics, had signed appeals and demonstrated for the exiled Sakharov in 1981, and was again arrested in 1982, tried in 1983 and punished with a severe seven-year labor camp and subsequent five-year internal displacement sentence. It was assumed that the persistent Christian voice in her ever more prominent poetry led to the harshness of the sanctions. After her release she joined her husband in exile in England, and later spent two yeas as poet in residence at NorthWestern University. Eventually, with Russia now led by Yeltsin, they returned to Moscow to raise their sons there. She died of cancer in her early 60s in 2017.

The poet came to mind not just because of her sparrow poem; she wrote a goose-bump-producing book on prison conditions and interactions with other political dissidents and comrades, Grey Is the Colour of Hope (1988.) That was in the 1980s. Now we have again a situation where famous people like opposition leader Aleksei A. Navalny are imprisoned (and as of Monday put on the terrorist list,) but also where an increasing number of opposition allies, rights activists and independent journalist have to choose between potential prison and exile (if they are still lucky enough to choose at all.)

And if you are still rolling your eyes over the likes of Newt Gingrich in this country threatening the members of the January 6th commission with jail time if – or when – the GOP wins the midterms, I’d advise to look at what is happening in plain sight. Independently of what the committee has – or has NOT – accomplished so far (overview here) there are real-time attacks on its members or people who favored an investigation. The Virgina attorney general, for example, just fired Tim Heaphy, University of Virginia’s counsel and member of the committee, from his post. In Texas, U.S. Rep. Van Taylor, R-Plano, is facing an unexpected number of powerful primary challenger angry over his simple vote to investigate the insurrection. I could go on.

I would not dismiss the idea of jailing opponents as a, if not plausible, at least possible fact of life under new management in 2024. After all, we have history as a guide. Which brings me back to throwing things or crawling under the covers for good. Or maybe I, too, should jump into a puddle. Which shall it be?

Alternatively, I might just run to the hills. Here are Scottish composer Sally Beamish’ Hill Stanzas. She has also set some of Ratushinkaya’s words to music, but I could not find those pieces.