Translated by Shashi Martynova
A poetry collection in honor of Lev Rubinstein
.
I have wet tissues
I have a son
I have responsibilities
I have a backpack with a bottle filled with water and with a tupper with crispbreads and Poshekhonye cheese made by Fresh Rows company from Pyaterochka
In a little pocket I even have a tiny eyebrow tweezer and a gray green eyeliner tone number 22
I have a gray green left eye and a gray green right eye
My upper and lower eyelashes resemble little gentle brushes they come together when I close those eyes and think
I have a life
But if you look closer it becomes noticeable
That I have enkzaieti which means in translation anxiety / disquiet / trepidation
Synonyms to this word are concern/worry/trouble/unrest/disturbance/alarm/alert/dismay
I have relentlessly nearing April and May
And so on
That is, I have April and May and most probably all the following months
But if you look closer it becomes noticeable
The war is underway
I have a newsfeed
I have VPN
I have a secret mailbox at a server with end-to-end encryption
I have a lot of packs of serotonin reuptake inhibitors
They uptook my kitchen cabinet when I take out dishes one of those packs falls out
I catch it deftly in midair
Therefore I have serotonin
I have vitamin D
Therefore I have vitamin D
I have a bottle of water
Therefore I have water
I have wet tissues
Therefore everything around me is clean and tidy
But if you look closer it becomes noticeable
I have keys from an apartment with a keychain with a little black bat as a charm
I have a door
I don’t have a doorbell
If they come after me they will knock; it will be stylistically more precise
I have a proclivity for deconstruction both in art and in life that I most definitely have
I have wet tissues
But if you look closer it becomes noticeable
.
She has two red braids and a short green bare back dress
she squeezes her phone between her right ear and her shoulder to free her hands and pay for her coffee
her braids jump after her bowed head: her left one tickles her dragonfly tattoo above her right clavicle and the right one slightly touches a man by the pastry display
she shouts: hit! they hit it! the drone!
the man glued to the pastry barista slowly drawing a whimsical flower upon a coffee
she ends her conversation a little red dog runs over she bends down petting the dog saying you’re as red as I am the dog tries to sniff her dangling braids
she takes her coffee and leaves the cafe her braids dangling above her naked back in sync with her steady step
suddenly she stops in her tracks and by some reason is still for a few seconds her braids stop on her dress as green as young leaves and the grass all around
she’s showered with bright sun summer descends upon her
her red head is burning like a legitimate target
.
When my best friend wrote that in the end they decided to go
I responded: and I’m still collecting my polka-dot little teacups
At the beginning we used to live very frugally we thought maybe we too soon would go
I didn’t give rein to my Soviet thingism and post-Soviet consumerism
I didn’t buy anything even useful neither a vacuum cleaner nor a desk mirror
One can do a marvelous cleaning job with a wet cloth and splendidly apply an eyeliner by the entryway mirror although it’s dark there
But once the old polkadot teacup was broken property of the landlady
I decided to find exactly the same on Avito and I discovered a porcelain world of Verbilki Dulevo Pesochnoe LFZ
Day by day Avito sends my way images of vintage teacups
Just recently I took in a neighboring block rare blue with white polka dots for a song
And the day my friend wrote I intended to go after the black ones with fishes on them from that legendary dinnerware set “The Fishtank”
To the opposite side of Moscow but those suprematic fishes with white bubbles resembling those polka dots too most certainly should be present in my collection
I had lots of work and the storm was expected but I shut my laptop stuffed my oilskin into my backpack and embarked on my little journey to Vladykino
Everything went perfectly the seller came in time the cups were in mint condition
He placed the cups into bubble wrap and handed them to me under the metro entrance awning the storm had already begun
On my way back I felt hungry remembered that you can dine cheap in an Indian cafe before four
It was almost four but I called them and asked if I may order in advance and the Indians agreed
All went so well palak paneer was very delicious it seemed one can live even here
When I stepped out from the cafe the rain almost stopped I decided to stroll for a while
I opened my backpack on the go and began to take out my oilskin and teacups with fishes and bubbles tumbled down by the sound of it it was clear that everything had shattered
I picked up the package with smithereens only those little white handles survived
I kept walking and looked up on Avito perhaps the same cups might be there once more
But raindrops fell on my phone and nothing worked out
Then I decided to write all this down so I wouldn’t get too upset
So the day wouldn’t pass by absolutely in vain let’s make a poem out of it
A lovely poem about the way we hold onto the little white handles of teacups
I walked and I thought that perhaps it is better to leave it unwritten and perfect
Like an imagined life like a torn limb
Like phantom emigration like discontinued china
Like parents over the ocean like hope to see someone soon
.
When I wasn’t here
Sometimes I remembered some place a familiar street a geographical point a random corner of a house nothing special ever happened to me there just
It seemed necessary to appear there instantly
This need was so strong the nape prickled and coffee with milk dissolved in the faces of people who sat in the coffee shop opening their mouths and spelling
Barely known words
O que passa niña então que queres pois nada dizes-me sempre isso
Instantly for just a few minutes to appear there to look around to validate a card to charge a phone to flag down a driver and then it’s fine to keep drinking coffee anywhere else to speak any language
That girl at the table nearby suddenly rises kicks off a glass bottle with flowers with her backpack water runs down on the floor a waitress rushes up snatching the bottle right at the edge smiling
Everything stayed intact even the flowers didn’t fall out of the bottle
And so I arrived I came there and felt nothing
.
A person is tied up to a tree for his refusal to fight it seems like a parable but it’s just a torture
Kalinin Avenue turns into Sophia Perovskaya Street and then into Sovetskaya
Me I’m writing annual report somewhat overwhelmed
Tomatoes bell peppers champignons pears to buy
I asked you if I should go on a date with him or not and you’re like no and then he died
Someone bought my fishes the man works in anti-drone protection just bombed out he says worked late on the shift
So I say what can you do
Also kiwi rice buckwheat oatmeals and some buns
There where he stands bark soaked with urine or maybe rain washes away everything we have no such data
.
Save yourselves
Save yourselves and your loved ones
Save men
Save women
Save children now
Save your health while you’re young
Save your eyesight
Save your teeth
Save your little lovely ears
Save your tail
Save human being within
Save it
Better safe oh sorry
Save environment
Save our green world
Save water the source of life
Save forest from fire
Save the lungs of our planet
Save those little twigs and leaves
Save those little worms and mosquitoes
Save that wonder on your faces and your jaws relaxed
Save and cherish what you have
Save cats
Save whales
Save crayfish
Save birds
Save your cuckoo
Save yourselves and hurry up right after the first red flag
Save yourselves and hurry up right after the first red flag
Save and study your native language
Save books
Save school property
Save the keys to happiness
Save us poets
Save us poetesses
Save early bloomers
Save the stratosphere
Save electricity
Save French bread
Save Armenian lavash
Save Baku baklava with hazelnuts
Save couscous and musk
Save sushki
Save grandma’s polka-dot tea cups and lids of broken teapots with big golden deer
Save youth from war
Save your pants