* * *

March 26, 2008

cast bread on water so that the reflected
birds would not starve up the eyeless void
the most to ache for is the one who never
could ooze out i am nobody said one
in an old tangled tale which was a lie

i am the very nobody who never
more to the point the one whose every when
is never who is powerless to yield
to a temptation of an adjective
whom nobody would label with a he

back to those birds who are not there as well
meaning they are quite there within the bounds
of water but undone beyond the shore
they are untrue unless somebody sees them
there is nothing i could say about these birds

oh how much love remains unlived because
there is nobody to live it and if ever
you burst into the mirror circle tell
the living we are weary of this flight
beyond the water with no bread whatever

[This is translation of my Russian poem]

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memory is a silent medium

March 24, 2008

now i imagine her in sepia even though
she was never a photograph always live
old memories have the faculty of fading
when chemically treated by brain juices

the backdrop was the first to dissolve
into stray pixels bush engulfed by the wall
an aspen a fuzzy x-ray carcass of the sky
under which she haunted my youth beyond
the scalloped edge of my coarse recollection

senility is silent from inside
there is no such thing as sepia sound
when the discourse within is desiccated
we are ready to surrender

and suddenly i find myself so old
in the star system where she never loved me
and what remains of her escapes my x-rays
there is hardly me and barely her to speak of
we are but dumb images of each other
recursive reflections in our brains
turning brown


exile’s complaint

March 15, 2008

yes indeed it’s a bother
to be born russian
where breath is scarce
and the sky is ashen
ever tasted winters
that never end
let me tell you
about my native land
of life unallayed
by a single kmart or sears
wild pelmeni with hay
and all your tundra to roam
you shoot from the porch
to keep off the fucking bears
yet sometimes they usurp the crown
and rule the realm

if you think it was a zoo
you are not too far off the mark
should have seen my school uniform
from bast and bark
mother used to boil it after a while
to make porridge
once the winter
was so long and cold that we
stayed indoors for years
so i never went to college
with my only playmate
a domesticated flea
it’s my wasted youth
with which i am most annoyed
never a ball game
scarcely a trip to the mall
this is what keeps me running
you see my point
the people were bad enough
but the bears were worst of all

i am much better now
sipping my riesling
rather be a traitor
than a bear quisling
longitudes hardly matter
i skip them at random
wasting my sweaty rubles
biding my time
guess they just called my flight
thank you madam
appreciate it sir
the pleasure’s mine


raining on a blind drive

March 10, 2008

the eyes read the mind not the road
where it says right lane they see light rain
inspite of the morning rays
actually it is true both ways

in your little motel the window goes blind
telling right from left becomes unimportant
it replaces yours with a blurry small tv-mind
of its own and the eyeballs but they are curtained
just a dash to a 7-11 for chips and beer
and the cheetah across the screen and the deer

the deer is running away and out of options
confined as it is into the rectangular blue
life outside the box may have been an ocean
yet in this case it is down to a lane or two
on the bed supine with a six pack cozy and nice
you blur with the chase and its pallid hue
caught within a pitiless thinking device
billing its prey on the run until it pays
actually it is true both ways

grope for the window until you finally find it
tearing away the dusty venetian blind
while the tv-brain sprouts its antennae
through your own and lightnings spark
water strikes water the clouds throng
you read it all wrong
it’s getting so damn dark