Vox Populi
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Carine Topal: The Terrible Years
-the Russian Civil War, 1918-1920
-the Moscow famine, 1919
The last thing on you, on earth, was the house
where we lived between winters and wars.
The world is open as a wound. Now all I do is watch.
Do you believe in those who observe the life of others,
later praising the sacrificed fingers, the face of attrition?
I see beyond the point of exile—your road out of this world—
your soldier’s suit, your ice bride waiting, for I gave
our daughters to the state believing they’d be fed.
Hunger killed one. The other—rib and bone— ate from my mouth.
Oh Sergei, how do I govern a length of ground pocked and viled.
When the state demands the children sing with eyes closed
choking back tears, how can we feed the pig-tailed one
who lived in a city made of sweets only months ago?
I bury you in my sleep. How do we live at the edge and call
our children to dinner. Our son sits on a yellow bench bloodied
in the square, waving to a soldier. It is to you he says goodbye.
Now we must pack our bag of bread, head to toe in soot,
ready to eat anything. Our wants are many,
there are dishes I’ve never tried. Sergei, my Swan, what the war
has not buried, what the ice has not stilled, we will eat.
~~
Letter to Sergei Efron from Marina Tsvetayeva
Italicized lines from “The Desk” by Marina Tsvetayev
~~
Copyright 2025 Carine Topal
Carine Topal was born and raised in New York City and has lived in Jerusalem where she worked with Palestinian merchants in villages and towns in the West Bank and Bethlehem. Carine’s 5th collection of poems, “In Order of Disappearance,” was published by the Pacific Coast Poetry Series. She conducts poetry and memoir workshops in the Los Angeles and Palm Springs area.
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whew. the pig-tailed one, our bag of bread. and yes, 1919. 2025. humanity weeps. thank you all, for being here, and weeping with me, and doing what we can which is horribly never enough and yet hopefully more than nothing
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Thanks, Abby, for your brilliant wit and your unfailing moral compass.
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I’m crying over my shattered false memories of the goodness of humanity. Can an intelligent life form emerge that doesn’t kill? I was rooting for dolphins or octopi, but then thought I don’t thing we can start with a critter that started or developed as a killer. Dark thoughts this morning as I struggle to start my day, but being fed propaganda that hides suffering would be worse.
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Bonobos seem to have kind souls, and dogs as well when they are not hunting.
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“Do you believe in those who observe the life of others, // later praising the sacrificed fingers, the face of attrition?”
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Thank you, dear Carine, for your heart, courage, and this important and poignant poem. Such ardor in your poems: just last Saturday I was recommending In Order of Disappearance to a poet friend of mine… I’m in awe of your emotional courage, dear, dear friend…
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Dearest Laure-Anne,
Thank you for your inspiring words which always pick me up. Such starvation, such fatigue in the face of oppression…art and kindness is our resistance.
Sending love to you.
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Powerful poetry, and as apt now as during the Soviet famine years. Astonishing to be able to employ a banquet of words in a scene of human-induced starvation. I guess that is one role the poet has to serve. Thanks for the poignancy.
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Famine is a weapon of genocide.
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Thank you for your comments. Yes, it is our role and it beckons us to resist with our words.
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1919, 2025 — the terrible face of war. Who can support violence like this? Who cannot be moved by such suffering?
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Evidently, many people remain unmoved. If people were capable of empathy, there would be no war.
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Eva,
thank you for your response to The Terrible Years. Here we are again. My parents fled in 1938. Where can we flee to today?
Art and empathy is resistance!
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Wow.
Thanks Michael.
Best, Kathy (still here) 💚
Kathy Engel she/her http://www.kathyengelpoet.com
Dear Inheritors, 2024 https://gfbpublishing.org/shop https://gfbpublishing.org/shop/ols/products/pre-order-dear-inheritors instagram: kellajaja
currently reading: Heaven Looks Like Us * *Palestinian Poetry, edited by George Abraham and Noor Hindi Every Sound Is Not A Wolf, Alberto Rios Gaza: The Poem Said Its Piece, Nasser Rabah The Moon That Turns You Back, *Hala Alyan *School of Instructions A Poem, Ishion Hutchinson
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Thanks, Kathy. I’m glad you’re still here lifting your voice for justice.
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Heart-wrenching. The Latest news everywhere as well. How do we come to be so grim a creature—I am mystified. I recently wrote in my journal, “We have misnamed the pandemic. We should instead call it “Humanity.”
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Yes. We are clearly an invasive species, and nature keeps invasive species under control by creating viruses.
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